Chapter Text
The naked truth is in disguise
Your secret complication
Hermione shuffles through the hallway, heading to the Great Hall on dragging feet.
The castle is empty and quiet- all students asleep at such a late hour. The torches are dim and shadows bounce around her in the flickering light. Besides a few wandering ghosts, Hermione is alone. It’s calm, peaceful, and well needed time to herself.
Tonight is just like many others since she’s been back at Hogwarts for her 8th year. Tossing and turning on her canopy bed, surrounded by the soft sounds of her sleeping roommates, wishing sleep would take her. She had dragged herself from bed, studied for a while in the Gryffindor common room, and then her feet carried her in search of hot tea.
She pushes open the doors to the Great Hall and then stops in her tracks.
The Hall is empty, other than two people- a ghost and Draco Malfoy.
He looks up when the door softly clicks shut behind her. His face is sallow, his silver eyes sunken into his sharp features. His white blonde hair is limp and dull.
He looks almost as ghastly as the ghost watching over him.
Her skin crawls and a cold sweat breaks over her body. Her hand finds her wand in seconds and his eyes track the movement. She clenches the wood in her palm tightly, her hand trembling. He stares at her wand for a moment before dragging his haunted eyes back up to her face.
Panic grips her chest. She gasps a ragged breath and turns tail and runs.
Her feet carry her quickly back to her dorms, back to her bed. She collapses onto it and fights back the panic attack that is threatening to overtake her.
Draco Malfoy is in the castle.
Did he just arrive? He hasn’t been in any classes or seen in the hallways- this is the first time she’s laid eyes on him since seeing him in the papers. His trial was quick and hush-hush. The only information the public had been given was his sentencing- 5 years house arrest, a monitored wand, and limited guests.
Seeing him in the Great Hall, a couple months into the term, makes no sense.
She dwells on this for several days and nights, her eyes searching for him in the hallways. She doesn’t see him, or hear anyone whisper his name.
She considers asking McGonagall about him- if anyone would know why he is here, it would be her. But the fact that she hasn’t seen him since is making her question her sanity. She needs to be sure she didn’t just imagine him- sitting there looking like a lost, malnourished puppy.
That thought carries her back to the Great Hall- again at an ungodly late night hour. She stares at the doors to the Hall, taking deep, calming breaths. She gently pushes open the doors and steps inside.
Malfoy is there, again. Sitting alone at one of the tables- a steaming cup of tea in front of him and Professor Flitwick standing watch at the other end of the Hall.
He meets her eye again, his gaze still hollow and face gaunt. Alarm bells ring in her head, goose flesh erupting on her arms. She inhales a deep breath, closes her eyes while she holds it, and exhales all her anxieties.
He’s just a man.
When she opens her eyes and steps forward, walking with as much courage and strength as she can, he quirks an eyebrow at her. She stands across the table from him, her hands clenching and unclenching. Professor Flitwick clears his throat before she can sit down on the bench.
“Miss Granger,” he starts, eyeing her warily. “Mr. Malfoy is on strict house arrest. Only certain preapproved guests may engage with him.”
“House arrest?” She starts, frowning at the Professor. “He’s not in his house. He’s already breaking the rules.”
“The Wizengamot has allowed him to consider Hogwarts as his house while he completes his education, but he must not be allowed to come into contact with the other students.”
Ah, so that explains why she has not seen him.
“It’s the middle of the night and you’re keeping watch. I just came here for tea.”
He stares at her and she stares back, hands trembling. She tucks them behind her back while the Professor mulls this over.
“And you have to sit with him to have tea?”
“I don’t have to, but I would like to. It would be quite odd to sit alone in this vast Hall when there’s another person up this late at night.”
Her eyes dart towards Malfoy. He’s staring up at her, watching her intently. He’s barely breathing- sitting unnaturally still in his seat, like a living statue. The steam from his tea that he’s leaning over wafts in her direction. It smells delicious.
“Malfoy, if you try anything-“
“I’m well aware, Professor. I’m okay for Granger to sit if you’ll allow it.”
She looks back at the Professor, and he acquiesces with a nod and a frown. She finally sits down across from Malfoy.
“What kind of tea are you drinking?” She asks him hesitantly, the spicy smell making her mouth water. “It smells delicious.”
“It’s a chai blend I had delivered from the manor,” he says slowly, his unblinking silver eyes still watching her intently. “Would you like a cup?”
“Please, if that’s alright.”
A mug pops into existence in front of her, deliciously warm and spicy. She inhales the steam and hums.
