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Here lies our Dramione fanfiction.

Summary

Teachers at Hogwarts (7 years after the war)

In Hermione Granger's third year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy enters his first year teaching Potions. They squabble and can't get along, alerting the attention of Minerva McGonagall. To help restore peace and order in the castle, she insists they work together and get to know each other. As a play to improve his reputation and assure wary students, Malfoy is enlisted to co-sponsor Hermione’s Muggle Studies club.

Chapter Four: Bloody Boggart

Hermione had just wrapped up her lecture on werewolves to the sixth year Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students. She dismissed the class, reminding them of their exam the following day. As she packed her quill into her black, structured leather tote purse, which, stuffed full of her various texts and parchments, was starting to resemble a briefcase more than a handbag. 

She was not expecting it when a Gryffindor, apparently who was feeling rather brave today, piped up from the middle of the room where she still sat at her desk. 

“Professor Granger, why do you think Draco Malfoy is a professor at Hogwarts instead of in a cell in Azkaban?” 

The rest of the class was making haste out the door to get to their afternoon classes, but as the question crossed the room they stopped abruptly and turned their eyes to Hermione, eager to hear her response. Hermione stood straighter and breathed in a harsh breath of surprise. She had obviously heard the gossip following Malfoy’s name in the halls, the hushed whispers of fear, of bitterness. She was well aware most of the students who knew of Malfoy’s part in the war vehemently wished for him to rot in Azkaban for his crimes. Occasionally though, she observed the looks of awe that lingered on him when he passed a group of young slytherin purebloods. Still a Malfoy, she supposed. Igniting both fear and reverence, wherever he went. 

The question caught her by surprise, and she had yet to come to any answer to it herself, no matter how many circles she had thought her way around, before ultimately deciding that if she didn’t stop thinking about it entirely it would drive her insane. It was this mindset that somehow inhibited her brain from filtering her words, or her stunned huff of laughter that seemed to surprise her suspended audience. 

“I–Draco Malfoy?” Hermione stammered. “Maybe his father bought his way in again.” She regretted the words as soon as she registered she said them. 

Apparently satisfied with her response, her students resumed filing out the door, leaning in close groups to whisper to one another as they left. 

This is bad. Hermione thought to herself in a repeated mantra. She was all too aware of how the rumor mill at Hogwarts worked, watching Harry become victim to it, and it being no stranger to her as well. Everyone will hear about her out of line response about a fellow professor so quickly, she might as well have been quoted saying it in the Daily Prophet. 

This almost directly goes against Minerva’s request to be civil towards him, Hermione reminded herself. 

She tried to pull herself together and clear her mind as she stalked out the room, though she couldn’t shake the anxiety completely away. 

Draco had grown used to the lingering looks he received as he floated down the hallway, yet today’s whispers seemed to be backed by more fuel. Choosing to block it out of the forefront of his mind, he continued down the castle’s halls with a sneer firmly in place. 

As he was rounding into the next corridor, he heard a muffled laugh make its way through the closed door to his left. The maniacal edge to the unhinged cackle made his entire body violently tense and his joints ache. The scream of terror he heard next transported him to a scene in time he had spent years trying to forget, the familiar mix of sounds slamming past the layers of walls and padlocks he had locking the memory away deep in his mind. 

In a blind panic, he shoved the door open with shaking hands, not yet able to wrap his head around what he was going to face or what he was going to do when he did. 

His eyes immediately landed on the person he knew he would see, the source of the crazed laughter that often echoed in his nightmares. 

Bellatrix Lestrange floated over Hermione Granger, who sat leaned back on the floor like she had just stumbled down into the position. The almost mirror image of the scene that took place on his drawing room floor flashed in his mind briefly before he shoved the memory behind a freshly enforced wall. After a dumbstruck moment of shock and delirium, his eyes quickly scanned the scene of the room, landing on the tall, ornate wardrobe open behind the floating figure of Bellatrix. He quickly crossed the room to step directly in front of Hermione, capturing the boggart’s attention. The shapeshifting nonbeing wavered for a moment, assessing Draco’s biggest fear, then quickly stabilized right back into the image of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

His heartbeat rapidly spiked as he stared into his late Aunt Bella’s face, gripping his wand tighter as her bloodshot eyes bore into him for the first time in years. 

He willed his voice to come out evenly and raised his wand steadily towards his materialized fear. “Riddikulus!” Draco shouted. The crazed grin of Bellatrix suddenly morphed into one made of stitched string, her vicious eyes suddenly becoming buttons. In a flash, the Bellatrix Draco grew up with shrunk dramatically down, becoming fabric and taking the final shape of a raggedy anne doll, bright red yarn hair being substituted with her black curls. Draco swiftly kicked the doll with as much force as he could, sending it flying across the rooom and back into the cabinet. 

