Hagrid was beyond pleased when Harry, Ron and Hermione knocked on his front door late that afternoon. Fang the boarhound was even more delighted, his excited barks booming onto the lawn before he even caught a glimpse of them.
"Took yeh long enough!"
"Sorry, Hagrid," Ron apologized as he fended off Fang, who nearly knocked him over in a slobbery greeting. "It's been a weird couple weeks back, what with not being here last year and with the re-sorting…"
"That's no excuse though," Harry said quickly, seating himself in one of the enormous wooden chairs around the equally oversized kitchen table.
Hagrid set about making them tea in a chipped kettle and served them some of his famous rock cakes (they did not touch these, having too much experience with Hagrid's cooking). "I count meself lucky. After las' year, I didn't think we'd ever all be sittin' here again. Can' tell yeh what I thought when yeh showed up in the forest las' May, Harry…"
Hagrid was one of the few the trio felt they could share the full story of Voldemort's overthrow with. He was a great audience, shocked and impressed in all the correct places, and he made sure to keep them supplied with tea. It took almost an hour to explain everything and to answer his questions.
Once the tale-telling was over, he clapped Harry on the shoulder fondly, nearly sending him reeling from his seat, and proclaimed, "I always knew yeh'd do well. Now look at you three: saviors of the wizardin' world! Who'd have guessed, eh?"
Who, indeed? Hermione silently agreed, glancing around at the four of them. They had sat in this very same arrangement as first years, with Hagrid serving them the same sort of tea. But how many things had changed…
Remembering her promise to Padma, Hermione asked Hagrid if he would consider growing his enormous pumpkins for the Halloween dance. He readily agreed and, that accomplished, the four of them fell into the comfortable kind of conversation that can only be obtained after several years' acquaintance. Ron even seemed to forget he was supposed to be upset with Hermione and passed the milk for her tea without her having to ask, earning him a smile.
"Oh! I meant ter tell yeh. Want ter see what I've got fer Care o' Magical Creatures?"
Ron groaned and Hermione looked nervous. Harry only laughed noncommittally.
"Nothin' like that," Hagrid assured them, grinning broadly. "Nah, a bit borin' truth be told. But I reckon yeh'll like 'em."
Emboldened by the fact that Hagrid had deemed whatever it was to be 'boring', they allowed themselves to be led outside. The four of them followed the edge of the forest for a bit until they neared the Black Lake. Ron balked for a moment when Hagrid pushed into the trees, but reluctantly followed when he noticed his friends did not hesitate.
Hidden within a copse of thick trees was a large paddock dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy above. Within the pen was…
"Unicorns!" Hermione cried, delighted. She recalled studying them back in fourth year, but had not seen one since. There were two inside the pen and upon noticing they had visitors, the beautiful creatures began a cautious approach. "How did you get them?"
"Professor Babbling helped me," Hagrid answered, rummaging through the many pockets on his moleskin jacket to produce some sugar cubes. "Nice lady, Bathsheda is. Very in'erested in magical creatures. They prefer a woman's touch, see? Wanted ter show 'em to her Ancient Runes classes and I figured I'd save 'em fer the fourth years, since they're due ter study 'em this year."
"Ooh, that makes sense. Unicorns are essential in studying runic numbers," Hermione supplied, gazing keenly at the beautiful silvery creatures. She accepted the handful of sugar cubes from Hagrid. "They represent the number one."
"I think that's wha' she said," Hagrid agreed, looking thoughtful.
"How can a creature represent a number?" Ron wanted to know.
"It's because they have a singular horn," Hermione explained. "Just like how a graphorn's dual horns represent the number two, and a runespoor represents the number three because of its three heads. All numbers have a corresponding magical creature in runic scripture."
Harry and Ron remained skeptical, having never studied runes themselves. Disentangling herself from further explanations (she had learned long ago that sometimes Harry and Ron only asked for the sake of asking), Hermione was delighted when she was able to approach the unicorns, patting their noses fondly and feeding them each a few lumps of sugar.
