Detention with Destiny - Chapter 1 (Draco/Hermione - Harry Potter)
Title:Detention with Destiny
Author: leopion
Character(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Genres: Adventure, Angst, Mystery, Suspense
Timeline: Year 7, HBP-Compliant until the Astronomy-Tower scene
Rating: MT
Warnings: Mild Violence, Psychological Trauma, Strong Profanity
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim the Harry Potter series, which belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Summary: When the Head Boy and Girl’s failure to cooperate leads to severe consequences, they end up in a detention with the Headmaster himself.
Also archived on: Hawthorn & Vine, Granger Enchanted, The Manor, AO3, and fanfiction.net
AN: Originally written for the tenth dmhgficexchange: Darkest before the Dawn. Revised for archiving.
My deepest gratitude to dormiensa , elizpeace, mccargi, silviaelisa , wake_the_dragon , and the mods at dmhgficexchange. Full acknowledgement (plus table of contents) can be found here
Detention with Destiny - Chapter 1
by Leopion
Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably, her eyes riveted on the crisp white curtain of the hospital wing. She had been standing here long enough for her legs to start feeling stiff, yet her heart was still hammering like it did when she’d just raced back from the Hufflepuff Basement. She knew it was more due to the worry than anything else.
Hermione would never forgive herself or Malfoy if the first-year Hufflepuff suffered any lasting impairment to his leg. Despite her faith in Madam Pomfrey’s expert skills, she knew for a fact that even magic couldn’t fully repair the damage once an injury had been left untreated for too long. And it was all their fault. The Prefects should have patrolled through the third floor corridor twice that evening and discovered the poor boy three hours before she did. If only they hadn’t messed it up. Hermione shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had she not decided to use that particular shortcut on her way back from the library.
As though sensing Hermione’s intense gaze, Madam Pomfrey popped her head out from behind the curtain a few minutes later.
‘How is he?’ asked Hermione at once.
‘He still needs a few more stitches, but I’m afraid there is nothing else for you to do here, Miss Granger. Professor McGonagall said she wanted you to wait in the Prefects’ Office with Mr Malfoy.’
The nurse wasted no time in retreating after her mini-speech, and Hermione let out a weary sigh before heaving her book bag onto her shoulder. The vacant bed that it had previously occupied gave a loud creak as the heavy weight was lifted. Earlier that evening, Hermione had stuffed her bag with every library book she could find on Albania. She’d intended to thoroughly explore the magical aspect of the country when she got back to her dormitory. Now, however, she doubted that she would feel like browsing them anytime soon, regardless of their importance to the Horcrux hunt.
After exploiting all the direct evidence about Voldemort’s past, Dumbledore finally had to resort to a more circuitous method: tracing Quirrell’s path to find out where he had met the disembodied Voldemort. It made sense that the place where his fragment of soul had been lurking would hold some kind of significance to him. As it was, Dumbledore had left the castle in search of another Horcrux in the aforementioned country.
Meanwhile, Malfoy and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl, were as much responsible as the remainder of the staff for the safety of Hogwarts students, yet she had failed in every possible way. The first two weeks of the term had been bad enough, but what happened tonight was the final straw. This time someone was actually hurt, and severely at that. Even though they were not to be blamed for the first-year’s own carelessness that had led him to catch his leg in the old trap door, it was the Prefects’ duty to discover and help in such emergencies. However, there had been no Prefects patrolling the castle tonight, and Hermione had not found out about the problem until it was almost too late to provide a remedy, if temporary, for it. After her trips to two of the common rooms, she had confirmed that the schedule had been changed-by the Head Boy. And while the original pair had been alerted that they wouldn’t be on duty tonight, their replacement knew nothing about the schedule adjustment.
Hermione made her way to the office with a renewed anger at the Head Boy. She had never been able to fathom the reasons behind Dumbledore’s selection. Granted, she could understand why Dumbledore didn’t want to burden Harry, but it wasn’t as if Malfoy was the only other candidate. Furthermore, the only quality that could have commended him above the others-academic aptitude-had been rendered moot by his plummeting grades in the prior year. However, Hermione’s biggest problem with Dumbledore’s decision was her belief that they couldn’t place their trust in Malfoy. Well, technically speaking, he was on their side now, though it was more to save his own skin than a real change of heart. For all they knew, it could have merely been Voldemort’s plot to infiltrate the Order.
All the same, there were moments when she reflected on what Harry had told her-about Malfoy’s outburst in the bathroom, about his revelation to Dumbledore on Hogwarts’ topmost tower-and wondered if anyone would ever want to go back to that life. Then again, how could she tell? Did she really know him at all?
Tonight, though, no amount of reasoning could possibly justify Malfoy’s irresponsibility. Hermione almost exploded when she reached the office and found him lounging nonchalantly on the couch, a volume of The Modern Alchemist in his hand.