Hermione shuts her eyes and sips at her tea, the warm blend and zing of spices dancing over her tongue. She holds the steaming cup in her cold hands and when she opens her eyes, he’s still staring at her.
His silver gaze flicks over her face, cataloguing what she knows he sees- a thin young woman with unkempt hair and deep shadows beneath her eyes. The once warm tan of her skin now pale in comparison. Oddly enough, looking at Malfoy in the same way, she finds herself to be in similar company.
Now that she’s certain he’s real and confirmed him to be staying here, she’s unsure what to do with this information. As the silence grows between them, she thinks it may have actually been less awkward to sit at her own table, alone. Her questions have been answered, mostly, and he is still her enemy.
“Good?” He drawls and her attention snaps back to him. He looks down at the mug in her hands and back up at her.
“Very,” she answers quietly. “This came from the manor, you said?”
He nods slowly, licking his lips. He still hasn’t touched his own mug of tea, his hands tucked beneath the table.
“It’s a special blend procured in India. Mother’s favorite- made just for her.”
She raises a brow at him.
“And you’re sharing it with me?”
He says nothing, just stares at her with unblinking eyes. A chill crawls down her spine the longer he stares at her and she sets down her half empty mug. The urge to run kicks in, her mind sending warning signals to her limbs.
She stands suddenly, clenching and unclenching her hands. Malfoy’s expression doesn’t change; he watches her fight her body without a single shred of emotion.
“Thank you for the tea,” she blurts, stepping over the bench and making for the doors.
She runs from the Great Hall for the second time that week, feeling his eyes burning into her back as she goes.
Her mind won’t stop turning him over, analyzing the situation of “Malfoy is in the Castle” until she’s dizzy. The more time and distance she places between them, the more questions she has.
She makes for the Great Hall again, at her usual hour. This time she’s not surprised to see Malfoy there- another steaming cup of tea in front of him. His eyes are closed this time, and he’s leaning over the cup and letting the steam waft over his face.
She approaches him, eyeing the sleeping ghost nearby. She assumes the ghost is supposed to be Malfoy’s guard. He snores quietly and doesn’t wake up with her presence. She sits down across from Malfoy and sets her hands on the table, lacing her fingers together.
Malfoy opens his eyes and glances up. A second mug of tea pops into existence in front of her.
“Good evening,” he drawls and she rolls her eyes at him.
“I think you and I are beyond pleasantries. Is this for me?” She asks and gestures at the second mug of tea.
He nods. She takes it between her hands again, lets the warmth flow through her fingers and hands. She takes a small sip and hums to herself, her eyes fluttering closed.
“Same blend?” She asks quietly, and she opens her eyes to find him staring openly at her again. Unblinking.
“Yes.”
“It’s very delicious. And too special to be sharing with someone you hate. I don’t understand that.”
He says nothing to that. The ghost nearby snores once, loudly, and Hermione laughs quietly.
“They’re doing an excellent job,” Malfoy sneers, glaring over at the ghost. “Very competent.”
“I’m surprised the Ministry allowed this in the first place,” she says, eying him. “What kind of strings did mummy have to pull?”
He glares at her but she finds it hard to be threatened- even as weak and thin as she is, he’s in worse condition.
“My mother is on her own house arrest and could not pull strings, even if she wanted to.”
“Then how is it that you are here? The Ministry doesn’t care about the education of a criminal.”
She doesn’t say it with anger or condescension- it’s simply the truth. He seems to take it well and nods.
“McGonagall.”
“She fought for you to come here?”
“She did. Tooth and nail.”
Hermione looks away from him, her eyes scanning the room while she thinks.
The Headmaster doesn’t pull strings lightly. The fact that she went to bat for Malfoy must mean something. Maybe she’s too soft in her old age and believes him to be capable of reformation. Or maybe she knows something Hermione doesn’t. The latter is far more likely, but the former is not impossible.
“How do you take classes if you can’t be with the other students?” She asks, still keeping her eyes away from the intensity of his. Her skin still crawls beneath his gaze.
“I keep late hours now,” he drawls. “My Professors each meet with me once per week for private lessons.”
“Lucky you- private tutoring.”
“Unlucky me,” he says and she meets his eyes, growing dark with bitterness. “It’s lonely, undignified. I have to hide away from the world, and have to take my meals alone.”
She looks down at his untouched, steaming mug of tea and takes a sip of her own. She levels him with an angry look.