After twenty minutes or so, Ron declared it was time to head back up to the castle, as dinner would be starting soon. The trio said their goodbyes to Hagrid, vowing to visit again soon.
That evening, Hermione could not sleep. Her roommates had stayed up late, gossiping and chattering before drifting off slowly, one by one. She tried reading, which usually worked, but found she was not attending the sentences of her text very well. Lying on her stomach with the hangings gathered around her bed for privacy, she decided to try a different strategy and cast a quick Muffliato before pulling out the Marauder's Map from her pillowcase.
Smoothing out a worn crease that seemed to have been put there some time ago, she unfolded the enormous parchment and tapped it with her wand. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
From where her wand tip rested, ink blossomed outward, curling itself into the lines and shapes that made up the anatomy of Hogwarts castle. Hermione had never had the opportunity to really observe the map before. More often than not, her exposure to it had occurred when Harry was directly in the midst of some rule-breaking, or when someone's safety was at stake.
It's ingenious magic, really, she thought, running her fingers across the aged parchment. Her eyes darted up toward Gryffindor Tower in longing, discovering that Neville and Hannah's labeled dots were practically on top of one another in the common room. It seemed likely they were engaging in some enthusiastic snogging.
Eyes flickering downward to the Hufflepuff dormitories, she discovered Ron was also in his common room, across from Seamus, perhaps tied up in a game of Exploding Snap or wizard's chess, judging from the stationary nature of their dots.
Most of the Slytherins were in bed already, Harry included, although Ginny's marker seemed to be bouncing around her dormitory with two others, and Hermione wondered if the youngest Weasley had instigated one of her legendary pillow fights. Hermione had been on the receiving end of a pillow to the face on more than one occasion.
Eyes flicking upward to Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione located her own dot right where it should be on her bed in her dormitory. Lisa, Padma, Sue and Daphne's markers were all in their beds too, just as they ought to be. Glancing over at the boys' dormitory, she took note of the three stationary dots: Blaise Zabini, Oliver Rivers, and Ernie Macmillan.
Her brow furrowed, But where is Malfoy?
Frowning, her gaze moved to examine the common room. He was not in Ravenclaw Tower, or in any of the other dormitories. It became quite the hunt, searching for him on the map, as he was vacant from the classrooms, the kitchens, the library, and all of the main corridors. It was not until Hermione had really begun combing all the tiny passages and hidden rooms that she was able to finally locate him.
He was alone… but where? It appeared to be the tunnel off one of the dungeons they patrolled together during their twice-weekly prefect duties.
What on earth is he doing down there? she wondered, her frown deepening.
It was an internal conundrum: she had resolved to follow the school rules and model the role of an exemplary prefect, as she was expected to do. However, she was also maddeningly curious what Malfoy was up to… out of bounds, after hours, and solitary.
Before she even realized she had made the decision, Hermione was pulling on her jeans and a jumper. Peeking out from the hangings of her four-poster, she was relieved to find the other girls' beds were ensconced in curtains of privacy, too.
Glancing at the map for reference, she noted that the common room was empty but for two small dots in the Stacks, apart from the main common area.
Quiet as a creeping bowtruckle, Hermione cast a disillusionment charm on herself, consulting the map often in her descent, just to be sure Malfoy would still be where the map promised he was. He had not moved, except to occasionally pace. With magic and map at her disposal, Hermione soon found herself wending her way through the dark corridors of the castle's dungeons.
She reached the narrow, wooden door of the chamber that hid the entrance to the Quidditch pitch passage. Taking care to stow the map secretly this time ("Mischief managed!"), she lifted the metal latch of the door. Hermione's gaze shifted immediately to the back of the room where she knew the cave passage was disguised. She pushed the tapestry to the side and checked that her wand was at the ready, just in case.
"Who's there?" Malfoy's voice demanded. The wafting smell of cigarettes stung her eyes.
"It's only me," she answered quietly, hoping he would not be startled into hexing her.