'You changed the schedule without asking me?' she growled.
Malfoy didn’t even look up at her. 'Why must I ask you?’ he drawled. ‘The last time I checked, the Head Boy does not have to ask the Head Girl's permission for anything. That schedule of yours was nonsensical, so I changed it. As simple as that.'
'Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?'
‘I merely saved you the humiliation, Granger.’ He closed the journal with a snap and sneered at her. ‘Did you want me to point it out in front of all the Prefects? That for some obscure reason you strove to accompany me during every single patrol?'
Hermione’s next retort died on her lips. Malfoy had hit so close to home that she could see no way to deny it. True, she had been aware of the shortcomings in her schedule from the start. It was precisely due to the fact that she didn’t trust Malfoy that she had to make sure she could keep an eye on him while he did his patrol. This, however, was quite tricky, considering the crammed agenda Hermione had already had. Finding a night when both she and Malfoy were free was a Herculean task in itself. Then, it was nearly impossible trying to fit everyone else's schedules into the remaining nights.
‘Kneazle got your tongue, Granger?’
‘That is not the point,’ she said weakly. ‘You should have made sure that the new information reached all concerned parties, including me. Look what happened! Anthony could have died of blood loss. If I hadn't-'
‘So, now, it’s all thanks to you that he’s fine, isn’t it? The bloody Gryffindor heroine has saved the day yet again.’
'You know very well that's not what I meant, Malfoy!’ exclaimed Hermione, her anger flaring up so fiercely that she began to pace back and forth in front of the currently Malfoy-occupied couch. ‘My point is, if someone had not passed that corridor and discovered the boy, it would have been a tragedy. And you should know that except for the Prefects who are required to patrol through the area, people hardly go there. You know what, I am sick of this. I’ll go to Dumbledore and ask him to revoke your title.'
'Do as you wish. It’s not like I can stand being around you much longer, anyway.’
'You're not taking this responsibility seriously, are you?'
'Says the one who drew up the crappiest schedule in Hogwarts’ history.'
'I'm not kidding, Malfoy. Is this just some kind of game to you? At times like this, everyone has to be extra careful. It can be a matter of life or death. What if the Death Eaters manage to break into the school again?’
‘They won’t,’ said Malfoy with a voice so quiet it made Hermione stop her pacing and turn back to look at him. Her eyes widened, and even though Hermione knew she was trespassing on danger zone, the words came out of her mouth like a raging torrent.
‘Oh, it must have slipped my mind. It was you who let them in last time. Perhaps you deliberately left the corridors deserted to welcome those lovely Death Eater friends of yo-'
Hermione didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence as Malfoy grabbed her wrist and nearly made her tumble. He pinned her down to the couch, level with him, their faces so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his silent rage. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was suppressing the urge to shout at her.
‘Malfoy, let me go!’ She attempted to wriggle her hand out of his grip only to get herself stuck in an even more awkwardly contorted position. Just a small jerk on the wrist, and Malfoy was able to bring them face-to-face again. In that tiny fraction of time, his face had turned expressionless.
'Don't. Ever. Say. That. Again,' he spat, gripping her hand so tightly that Hermione could barely feel it. His eyes were cold as steel as they pierced into her brown ones, immobilizing her even more effectively than his hand on her wrist.
Time seemed to stand still until the door creaked open, sending Hermione jumping back from Malfoy. Thankfully, he also let go of her wrist at that moment. When Hermione looked up at their guest, however, McGonagall’s disapproving expression told her that the professor had seen enough to deduce that they had been fighting again.
‘Professor McGonagall, I-’ began Hermione, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence her. ‘Save your explanation, Miss Granger. The Headmaster came back shortly after the accident tonight and has been alerted of the situation. He wants both of you to report to him tomorrow evening for detention.’
Hermione blanched. Even when lecturing Malfoy about the seriousness of the situation, she had never thought of such an outcome.
‘Although it’s not really my responsibility now, I must say that I am deeply disappointed by the two of you, especially you Miss Granger,’ continued the professor. ‘I hope Professor Dumbledore will be able to convince you to co-operate with each other. Remember that it’s tomorrow evening at seven in the Headmaster’s office. The new password is Snickers. Goodnight!’
***
Draco wearily sat down in his usual isolated spot in the Great Hall and began to ladle food onto his plate without so much as glancing at its contents. Today, the seat seemed hardly secluded enough for his ears and rotten mood. Apparently, despite a brief period of utter silence when he first entered the room, most people had decided that avoiding the incurrence of Draco Malfoy’s wrath was not worth keeping their mouths shut.