“Did you think house arrest would be easy?” She sneers at him. He sits back, glaring hard at her. “You should have gotten a much worse sentence, and you know it. Take your silver linings where they come.”
“I don’t need your righteousness, Granger,” he scowls. “You have no idea the sacrifices I've had to make.”
“I don’t give a shite about your sacrifices,” she hisses and stands, knocking over her tea. It spills over the table and onto the floor. His eyes watch the wasted tea pool on the surface. “All of us have had to make sacrifices because of the war you and your ilk started. You deserve all the discomfort and loneliness you get.”
His eyes drag from the tea back up to her face, the scowl smoothing out into a blank expression.
“Of course. I deserve it.”
She sucks in a breath and frowns at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. He lowers his gaze and stares into his mug of tea, letting the steam waft over his face again. She watches him sit there for far too long, the silence in the Hall dragging between them.
She scoffs finally and storms away, leaving him there with his godsdamned tea.
The steam from her cauldron does terrible things to her hair.
Hermione shoves as much as she can into a bun at the top of her head, but a few wayward strands hang loose. They curl and frizz in the heat and moisture of her brewing potion and she scowls down at the green liquid.
She’s alone in the potions lab- her brew had required stirring every 2 hours for a total of 10 hours. She had picked a very complicated one with the hopes of scoring high, but now she’s regretting her decision.
She hears the door behind her open. She can feel someone’s eyes on her, but resolutely ignores it in favor of her work. She mutters angrily over her brew, dashing in diced bat’s wings and waiting for the color to change.
“Make sure to stir it counterclockwise now that you’ve added the wings.”
She scoffs.
“I’m well aware of how to brew this potion, Malfoy. I don’t need-“
Hermione whips around with wide eyes, her wand aloft. His eyes meet hers over the tip of her wand. He’s much closer to her than she expected him to be- moving in complete silence. He raises an eyebrow at her.
They’re alone in the potions lab- no guard had followed him in.
“What are you doing here?” She breathes, that damned chill crawling slowly down her spine.
“Brewing,” he answers simply and nods his head to another cauldron near hers.
He walks around her to make his way to it, moving past her like she doesn’t have her wand trained on him. He grips the edge of the table and leans over his cauldron, sighing heavily.
“Where’s your guard?”
“I brew almost every night. They don’t usually follow me in here- it’s normally empty at 2am.” He glances over at her, looking at her up and down. “You really shouldn’t be here. You look like shite.”
She knows she does- with her under eye bags, frizzy hair, and frail body. She still glares hard at him.
“You’re one to fucking talk.”
“I have an excuse,” he says and looks back down at his cauldron, sprinkling something into it. She can’t see what ingredients he has on the other side of the table. “Take a dreamless sleep and get some rest.”
“You know how addictive that can be. I don't need your advice.”
He shrugs at that and stirs his cauldron manually. He says nothing for so long that she lowers her wand, watching him while he brews with no effort.
She can only resist her curiosity for so long, stepping closer to him and peering over his shoulder and into the cauldron. It’s a deep red color and smells like iron and… chocolate.
“What are you brewing?”
“It’s an experiment I’ve been working on.”
“For what?”
“For myself.”
“For what?”
He sighs and glares at her again.
“None of your business.”
She rolls her eyes and walks away to tend to her own cauldron, muttering angrily to herself.
They brew side by side for a while. She glances at him from the corner of her eye from time to time. He’s deeply engrossed in his work and doesn’t seem to notice her peeking.
She notices a few things that have her mind whirling. His skin is far paler than should be natural- he was always fair, but his tone now borders on porcelain white. The jet black of his high necked jumper and trousers isn’t doing him any favors. He moves oddly too. Strange, jerking movements like he’s forcing himself to move slower than his body wants to move. Then when he’s standing still, it looks as though he stops breathing- a living statue like she had noticed in the Great Hall that second night.
She shakes her head, unsure what to do with the information she’s gathering and cataloguing in her mind.
The last stir is due at 4am, and the time moves faster than she expects.
“Would you pass me the eye of newt?” She asks.
He does so without protest or mocking, holding the bottle out to her. Their fingers brush when she takes it from him, and he’s as cold as ice.
“Malfoy,” she breathes, staring at his hand. He clenches it into a fist and tucks it into his pocket. She meets his guarded gaze. “I think you’re sick- have you seen Madame Pomfrey?”
He looks confused and then his expression flattens out. He stares at her, unblinking and laser focused, for too long.
“Don’t poke your nose where it’s not wanted.”
She stares at his back when he turns away, shutting her down.