His lungs burned from the breath he did not realize he was holding. He eased the grip he had on his wand, fingers cramping around the wood. A throat clearing behind him reminded him of who he jumped in front of. He slowly and reluctantly turned around to face Hermione Granger, who stood tall with false bravado puffing out her chest, despite her flushed face giving away her concealed embarrassment. 

“Thank you, Malfoy. I suppose I was not in a proper state of mind to test the boggart for class today, and as you so unfortunately saw, it caused me to allow my fear to get the best of me. Please spare me your snide remarks about my failure at a performing third year spell, as I am sincerely not in the mood today,” she rushed out in a defensive, clipped tone. She marked her words by abruptly turning around and marching to her desk at the front of the room, signaling the end of the conversation and his exit. He ignored the cue and followed her to her desk, trailing lazily a few paces behind. 

“Brightest witch of our age cannot cast a Riddikulus Charm? And it is my qualifications that are called into question,” he drawled, voice dripping in irony. “Funny coincidence, though? Having the same worst fear. Shared trauma does make a bond grow stronger, right?” 

“Malfoy, if you are just going to make fun of me for my fears, then I ask you again to leave,” Hermione grit out of her clenched teeth. 

“Come on Granger, you do not want to talk out your feelings with me?” he prodded sarcastically. 

“Why, would I want to talk about my trauma with you, the person who stood by and watched it happen in his home? I’d like to focus on forgetting that memory, along with many others of I have of you,” she spit back. 

“We could take turns obliviating each other? If you think you can manage casting that spell,” he sneered. Hermione’s breath hitched and an expression of hurt and pain flashed on her face before she turned her back to him and shouted, ”Get Out Malfoy!” 

Touchy subject I presume, Draco thought to himself with nosy curiosity as he calmly made his way out of the DADA classroom. 

Hermione waited patiently for Malfoy’s footsteps to recede out the doorway before flicking her wand harshly towards the door, slamming it shut with nonverbal intention. As soon as she was locked away in her own privacy, her legs started to go numb and her ears started to ring. She could no longer suppress the weight of her embarrassment mixing with her fear or the shaking of her hands. 

How could I be so stupid? I’ve made nothing but careless mistakes today. I’ve let my emotions rule over my logic, I’ve let my fear cripple me, AND I became the damsel in distress for Draco Malfoy to come save?!  Hermione thought. She was feeling distinctly not like herself today. Deciding she needed to change that right away, she immediately began considering the situation in the most Hermione way there was: deductive reasoning and analyzing. Unfortunately, this direction of thought quickly led her to the underlying cause she was hoping not to acknowledge. 

Draco Malfoy had gotten into her head. 

He has no right! He doesn’t deserve a scrap of my attention, let alone enough for him to interfere with my sound reasoning! The audacity! 

While Hermione was distantly aware it wasn’t exactly sound reasoning to be blaming one’s own thoughts on anyone but themselves, well…it’s still his fault! 

Hermione quickly came to a firm conclusion that the best way to evict ferrets from one’s thoughts is to ignore them entirely. From now on, Hermione will treat this just as the years prior to a certain potions professor’s arrival. It’s not like she had any reason to be thinking of him in the first place, it’s a big castle, and their classes did not collaborate. She should have been pretending he didn’t exist this whole time, but she will certainly start now. 

Feeling much more like Hermione Granger, her hands steadied and she continued prepping for her boggarts lesson, though she decided to keep the cabinet door closed until class started, not wanting to see what’s inside ever again. Just before students would soon start strolling in, she was interrupted by a silvery blue cat jumping through the closed door and up on top of her desk. 

The voice of Minerva Mcgonagall spoke through her patronus, “Professor Granger, I request to meet with you tomorrow morning in my office, in attendance with Professor Malfoy. I will see at 9:00,” the glowing cat vanished into silvery wisps of smoke with the last of Minerva’s message. 

Shit. The ignore tactic may be harder than I thought. 

Authors' Note

Here lies our Dramione fanfiction.

Summary

Teachers at Hogwarts (7 years after the war)

In Hermione Granger's third year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy enters his first year teaching Potions. They squabble and can't get along, alerting the attention of Minerva McGonagall. To help restore peace and order in the castle, she insists they work together and get to know each other. As a play to improve his reputation and assure wary students, Malfoy is enlisted to co-sponsor Hermione’s Muggle Studies club.

Chapter Three: Proceeding Reputations

Hermione felt a buzz in her veins as she approached the front of the classroom. The drone of chitter chatter quieted down with every row of tables she passed. Turning on her heel smoothly, she stood at the chalkboard and let her eyes scan over the attentive faces in the room. All eyes were locked on her.