Since the previous night’s incident, Hogwarts’ gossipers had wasted no time spreading the news far and wide. By the time the evening feast commenced, concerns regarding the idiotic Hufflepuff were completely drowned out by the more interesting topic of the Head Boy and Head Girl’s detention with the Headmaster. There had been no precedent for such a detention, with all three ‘Heads’ being involved. Many people, including Granger, no doubt, considered it a disgrace. However, some were still ‘kind’ enough to point out a so-called consolation on Draco’s part: Potter’s father had already championed as the first Head Boy who got detentions during his own term.
Draco couldn’t care less about the school population’s opinion of him. If he did, he would probably have had to suffer raging fits every minute of every day. This evening, however, things started to get on Draco’s nerves as the discussion moved to all sorts of speculations about the kind of task Dumbledore was going to set for him and Granger. The guesses ranged from copying the school records by hand to taming an ‘insanely wild Hippogriff’. While Draco scoffed at the latter for its ridiculousness, his gut told him that it would probably be something far worse. The thought made the piece of steak in his mouth taste like sawdust.
‘Finally getting cross now, are we?’ asked Blaise casually as he settled down in the seat next to Draco. ‘I thought you didn’t care about other people’s opinions.’
Draco groaned, and for once, was forced to acknowledge that he missed the unintelligent but silent company of Crabbe and Goyle. Well, at least they had enough brain cells to realise that there was no point in serving a jerk who had fallen out of the Dark Lord’s good graces. Sadly enough, the people who didn’t give a damn about Voldemort’s ranks tended to see annoying-the-hell-out-of-Draco-Malfoy as a purpose in life.
‘I don’t care what people think about me. However, that doesn’t mean I will meekly sit by as they start predicting my impending doom,’ he spat back at Blaise, stabbing his barely-eaten steak with his fork. Blaise chuckled but decided to leave Draco alone. To be honest, Draco had neither expected nor desired this new ... companionship. But as it happened, when the new term started, Blaise had been the first of only two people who offered condolences to Draco regarding his mother’s ‘death’. Perhaps that was why he had felt compelled to tell the dark-haired Slytherin the truth. He felt somewhat guilty about keeping it from Pansy, but, given her father’s association with the Death Eaters, it was probably for the best.
Public knowledge had Narcissa Malfoy killed in a freak accident. For the Death Eaters, she was killed by the Order of the Phoenix. Within the Order itself, she was a hostage, effectively ensuring that Draco would not turn his back on them. And to Draco, she was-as he had to believe-still alive and hiding in a safe house somewhere. Their communication had been sporadic at best and always strictly monitored by the Order of the Phoenix. Maybe that was why they had no qualms about letting him spend the holidays at their secret headquarters.
For the entire summer, Draco had tried his best to keep to himself. Potter, Weaselette, and the rest of the adults mostly ignored him. Weasley and the twins took every possible opportunity to insult him and laugh at his expense, though Draco had been above that sort of thing for a long time now.
It was Granger who drove him out of his mind. She hardly spoke to him more than necessary. Yet more than once, Draco had found her staring at him, as though wanting to penetrate his skin and examine his very soul. He was never sure what she actually saw, however, for every time he caught her eyes, they flickered to a different emotion: contempt, distrust, pity, to name a few. None of those emotions were ones that Draco enjoyed having directed at him. But on top of that, it annoyed him greatly not being able to figure out what lay behind them. Nevertheless, all in all, he had been doing just fine, thank you very much.
And then Dumbledore just had to go and send that effing letter announcing that Draco had been made Head Boy and Granger Head Girl. Potter stated that he trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, though he could tell that The Boy Who Suffers From Paranoia became much more guarded around him. Weasley got even more spiteful, which was to be expected. But again, it was Granger who got under his skin. Her vigorous study of him had become even more intense than before. And, Merlin help him, there were times when she looked like she was wondering how he had schemed to get the position. Like he would even bother trying.
Once upon a time, he used to dream of getting the title, if merely to rub it in Potter’s face, though Draco hadn’t felt anything close to pleasure by the time he actually received the news. He didn’t understand why Dumbledore had chosen him in the first place. Everything in his profile screamed ‘inappropriate for the post’. Draco Malfoy-son of Voldemort’s former right-hand man, a Death Eater himself, someone who had been known to have used Unforgivable Curses at least once, who had poisoned, delivered a cursed item, introduced Death Eaters into the school, and last but not least, had made an attempt to assassinate the Headmaster-the Head Boy of Hogwarts? Draco would have laughed if it hadn’t been the story of his own blasted life.
He had always thought this was some sort of deranged punishment that the old nutcase was inflicting on him. Whether he liked it or not, Draco had to admit it was working out perfectly. Barely two weeks into the term, he had already earned himself a bloody detention, and with the Head Girl no less. On any other occasion, he would have trembled with glee at the idea of Granger having to serve in detention. But it was difficult to find joy when one had to share in the misery.