In the darkness, Hermione could see Draco's pale face squinting to try to make out the shape of whoever was barging in on his private repose. He was mostly outside, the looming shapes of the Quidditch stands and goalposts partially visible in the distant darkness. A moment later, she recalled her disillusionment charm and cast the counter-spell, revealing herself.
Malfoy's eyebrows raised at the sudden sight of her. They stared at one another in silence for a moment while he expelled a cloud of smoke into the air. Hermione was reminded of a dragon exhaling through its nostrils.
"What are you doing down here? You realize you're breaking curfew?"
He was mute a moment longer, preoccupied with pressing the cigarette to his lips. "I used to come here often. Tonight, I needed some peace and quiet. That, and a smoke."
"You're a prefect," she reminded him bossily. "In case you've forgotten."
"I haven't forgotten."
"Students aren't to wander the corridors at night," she maintained. "Not even prefects."
"You did, to come here," he pointed out. "How is it you found me, anyway?"
"I have my methods."
He shrugged, "I guess I don't mind that you know I come here."
"But…"
"Granger, when you get your panic attacks, what do you do?" he interrupted, surveying her with a severe gaze. "You find a way to unwind until it stops. This - me being here - is the same idea."
With a measure of reluctant disappointment that he had reverted back to her surname, Hermione eyed him critically. "Are you saying you've had a panic attack?"
"I don't get them like you do." Respiring a thick nimbus of smoke, he revealed, "I have anxiety. I come here because it soothes me."
Hermione's mouth clamped shut and she felt a breeze lift up the ends of her hair, blowing it into her face. Draco was gazing, glassy-eyed, over the darkened Quidditch pitch, almost like he had forgotten she was there.
"Do you miss it?" she asked, noting the draw of his eye.
Snapping back into the present, Draco flicked his spent cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. Hermione noticed there were two other butts there already, and decided that he had clearly been there awhile. "Are we sharing our feelings now, Granger?"
Crossing her arms over her chest, she replied, "You played for Slytherin for a few years, if my memory serves correctly. I was merely wondering if you chose this particular location with that in mind."
He shrugged.
With a sigh, she decided she would not be getting any answers from him tonight. "We should be getting back to the tower."
Seeming not to hear her, he reached for his packet of cigarettes and selected another.
She opened her mouth to protest. "Malfoy…"
"Everyone knows where my family's loyalties were during the war," he interrupted. "I didn't think Ravenclaw would want me on their team."
She frowned but did not know what to say. Judging from the irreverent whispers that followed his name whenever it was spoken by any of her classmates, she suspected that he was correct.
Malfoy did not seem to expect her to reply, however. "I don't wish for my family's stigma to be attached to me for my entire life. I know what people say about me, and they're not wrong. Occasionally, though… keeping up the mask of indifference grows tiresome."
Hermione blinked in surprise at this volunteered information. Fascinated, she pressed, "What is it you would want to be known for instead?"
He was gazing up at the sky. The stars twinkled distantly, unconcerned with the pressures of humanity. With a sigh, he admitted, "I don't know. I think that's the only reason I came back this year. It bought me some time before I had to make any decisions, and it was another school year out of my house and away from my parents."
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione hesitantly contributed, "My mother once told me that falling apart is nothing more than an opportunity to rebuild yourself the way you wish you had been all along."
"I don't want to be what I wish I had been all along," he clarified blandly, shuddering as he lit his cigarette.
"No one is defined by the worst thing they've ever done," Hermione insisted, then tentatively added, "Draco."
His name felt odd on her lips, almost taboo.
He noticed. Malfoy's head swiveled to look at his companion, his eyebrows high and the curling smoke of his cigarette obscuring some of his face. He did not comment on her use of his given name.
Feeling compelled to explain herself somewhat, Hermione expounded, "I've had panic attacks ever since the war. The first one happened a full week after Voldemort was defeated…"
Draco hissed in displeasure at the name.