She took a steady breath in and allowed a small smile to break through her face, her hands smoothing down the fabric of her fitted black robes as she turned back to the board.

A thrill went up her spine as she felt the chalk between her fingers for the first time this term. She brought up her hand to write one phrase on the board in a precise script: 

“Has anyone here heard this famous quote before?” Hermione addressed the first year class. She was met with blank faces, aside from a few muggle borns with their hands in the air. 

“This is a ubiquitous phrase in the muggle world. It is usually attributed to the Spider-Man comic books, a popular series of a muggle turned superhero, who learns the importance of using his power for the good of his city,” Hermione explained.

A Slytherin spoke up from the back of the room, “What exactly does a muggle story have to do with this class?” The sharp, aristocratic tone reminded her of a certain schoolmate recently brought out of her past. 

She suppressed an eye roll, willing her voice to come out professionally. Now I get why my professors so disliked me when I spoke out of term all those years, she thought to herself with a bout of irony.

“Well, Unlike a fictional superhero, our powers are real,” she paused to look around and ensure she had each student’s attention, so her message set into everyone in the room. “Each witch and wizard has a great responsibility to use their powers for the light and to defend against the dark. I ask you to remember this responsibility as you grow your powers in this school. I would also advise you to be open to wisdom from unlikely sources, Mr. Parkinson.” 

The Slytherin blushed from the medley of giggles around him. 

When Hermione came to Hogwarts as a first year, she was shocked to learn how isolated the magical world was from the muggle world. She quickly realized talking about her favorite muggle pop-culture references was not an effective way to make friends in her new school. Unfortunately, learning how to make friends the right way did not come so quick, she remembered. 

The traditional pureblood families have always detested muggle culture and avoided it at all costs. They only saw their preconceived notion of uncivilized savagery. The levels of artistic and technological marvels were seemingly invisible to them. She made a point when she started teaching to correct this reputation. The tragedies of her youth taught her that the most crucial factor in defending against the dark arts is tolerance for everyone. 

Hermione was ecstatic when she convinced Minerva to let her start a muggle studies club at Hogwarts. She had a suspicion that Minerva had only agreed as a personal favor to her in respect of their history, and to get Hermione’s persistent pitches off her agenda. To her surprise, and Hermione’s delight, several students showed interest in joining. Some joined in the spirit of learning, others as a rebellion against their pureblood parents, and some as muggle-borns looking for a piece of home in the magical school.

As much as she loved teaching, her club was a bright spot of pride in her life. She felt like she was finally making progress in correcting a history of wrongs, and making a real impact on their future. This was the power she had dreamed of having in her bed in the Gryffindor tower, crying over Malfoy calling her a Mudblood. 

Meanwhile, it was like 1991 all over again in the dark and dingy potions classroom, with a billowing figure in flowing black robes whizzing past the first years towards the front. 

With a sharp turn, Draco Malfoy faced the pale and shaken eleven and twelve-year-olds for the first time as their professor, staring them down with an icy glare one could only learn from years of experience. Without saying a word, Draco turned his attention to the chalkboard placed at the front of the classroom, his back towards the students. 

He could not help but notice a slight spike in his heart rate and a dryness in his mouth. 

Pull yourself together Draco. I am a powerful wizard, a no-hesitation duelist, a bloody member of a group of the most lethal dark wizards. I will not be intimidated by a bunch of 12-year-old snots, he thought to himself. He almost scoffed. 

Straightening his back, pulling his chin high, and taking a deep breath, he began writing on the chalkboard. Well, he didn’t technically write on it himself, being the all-great and powerful wizard that he is. No, he chose to show off and use wandless magic to write on his chalkboard. With a swift turn and a swirl of his cape, he turned back to the class revealing a message written on the board behind him in elegant cursive: 

“...any questions?” Draco drawled out, staring blank-faced at the widening eyes of the ever more frightened first years. 

Yes, yes, fear and respect baby, he thought smugly. He stood, not a muscle in his body moving besides his eyes scanning the classroom. Not a soul dared to raise their hand. He smirked. The students almost didn't catch it at first, but that was most definitely what he was doing. Sickening. He brought his hands clasped behind his back and began to address his classroom formally for the first time.

“Since none of you have found the courage to speak up when you obviously have something to say, I suppose I will say it for you. I am Draco Malfoy, your new Potions Professor. You will address me only as Professor Malfoy. I was a student just like you, sitting in this very classroom once, with a brilliant teacher who taught me everything I needed to know and more. I hope to instill the same vigor for learning as my predecessor did.” He paused and swallowed deeply, pushing emotions back into the different cabinets of his mind. 