In fact, Draco found it hard to share anything with Granger at all. He had thought that once they were back at Hogwarts and seeing less of one another, Heads’ duties notwithstanding, she would be passably bearable. However, he had been gravely mistaken. Now that they had to actually interact regularly, he had to suffer endless verbal battles on top of Granger’s ever-annoying scrutiny. What’s more, she’d also developed an obsession with them patrolling together, which in Draco’s opinion, was a condensed mixture of both of the aforementioned tortures. It had exasperated him to the point that, after two weeks, he had finally snapped and changed her previously-prepared schedule. Not that the damn thing wasn’t stupid in many other aspects. He was just trying to do his job after all, albeit not very successfully. Draco mentally congratulated himself on learning a precious lesson, one that should have been learnt years ago: do not trust first-years to deliver messages; do it yourself.
At that moment, he felt himself being inspected by a familiar set of eyes, but when Draco turned his attention to the Gryffindor table, Granger appeared to be engaged in a captivating conversation with her sausage. Throughout the day, she’d seemed to have substituted her usual ogling with occasional glances. Although Draco could have regarded this as a welcoming change, what brought about such change was not something he could be pleased with. Last night’s occurrence in the office had stirred up far too many memories, ones he wanted to remain buried. Draco’s lips curled up in a bitter smile as Granger abandoned her half-eaten sausage and proceeded to flee from the Great Hall. All the while, his eyes never left her, giving her a taste of her own medicine.
Draco turned back to his own meal, but after a few more pokes at the pitiable steak, he realised that he was fighting a losing battle with his lack of appetite. As he stood up to leave, Blaise clapped a hand on Draco’s back and offered him a goodbye in the form of a knowing smirk and a ‘Good luck with the detention, mate!’
‘Good luck, my arse,’ Draco muttered under his breath and stormed out of the Great Hall. He considered going back to the dungeons to get some peace and quiet before heading to Dumbledore’s office but promptly decided against it. The term ‘fashionably late’ had vanished from Draco’s dictionary ever since he entered the Order’s confinement. However, if he had been more honest to himself, it hadn’t been of use for long before that, although for a quite different reason.
As it happened, Draco was five minutes early when he reached the top of the spiral staircase and let himself into the Headmaster’s office. To his dismay, Granger had already arrived while Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Granger briefly tilted her head towards the door as Draco entered but otherwise gave no indication that she acknowledged his presence. Since she’d settled herself on the only guest seat in the room, Draco conjured another chair for himself. They waited in silence.
The next twenty minutes were pure torture to Draco, as he had to endure Granger’s constant hand-wringing and the glaring of Dumbledore’s pet. Not to mention he’d always hated this room despite having been here only twice before. Perhaps it was his distaste for the old man’s crazy knick-knacks. Perhaps it was the fact that his memories of this place were only associated with unpleasant events: first, the arrangement of his mother’s fake death and his own custody; second, the arrangement of his shared ‘honour’ with Granger; and now, a detention, once again with Granger. What kind of horrible memories could possibly top that?
By the time the door finally opened, causing Granger to almost spring up from her seat, Draco had seriously considered bursting out of the room, damned the consequences.
‘Good evening, sir.’ Granger’s voice drew him back to reality. He also stood up to greet the Headmaster, if only for the sake of keeping proper etiquette rather than genuine respect.
‘Good evening, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Please forgive my lateness. The preparation for our task tonight took more time than I expected,’ said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. ‘Sit down,’ he added.
‘About yesterday,’ said Granger as soon as she was seated, ‘I'm so sorry, sir. I promise we won't let it happen again.’ The word ‘we’ was uttered with a surreptitious glance at Draco, as though he would hex her for including him in the promise. He probably would have deliberated the idea had Dumbledore not been present, but given the situation, Draco chose instead to remain silent.
‘I cannot say that I am not disappointed by your performance thus far as Head Boy and Head Girl,’ responded Dumbledore with a stern expression. ‘Tonight, however, I asked you here not so much for punishment as for a favour. The detention is merely an alibi. In fact, there are very few that I can trust with what I will ask of you today.’
If Draco had happened to have a drink to his mouth, he swore that he would have spurted it out spectacularly. When someone said to the person who had spent almost an entire year plotting his demise and had nearly succeeded that he trusted him, either the man was insane or he was lying. With Dumbledore, Draco highly suspected there was a little bit of both, though he did his best to keep his face impassive. One emotional outburst was more than he’d ever wanted to share with the Headmaster, or with anyone for that matter. Especially not with Granger. Fuck, if it hadn’t been for Granger and her self-righteous I-can-do-everything-all-by-myself attitude, Draco wouldn’t have been forced to sit here, waiting to see what sort of calamity was about to befall him.
Draco tried his best to suppress the scowl that was threatening to mar his features when Granger nearly jumped up with excitement at Dumbledore’s next words, ‘Tonight, you will both accompany me in my search for one of the Horcruxes.’