“Malfoy, you’re ice cold. You look extremely malnourished. Your health is clearly in decline.”
“More things that I deserve. Bugger off.”
She scoffs and packs up her things, giving the cauldron one last stir with a flick of her wand before she goes. When she steps out of the potions labs, Professor Babbling is waiting outside with a book in her hand.
“Maybe you should check to see if any students are inside the lab before you allow him in unsupervised,” Hermione snaps, and Professor Babbling looks up from her book, bewildered.
Hermione storms away before she can respond, her bed and warm comforter calling for her. She’ll have the weekend to rest and recuperate from tonight, and is determined to do nothing more than rest.
“I have a concern about one of your students.”
Hermione enters Madame Pomfrey’s office on Saturday afternoon. She feels better rested than she has in a long time, though her under eye bags are still persistent and dark.
Madame Pomfrey assesses her from over the rim of her glasses.
“Which student?”
“Draco Malfoy.”
Madame Pomfrey narrows her eyes, levelling her with a sharp look.
“Mr. Malfoy’s condition is being monitored. He is not of your concern.”
“Monitored?” Hermione scoffs, crossing her arms and angrily tapping her foot against the stone floor. “He’s ice fucking cold and looks like he has no blood left in his body. Surely you can do more than ‘monitor’ him.”
Madame Pomfrey’s face drops for a moment before she scowls, shuffling some papers on her desk.
“I am well aware of what is going on with him. I appreciate your concern, but he is being handled appropriately. You are dismissed.”
Hermione mutters angrily and turns away to leave, but a heavy sigh from Madame Pomfrey makes her pause at the doorway.
“I know you tend to wander when you can’t sleep,” she starts, and Hermione gives her a confused look. “I keep track of all my students, thank you. Stay away from Mr. Malfoy.”
Hermione rolls her eyes.
“I know, Ministry orders.”
“No, Miss Granger. Stay away from him- for your own safety.”
The look Madame Pomfrey is giving her now is one of deep concern and worry. Hermione is baffled- she fought in a war, defeated wizards more powerful than Malfoy in combat. He’s a young man, and a malnourished one at that. What could she really need to worry about?
Hermione nods and leaves the office, questions on her tongue. Questions she won’t get answers to from Madame Pomfrey.
She’ll have to go straight to the source of her curiosity.
She arrives at the Great Hall before him.
It’s still late, but not quite as ungodly as her usual hour of restlessness. There were a couple of students still lingering in the Hall when she arrived, but they’ve all trailed out by now and left her alone. No doubt to find the secret party she knows the Hufflepuffs are throwing tonight.
She slowly eats her roast, leaning over the rich dinner and inhaling the delicious scent. It’s been hard for her to eat full meals- her stomach and body too used to living on the run and off of rations. The adjustment has been long and arduous, but her strength has slowly returned. She looks forward to the day when she can finish a meal and not feel overstuffed and nauseous.
A few minutes after midnight, the door to the Hall creaks open. The Gray Lady peeks her head inside and frowns at Hermione.
“Ma’am, it’s far too late for you to be here. Please return to your dorms.”
Hermione barely spares the ghost a glance, taking another bite of roast and carrots. She chews slowly and swallows before answering.
“I have permission from Headmaster McGonagall to be out as late as I want, and I’m hungry.”
The ghost frowns at her.
“Are you Hermione Granger?”
“I am.”
The ghost looks back at something behind her before sighing heavily. She opens the door fully and floats inside. Malfoy trails behind her, his hands in his pockets and eyes locked on Hermione.
“Sit at that table,” the ghost commands, pointing at the Slytherin table. Malfoy ignores her and heads straight for Hermione.
The ghost blusters angrily when Malfoy sits down across from her.
“Mr. Malfoy, you are in direct disobeyment of Ministry orders-“
“Tell that to Professor Flitwick, and Professor Babbling, and The Bloody Baron, and Nick. They have all allowed me contact with Hermione. No sense in stopping now.”
“Regardless of what they have allowed on their watches, you are on house arrest and cannot-“
Malfoy turns and looks at The Gray Lady. Hermione watches her face twist in confusion then flatten into a blank, faraway expression.
“I will sit with Hermione,” he says slowly and clearly.
“Yes,” the ghost responds, floating past them over to the platform where the Professors and Headmaster usually sit. “You will sit with Hermione.”
A chill breaks over her body, her eyes following the ghost. When she looks back at Malfoy, he’s watching her- his silver eyes half lidded and more alive than she’s seen them since his return.