Unfazed, she continued, "I had to obliviate my parents during the war to protect them. I instilled them with false identities and they moved to Australia, unaware they'd ever had a daughter. My first meltdown occurred when I thought I might not be able to restore their memories, and that if I did succeed, they would want nothing more to do with me. I overpowered them, and in such a backhanded manner.
"I was able to give them their memories back, but they were upset with me. It was the first time I've ever seen my father cry." She swallowed heavily but choked on smoke. She waved some of the foul nebula he was creating away from her face. "I had panic attacks almost every night after that while I was living at home. They… helped my parents to understand why I had done what I did, what I'd been up against. But even after I'd won back their trust in me, the attacks continued."
"It must be difficult to have a power over your parents they can never hope to wield," Draco conceded, leaning against the side of the wall and watching her intently.
"I'm not sure why I'm telling you this," she breathed, glancing out at the dark Quidditch pitch beyond, then back at him. "It doesn't make sense. We were never friends. Far from it."
"I understand what it's like to have the war change the fundamentals of who I am. We're not alone in that respect."
Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she queried, "Why are you being so… nice?"
Draco smirked. "Because it confuses the hell out of you."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but did not reply. Somehow, his answer made sense. She would not have known what to do if he had started spouting off about rainbows and butterflies.
They remained silent for a few minutes longer. A slight breeze that kicked up from across the pitch, causing Hermione to shiver. Reaching for her wand, she conjured some of the bluebell flames she often used around Harry and Ron. They flickered softly in the semi-darkness and transformed the gray cloud of smoke Draco was making into a blue haze.
Again he asked, "What are you doing here, Hermione?"
A shiver ran up her spine that had nothing to do with the chill.
"I wanted to know why you were out of bed at this hour," she replied truthfully, pulling her jumper around her tighter. "It seemed suspicious."
"You still haven't answered how you knew I'd be here in the first place," he reminded her, finishing his cigarette again and stomping it out.
"You already know one of my secrets. I'm not sure I trust you with a second."
"Alright then." Though she observed a shadow pass across his eyes, the answer seemed good enough for him. Perhaps it was the Slytherin in him that understood her logic, or perhaps he was beyond caring. He vanished the cigarette butts on the ground with a wave of his wand and jerked his head in the direction of the passage that led back into the dungeon. "Ready to head back up to the tower?"
They climbed the staircases in silence. With the help of disillusionment charms, they only had to hide once on their trek back up to the common room. It was a close thing, but they concealed themselves behind a tapestry just in time for Peeves to bounce by unaware, chortling to himself over some practical joke he seemed to have executed upon an unsuspecting Filch.
It was stiflingly warm being pressed up against Draco for several minutes. Hermione decided this justified the redness that had crept up her neck and cheeks at his close proximity. There was no airflow whatsoever behind that tapestry… especially unfortunate, considering the cloying smell of cigarettes that clung to his clothing. Once Peeves had moved away, they disentangled themselves and continued upstairs in embarrassed silence.
The eagle-head doorknocker met them at the entrance to the common room, as always. "I never was, am always to be… no one ever saw me, nor ever will… and yet I am the confidence of all…"
"Erm," Hermione murmured, for once at a loss.
Malfoy looked stumped as well. "Can you repeat that?"
The doorknocker did, but they both remained clueless. For several minutes, the two of them shot answers back at the guardian, but were continually unsuccessful.
Nervously twisting a curl around her finger, Hermione fretted, "At this rate, we'll still be out here tomorrow morning…"
The door swung inward.
She blinked in surprise, while Draco chuckled softly. "Tomorrow. Of course. Never was, am always to be… none ever saw me, or ever will… but acts as confidence to all that they will continue to live and breathe."
It seemed so obvious now that he said it. Hermione shuffled her feet. Neither of them moved.
"After you," he drawled, lazily gesturing toward the open entrance.
She offered him an ironic half-smile. "Until tomorrow."
Really, she thought as she separated off from him to retreat back to her bed, other than the cigarette habit, he isn't so bad when he's not being an unmitigated arse…