Next Chapter
Author: leopion
Character(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Genres: Adventure, Angst, Mystery, Suspense
Timeline: Year 7, HBP-Compliant until the Astronomy-Tower scene
Rating: MT
Warnings: Mild Violence, Psychological Trauma, Strong Profanity
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim the Harry Potter series, which belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Summary: When the Head Boy and Girl’s failure to cooperate leads to severe consequences, they end up in a detention with the Headmaster himself.
Also archived on: Hawthorn & Vine, Granger Enchanted, The Manor, AO3, and fanfiction.net
AN: Originally written for the tenth dmhgficexchange: Darkest before the Dawn. Revised for archiving.
My deepest gratitude to dormiensa , elizpeace, mccargi, silviaelisa , wake_the_dragon , and the mods at dmhgficexchange. Full acknowledgement (plus table of contents) can be found here
Detention with Destiny - Chapter 1
by Leopion
Hermione shifted her weight uncomfortably, her eyes riveted on the crisp white curtain of the hospital wing. She had been standing here long enough for her legs to start feeling stiff, yet her heart was still hammering like it did when she’d just raced back from the Hufflepuff Basement. She knew it was more due to the worry than anything else.
Hermione would never forgive herself or Malfoy if the first-year Hufflepuff suffered any lasting impairment to his leg. Despite her faith in Madam Pomfrey’s expert skills, she knew for a fact that even magic couldn’t fully repair the damage once an injury had been left untreated for too long. And it was all their fault. The Prefects should have patrolled through the third floor corridor twice that evening and discovered the poor boy three hours before she did. If only they hadn’t messed it up. Hermione shuddered at the thought of what would have happened had she not decided to use that particular shortcut on her way back from the library.
As though sensing Hermione’s intense gaze, Madam Pomfrey popped her head out from behind the curtain a few minutes later.
‘How is he?’ asked Hermione at once.
‘He still needs a few more stitches, but I’m afraid there is nothing else for you to do here, Miss Granger. Professor McGonagall said she wanted you to wait in the Prefects’ Office with Mr Malfoy.’
The nurse wasted no time in retreating after her mini-speech, and Hermione let out a weary sigh before heaving her book bag onto her shoulder. The vacant bed that it had previously occupied gave a loud creak as the heavy weight was lifted. Earlier that evening, Hermione had stuffed her bag with every library book she could find on Albania. She’d intended to thoroughly explore the magical aspect of the country when she got back to her dormitory. Now, however, she doubted that she would feel like browsing them anytime soon, regardless of their importance to the Horcrux hunt.
After exploiting all the direct evidence about Voldemort’s past, Dumbledore finally had to resort to a more circuitous method: tracing Quirrell’s path to find out where he had met the disembodied Voldemort. It made sense that the place where his fragment of soul had been lurking would hold some kind of significance to him. As it was, Dumbledore had left the castle in search of another Horcrux in the aforementioned country.
Meanwhile, Malfoy and Hermione, as Head Boy and Girl, were as much responsible as the remainder of the staff for the safety of Hogwarts students, yet she had failed in every possible way. The first two weeks of the term had been bad enough, but what happened tonight was the final straw. This time someone was actually hurt, and severely at that. Even though they were not to be blamed for the first-year’s own carelessness that had led him to catch his leg in the old trap door, it was the Prefects’ duty to discover and help in such emergencies. However, there had been no Prefects patrolling the castle tonight, and Hermione had not found out about the problem until it was almost too late to provide a remedy, if temporary, for it. After her trips to two of the common rooms, she had confirmed that the schedule had been changed-by the Head Boy. And while the original pair had been alerted that they wouldn’t be on duty tonight, their replacement knew nothing about the schedule adjustment.
Hermione made her way to the office with a renewed anger at the Head Boy. She had never been able to fathom the reasons behind Dumbledore’s selection. Granted, she could understand why Dumbledore didn’t want to burden Harry, but it wasn’t as if Malfoy was the only other candidate. Furthermore, the only quality that could have commended him above the others-academic aptitude-had been rendered moot by his plummeting grades in the prior year. However, Hermione’s biggest problem with Dumbledore’s decision was her belief that they couldn’t place their trust in Malfoy. Well, technically speaking, he was on their side now, though it was more to save his own skin than a real change of heart. For all they knew, it could have merely been Voldemort’s plot to infiltrate the Order.
All the same, there were moments when she reflected on what Harry had told her-about Malfoy’s outburst in the bathroom, about his revelation to Dumbledore on Hogwarts’ topmost tower-and wondered if anyone would ever want to go back to that life. Then again, how could she tell? Did she really know him at all?
Tonight, though, no amount of reasoning could possibly justify Malfoy’s irresponsibility. Hermione almost exploded when she reached the office and found him lounging nonchalantly on the couch, a volume of The Modern Alchemist in his hand.
'You changed the schedule without asking me?' she growled.