“Did you just imperio her?” Hermione whispers, dropping her fork into the bowl of roast.
“No,” he murmurs. Two mugs of tea appear in front of him, and he pushes one towards Hermione. “Would you like some tea?”
“What did you do to her?” She asks quietly, fear curling in her throat and grabbing on like a vice.
She doesn’t touch the tea.
“I made a suggestion.”
Hermione glances back over at the ghost, who is floating aimlessly back and forth on the platform. Her eyes are clouded and distant. Hermione drops her hands in her lap and leans back before meeting his eye again.
“That doesn’t look like a suggestion.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll clear in a few minutes. I’m not strong enough to hold on for longer than that.”
“Malfoy-“
“Granger. I need your help.”
He looks sincere and desperate- his gaze piercing through her.
“With what?” She breathes.
“My condition.”
“Madame Pomfrey is managing your condition,” she says with a frown. He quirks an eyebrow at her. “I lodged a formal concern, and that was her response.”
“A bleeding heart for all creatures, evil or not.”
“What do you need, Malfoy?”
His lips part, his tongue running over the edge of his teeth.
“I need help with my potion.”
“You’re a better brewer than I am.”
“By a small margin. Two heads are better than one, and you are the biggest brain available in this school. It’s dumb luck that you stumbled upon me before I had to find a way to get in contact with you.”
His eyes drop to her untouched mug. He reaches out and
pushes it further towards her. Her hand reaches for her wand beneath the table- slowly, casually- and she grips it tightly in her white knuckled fist.
“You should drink your tea.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to touch anything you give me after casting an unknown spell on your guard.”
“I haven’t done anything to the tea.”
“Then why are you so eager to have me drink it?”
“It’s a blend with special properties. I told you it was made special for my mother.”
“So?”
“So drink it. Someone should enjoy it and gain strength from it.”
“Then drink it yourself,” she growls at him, glaring hard and shutting down the alarms sounding off in her head.
“I can’t,” he growls back, his own glare fierce and sharp. “I need your help first.”
“With a potion of your own design? How am I supposed to help you with that?”
He glares at her and doesn’t answer.
“What is it for?”
“It’s… it’s a blood potion,” he grinds out, his eyes flickering towards the ghost. “Can we talk about this when we meet in the potions lab? My hold on her is waning.”
“A blood potion?”
His jaw clicks and the anger is seeping off of him in waves. His eyes flicker back and forth between her and the ghost. His voice cracks when he speaks.
“For the cravings.”
Her body jolts in shock, the blood draining from her face. Ice cold dread freezes her in her seat. All the puzzle pieces click into place in her head, and she has her horrific answer.
“What?” She breathes.
“Granger-“
She shoots up from her seat, scrambling backwards away from him. She stumbles over the bench she was sitting on, the wood scraping over the stone floor. She holds her wand aloft, trained at his eyes. He sits impossibly still, lips parted, waiting for her move.
“What the fuck?” She breathes again. “And McGonagall let you into the castle? With children?”
“Granger, if you would let me explain-“
“You’re a fucking vampire,” she snarls, walking backwards towards the doors.
He gets up from his seat and she casts a stinging hex at him. He dodges her spell in a blink, moving too quickly for her to see, and he slowly walks towards her. The damned ghost still floats aimlessly and helplessly across the room.
He lifts his hands up, palms facing out, and when he speaks his voice is desperate- pleading.
“Please let me explain-“
“Fuck you.”
She darts away.
She won’t be fast enough to escape him- even in whatever weakened state he seems to be in, vampires are much faster than humans. She still has her magic, and she casts hexes behind her while he follows.
She shouts, hoping a patrolling prefect or professor is nearby to hear her. In the blink of an eye, her back is pressed against his solid form, his ice cold hand wrapped around her face, covering her mouth. His other arm wraps around her torso like a vice.
“Shut up,” he hisses, dragging her into an alcove.
She claws at his hand but it’s impossible to move- frozen on her face like a piece of marble. She kicks out behind her, her wand hand casting every wordless spell she can think of into the alcove. She hears voices rounding the corner and the shrill voice of The Gray Lady wailing above them all.
“I don’t know what happened- one moment I was telling him to sit by himself, and the next-“
“I don’t have much time,” he whispers into her ear, his breath ghosting across her cheek. It smells like iron and chocolate. “I can explain everything if you’ll meet with me and hear me out. I don’t want to be this monster. I need your help to beat this.”