Malfoy didn’t even look up at her. 'Why must I ask you?’ he drawled. ‘The last time I checked, the Head Boy does not have to ask the Head Girl's permission for anything. That schedule of yours was nonsensical, so I changed it. As simple as that.'
'Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?'
‘I merely saved you the humiliation, Granger.’ He closed the journal with a snap and sneered at her. ‘Did you want me to point it out in front of all the Prefects? That for some obscure reason you strove to accompany me during every single patrol?'
Hermione’s next retort died on her lips. Malfoy had hit so close to home that she could see no way to deny it. True, she had been aware of the shortcomings in her schedule from the start. It was precisely due to the fact that she didn’t trust Malfoy that she had to make sure she could keep an eye on him while he did his patrol. This, however, was quite tricky, considering the crammed agenda Hermione had already had. Finding a night when both she and Malfoy were free was a Herculean task in itself. Then, it was nearly impossible trying to fit everyone else's schedules into the remaining nights.
‘Kneazle got your tongue, Granger?’
‘That is not the point,’ she said weakly. ‘You should have made sure that the new information reached all concerned parties, including me. Look what happened! Anthony could have died of blood loss. If I hadn't-'
‘So, now, it’s all thanks to you that he’s fine, isn’t it? The bloody Gryffindor heroine has saved the day yet again.’
'You know very well that's not what I meant, Malfoy!’ exclaimed Hermione, her anger flaring up so fiercely that she began to pace back and forth in front of the currently Malfoy-occupied couch. ‘My point is, if someone had not passed that corridor and discovered the boy, it would have been a tragedy. And you should know that except for the Prefects who are required to patrol through the area, people hardly go there. You know what, I am sick of this. I’ll go to Dumbledore and ask him to revoke your title.'
'Do as you wish. It’s not like I can stand being around you much longer, anyway.’
'You're not taking this responsibility seriously, are you?'
'Says the one who drew up the crappiest schedule in Hogwarts’ history.'
'I'm not kidding, Malfoy. Is this just some kind of game to you? At times like this, everyone has to be extra careful. It can be a matter of life or death. What if the Death Eaters manage to break into the school again?’
‘They won’t,’ said Malfoy with a voice so quiet it made Hermione stop her pacing and turn back to look at him. Her eyes widened, and even though Hermione knew she was trespassing on danger zone, the words came out of her mouth like a raging torrent.
‘Oh, it must have slipped my mind. It was you who let them in last time. Perhaps you deliberately left the corridors deserted to welcome those lovely Death Eater friends of yo-'
Hermione didn’t have a chance to finish her sentence as Malfoy grabbed her wrist and nearly made her tumble. He pinned her down to the couch, level with him, their faces so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his silent rage. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he was suppressing the urge to shout at her.
‘Malfoy, let me go!’ She attempted to wriggle her hand out of his grip only to get herself stuck in an even more awkwardly contorted position. Just a small jerk on the wrist, and Malfoy was able to bring them face-to-face again. In that tiny fraction of time, his face had turned expressionless.
'Don't. Ever. Say. That. Again,' he spat, gripping her hand so tightly that Hermione could barely feel it. His eyes were cold as steel as they pierced into her brown ones, immobilizing her even more effectively than his hand on her wrist.
Time seemed to stand still until the door creaked open, sending Hermione jumping back from Malfoy. Thankfully, he also let go of her wrist at that moment. When Hermione looked up at their guest, however, McGonagall’s disapproving expression told her that the professor had seen enough to deduce that they had been fighting again.
‘Professor McGonagall, I-’ began Hermione, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence her. ‘Save your explanation, Miss Granger. The Headmaster came back shortly after the accident tonight and has been alerted of the situation. He wants both of you to report to him tomorrow evening for detention.’
Hermione blanched. Even when lecturing Malfoy about the seriousness of the situation, she had never thought of such an outcome.
‘Although it’s not really my responsibility now, I must say that I am deeply disappointed by the two of you, especially you Miss Granger,’ continued the professor. ‘I hope Professor Dumbledore will be able to convince you to co-operate with each other. Remember that it’s tomorrow evening at seven in the Headmaster’s office. The new password is Snickers. Goodnight!’
***
Draco wearily sat down in his usual isolated spot in the Great Hall and began to ladle food onto his plate without so much as glancing at its contents. Today, the seat seemed hardly secluded enough for his ears and rotten mood. Apparently, despite a brief period of utter silence when he first entered the room, most people had decided that avoiding the incurrence of Draco Malfoy’s wrath was not worth keeping their mouths shut.