He releases her and she screams at the top of her lungs. He moves as far away from her as he can in the alcove and raises his hands in surrender. Several professors and Headmaster McGonagall are on them in seconds.
The only words spoken are the spells that the faculty bind Malfoy in- shimmering ropes wrapping tightly around his body and heavy metal shackles snapping onto his wrists. His eyes stay trained on Hermione, boring into her- begging her wordlessly.
Hermione chokes a sob and stumbles away, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. McGonagall wraps her arms around her shoulders, shushing her.
“Right this way, Miss Granger,” she murmurs and the Headmaster guides her footsteps.
“I don’t understand,” she chokes, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I don’t understand why you would endanger us again-“
“Hush, Miss Granger. We can discuss this in my office.”
Hermione lets the Headmaster guide her, her vision swimming behind tears. When they reach her office, McGonagall gently pushes her to sit in one of the plush chairs in front of her desk. She sits beside her and takes Hermione’s hands in her own. She squeezes once.
“He doesn’t want this,” she says after Hermione’s tears dry. “He wants to live a normal life, and I want to help him achieve it.”
“And endanger every student in the process?” Hermione shouts, anger coursing through her veins now that the fear has subsided. She stands and paces angrily across the office, gripping her hair at the roots and tugging. “It doesn’t matter what he fucking wants- at some point, his baser instincts will take over. Not one student here is ready to defend themselves against a fucking vampire. They don’t even know there is one here!”
“Do you think I don’t know this,” McGonagall responds sharply, standing and crossing her arms. “He has been a vampire for almost a year now and has never drank human blood.”
That stops her in her tracks.
“That’s not possible.”
“Not normally, no. He’s been living off of the animal blood used in potions since he’s been changed.”
Hermione turns and stares at the Headmaster, her mouth agape. McGonagall sighs and approaches her desk, sitting down in her chair.
“It’s not good for him. You see how weak and malnourished he is. Vampires are not meant to live the way he is living- but he refuses to drink from a human. It’s the only reason I’ve allowed him to be here, under strict watch.”
“Do they know he’s a vampire?” Hermione asks, sitting back down in the plush chair. “They have been awfully lax about guarding him, at least where I’m concerned.”
“To be fair Miss Granger, no one can tell you no,” she says with a stern look. “And no. No one but myself and Madame Pomfrey know about his condition, and now you. The staff are guarding him on Ministry orders, and that’s all I intend for anyone to know.”
“Does the Ministry know?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I don’t think I would have been able to get him here if they knew. I also haven’t seen him in the vampire registry.”
“I still don’t understand why you would bring him here- he has a manor he can stay in. You could have tutors floo directly to him.”
“You didn’t see him there, in Azkaban,” McGonagall says, her voice dripping into a hushed whisper. She pulls off her glasses and rubs her eyes with one hand. “I don’t know how he survived it. No one there knew what he was- he wasn’t being given blood. No cell mate. When I came to find him he looked even worse than he does now.”
She pulls her hand away from her face, looking at Hermione with great sadness.
“His actions are his own, but the adults around him failed him. Now he’s forced to live this way. When I opened his cell door, he did not attack me- and trust me, he was thirsty. He just begged me not to let him waste away in his manor, alone.”
Hermione looks away from McGonagall, picking at some pilling on her flannel bottoms.
“I’m sorry he attacked you. We’ll be much more cautious with him now.”
The agony in her voice breaks a small part of Hermione’s heart.
She can’t blame the Headmaster- she knows each and every student that has walked the halls of the castle holds a place in her heart. If McGonagall thinks she has failed some of them- namely the unfortunate children drafted into the wrong side of the war- Hermione knows she would do what she could to help fix her mistake. Whether it was due to her teachings or not.
“He didn’t attack me,” Hermione admits and glances up at the Headmaster. “He asked me for help.”
McGonagall’s eyes narrow.
“With his potion?”
Hermione nods.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. As you have said, he is a vampire- and one day, he may decide he’s done with abstaining. I know the draw of power would tempt most anyone.” The Headmaster puts her glasses back on and crosses her arms on her desk. “Frankly, my dear, I think you’ve done enough. This is not your burden to bear. You should finish out your school year and find some joy in life.”
“I haven’t agreed to it.”
“Good.”
They stare at each other for a moment before the Headmaster stands, rounding her desk. Hermione silently stands and walks with the Headmaster back to the entrance to her office.
“You’ve had a long night- you should get some rest.”
Hermione exits the office- the hallway is clear now, no signs of Malfoy or the staff. She heads back to her dorm, her mind beginning to whirl.