Since the previous night’s incident, Hogwarts’ gossipers had wasted no time spreading the news far and wide. By the time the evening feast commenced, concerns regarding the idiotic Hufflepuff were completely drowned out by the more interesting topic of the Head Boy and Head Girl’s detention with the Headmaster. There had been no precedent for such a detention, with all three ‘Heads’ being involved. Many people, including Granger, no doubt, considered it a disgrace. However, some were still ‘kind’ enough to point out a so-called consolation on Draco’s part: Potter’s father had already championed as the first Head Boy who got detentions during his own term.
Draco couldn’t care less about the school population’s opinion of him. If he did, he would probably have had to suffer raging fits every minute of every day. This evening, however, things started to get on Draco’s nerves as the discussion moved to all sorts of speculations about the kind of task Dumbledore was going to set for him and Granger. The guesses ranged from copying the school records by hand to taming an ‘insanely wild Hippogriff’. While Draco scoffed at the latter for its ridiculousness, his gut told him that it would probably be something far worse. The thought made the piece of steak in his mouth taste like sawdust.
‘Finally getting cross now, are we?’ asked Blaise casually as he settled down in the seat next to Draco. ‘I thought you didn’t care about other people’s opinions.’
Draco groaned, and for once, was forced to acknowledge that he missed the unintelligent but silent company of Crabbe and Goyle. Well, at least they had enough brain cells to realise that there was no point in serving a jerk who had fallen out of the Dark Lord’s good graces. Sadly enough, the people who didn’t give a damn about Voldemort’s ranks tended to see annoying-the-hell-out-of-Draco-Malfoy as a purpose in life.
‘I don’t care what people think about me. However, that doesn’t mean I will meekly sit by as they start predicting my impending doom,’ he spat back at Blaise, stabbing his barely-eaten steak with his fork. Blaise chuckled but decided to leave Draco alone. To be honest, Draco had neither expected nor desired this new ... companionship. But as it happened, when the new term started, Blaise had been the first of only two people who offered condolences to Draco regarding his mother’s ‘death’. Perhaps that was why he had felt compelled to tell the dark-haired Slytherin the truth. He felt somewhat guilty about keeping it from Pansy, but, given her father’s association with the Death Eaters, it was probably for the best.
Public knowledge had Narcissa Malfoy killed in a freak accident. For the Death Eaters, she was killed by the Order of the Phoenix. Within the Order itself, she was a hostage, effectively ensuring that Draco would not turn his back on them. And to Draco, she was-as he had to believe-still alive and hiding in a safe house somewhere. Their communication had been sporadic at best and always strictly monitored by the Order of the Phoenix. Maybe that was why they had no qualms about letting him spend the holidays at their secret headquarters.
For the entire summer, Draco had tried his best to keep to himself. Potter, Weaselette, and the rest of the adults mostly ignored him. Weasley and the twins took every possible opportunity to insult him and laugh at his expense, though Draco had been above that sort of thing for a long time now.
It was Granger who drove him out of his mind. She hardly spoke to him more than necessary. Yet more than once, Draco had found her staring at him, as though wanting to penetrate his skin and examine his very soul. He was never sure what she actually saw, however, for every time he caught her eyes, they flickered to a different emotion: contempt, distrust, pity, to name a few. None of those emotions were ones that Draco enjoyed having directed at him. But on top of that, it annoyed him greatly not being able to figure out what lay behind them. Nevertheless, all in all, he had been doing just fine, thank you very much.
And then Dumbledore just had to go and send that effing letter announcing that Draco had been made Head Boy and Granger Head Girl. Potter stated that he trusted Dumbledore’s judgement, though he could tell that The Boy Who Suffers From Paranoia became much more guarded around him. Weasley got even more spiteful, which was to be expected. But again, it was Granger who got under his skin. Her vigorous study of him had become even more intense than before. And, Merlin help him, there were times when she looked like she was wondering how he had schemed to get the position. Like he would even bother trying.
Once upon a time, he used to dream of getting the title, if merely to rub it in Potter’s face, though Draco hadn’t felt anything close to pleasure by the time he actually received the news. He didn’t understand why Dumbledore had chosen him in the first place. Everything in his profile screamed ‘inappropriate for the post’. Draco Malfoy-son of Voldemort’s former right-hand man, a Death Eater himself, someone who had been known to have used Unforgivable Curses at least once, who had poisoned, delivered a cursed item, introduced Death Eaters into the school, and last but not least, had made an attempt to assassinate the Headmaster-the Head Boy of Hogwarts? Draco would have laughed if it hadn’t been the story of his own blasted life.
He had always thought this was some sort of deranged punishment that the old nutcase was inflicting on him. Whether he liked it or not, Draco had to admit it was working out perfectly. Barely two weeks into the term, he had already earned himself a bloody detention, and with the Head Girl no less. On any other occasion, he would have trembled with glee at the idea of Granger having to serve in detention. But it was difficult to find joy when one had to share in the misery.
In fact, Draco found it hard to share anything with Granger at all. He had thought that once they were back at Hogwarts and seeing less of one another, Heads’ duties notwithstanding, she would be passably bearable. However, he had been gravely mistaken. Now that they had to actually interact regularly, he had to suffer endless verbal battles on top of Granger’s ever-annoying scrutiny. What’s more, she’d also developed an obsession with them patrolling together, which in Draco’s opinion, was a condensed mixture of both of the aforementioned tortures. It had exasperated him to the point that, after two weeks, he had finally snapped and changed her previously-prepared schedule. Not that the damn thing wasn’t stupid in many other aspects. He was just trying to do his job after all, albeit not very successfully. Draco mentally congratulated himself on learning a precious lesson, one that should have been learnt years ago: do not trust first-years to deliver messages; do it yourself.
At that moment, he felt himself being inspected by a familiar set of eyes, but when Draco turned his attention to the Gryffindor table, Granger appeared to be engaged in a captivating conversation with her sausage. Throughout the day, she’d seemed to have substituted her usual ogling with occasional glances. Although Draco could have regarded this as a welcoming change, what brought about such change was not something he could be pleased with. Last night’s occurrence in the office had stirred up far too many memories, ones he wanted to remain buried. Draco’s lips curled up in a bitter smile as Granger abandoned her half-eaten sausage and proceeded to flee from the Great Hall. All the while, his eyes never left her, giving her a taste of her own medicine.
Draco turned back to his own meal, but after a few more pokes at the pitiable steak, he realised that he was fighting a losing battle with his lack of appetite. As he stood up to leave, Blaise clapped a hand on Draco’s back and offered him a goodbye in the form of a knowing smirk and a ‘Good luck with the detention, mate!’
‘Good luck, my arse,’ Draco muttered under his breath and stormed out of the Great Hall. He considered going back to the dungeons to get some peace and quiet before heading to Dumbledore’s office but promptly decided against it. The term ‘fashionably late’ had vanished from Draco’s dictionary ever since he entered the Order’s confinement. However, if he had been more honest to himself, it hadn’t been of use for long before that, although for a quite different reason.
As it happened, Draco was five minutes early when he reached the top of the spiral staircase and let himself into the Headmaster’s office. To his dismay, Granger had already arrived while Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Granger briefly tilted her head towards the door as Draco entered but otherwise gave no indication that she acknowledged his presence. Since she’d settled herself on the only guest seat in the room, Draco conjured another chair for himself. They waited in silence.
The next twenty minutes were pure torture to Draco, as he had to endure Granger’s constant hand-wringing and the glaring of Dumbledore’s pet. Not to mention he’d always hated this room despite having been here only twice before. Perhaps it was his distaste for the old man’s crazy knick-knacks. Perhaps it was the fact that his memories of this place were only associated with unpleasant events: first, the arrangement of his mother’s fake death and his own custody; second, the arrangement of his shared ‘honour’ with Granger; and now, a detention, once again with Granger. What kind of horrible memories could possibly top that?
By the time the door finally opened, causing Granger to almost spring up from her seat, Draco had seriously considered bursting out of the room, damned the consequences.
‘Good evening, sir.’ Granger’s voice drew him back to reality. He also stood up to greet the Headmaster, if only for the sake of keeping proper etiquette rather than genuine respect.
‘Good evening, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Please forgive my lateness. The preparation for our task tonight took more time than I expected,’ said Dumbledore, seating himself behind his desk. ‘Sit down,’ he added.
‘About yesterday,’ said Granger as soon as she was seated, ‘I'm so sorry, sir. I promise we won't let it happen again.’ The word ‘we’ was uttered with a surreptitious glance at Draco, as though he would hex her for including him in the promise. He probably would have deliberated the idea had Dumbledore not been present, but given the situation, Draco chose instead to remain silent.
‘I cannot say that I am not disappointed by your performance thus far as Head Boy and Head Girl,’ responded Dumbledore with a stern expression. ‘Tonight, however, I asked you here not so much for punishment as for a favour. The detention is merely an alibi. In fact, there are very few that I can trust with what I will ask of you today.’
If Draco had happened to have a drink to his mouth, he swore that he would have spurted it out spectacularly. When someone said to the person who had spent almost an entire year plotting his demise and had nearly succeeded that he trusted him, either the man was insane or he was lying. With Dumbledore, Draco highly suspected there was a little bit of both, though he did his best to keep his face impassive. One emotional outburst was more than he’d ever wanted to share with the Headmaster, or with anyone for that matter. Especially not with Granger. Fuck, if it hadn’t been for Granger and her self-righteous I-can-do-everything-all-by-myself attitude, Draco wouldn’t have been forced to sit here, waiting to see what sort of calamity was about to befall him.
Draco tried his best to suppress the scowl that was threatening to mar his features when Granger nearly jumped up with excitement at Dumbledore’s next words, ‘Tonight, you will both accompany me in my search for one of the Horcruxes.’
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