“With that being said, I was also a Death Eater…”, he said quickly as he brought the left sleeve of his robe up his arm; faint gasps echoed around the dungeon as the dark mark was revealed. “...with that came morals and values I am not proud to have upheld. I have done some bad things in my life. However, I have been given a second chance, and I will not allow a mark on my skin or gawking looks from twelve-year-olds deter me from finding security in my life, as I have reformed. Now, if there are no more questions or comments, please open your book to page three hundred and ninety-four.” He turned, billowing to his desk with a slight smirk. 

As Malfoy dismissed class an hour later he felt a rare glimmer of hope break into his thoughts. It took him years to land this job, but he was here now, and he was ready to dig his heels into his new life. No judgment of his history will get in his way. 

With a rejuvenated pep to his stride, he turned to exit the room. Suddenly, he was stopped right in his tracks only one step out of the door by a strong collision to his chest. Something was in his way.  

With the quick instincts that Aunt Bella trained him to have, he immediately caught his footing and turned his attention to the threat, arms darting out to catch his attacker from falling to the floor, pushing them harshly into the wall beside them. It was only after he knew he had successfully disarmed his target that he thought to look at who it was. He felt bushy hair tickling his nose and his alarm immediately shifted to anger. 

“Get your filthy hands off me, Granger,” he snarled as he flew away from her form against the wall. 

Hermione huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “As if I would ever touch you, Malfoy,” she replied, trying to reign in her shocked expression. 

“Well, you just did.” 

“Only because you can’t watch where you’re going!”

“You are the one barrelling through the halls like a troll!”

“Well, you–!” Hermione was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind them. 

Both professors whipped around to face Minerva standing at the end of the corridor, arms crossed over her maroon robes. She stared at the two of them like a disappointed mother. They stared back at her like guilty statues, afraid that one move out of line would get them in more trouble. 

“Having a nice first day of class, are we professors?” she asked calmly. 

“Yes, Headmistress,” they replied in unison. This harmony caused an annoyed twitch in Draco’s eye. 

“Excellent. I trust you will make haste to your next classes,” Minerva told them sternly, keeping a lingering eye on them as she turned to leave. 

Draco stalked off without another glance in Hermione’s direction. 

Hermione scanned the floor for her book, so graciously thrown to the side by Malfoy’s unnecessary attack. She found it just past the door frame of his classroom. As she bent to pick it up, already mentally cursing him for a scuff on the cover, she peeked into the room she had not seen since being Snape’s tortured student. 

She felt a similar shock to the one she felt upon impact with Malfoy moments ago when she saw what was written across the chalkboard. 

Seriously? This is what he chooses to do with his second chance at being a respected member of society? Boasting and bragging about his evil past? I thought Minerva said he was going to improve his reputation, not further drive it into the ground. It’s almost like he wants to be chased out of the school with pitchforks. I’ll have to remember where I put mine, Hermione stews to herself as she snatches her book off the floor and heads to her next class. 

Authors Note

Here lies our Dramione fanfiction.

Summary

Teachers at Hogwarts (7 years after the war)

In Hermione Granger's third year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy enters his first year teaching Potions. They squabble and can't get along, alerting the attention of Minerva McGonagall. To help restore peace and order in the castle, she insists they work together and get to know each other. As a play to improve his reputation and assure wary students, Malfoy is enlisted to co-sponsor Hermione’s Muggle Studies club.

Chapter Two: Intruder in the Great Hall

Draco sat at the professor’s table in the Great Hall with a strained set in his shoulders. He has been tense since yesterday. He could not shake the feeling of unease that settled into his skin like cold air when he had entered the Headmistress’s Office. He had his steely confidence intact as he approached the office, up until he heard that voice that made him suddenly sick, though he could not place why. 

He had known Granger became a professor a couple years back. I mean, how could he not. Her face has been plastered on every bloody Daily Prophet since she was eighteen. Despite knowing he would have to face her at some point, he had not expected her to be a part of the sodding welcome committee. 

He took a moment outside the door of the office to bolster himself. He’d be damned if he let Granger see anything other than the cool confidence he spent years perfecting. 

All for the witch to not even spare him a glance when he opened the door. Her loss.

As he had entered the office, he felt an all too familiar set of eyes meet his presence, almost glaring down at him from his spot on the wall. Snape’s portrait was held proudly in an ornate golden frame, littered with green detailing. The professor sat proud and distinguished, as usual, the same scowl worn on his face like it was a permanent fixture. All too suddenly Draco’s memories of Snape had flooded through his brain, his walls fell. 

Realizing the direness of the situation, the situation being an expectant McGonagall and Granger sitting a mere few feet away, he quickly pushed his memories back in place, behind their respective walls. In a bout of irony Draco whipped his hands to his sides, and with a quick turn was bellowing towards the desk.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the chill of eyes settling on him. 

He noticed every clandestine glance the students subtly sent his way. Their gaze scurried warily past his shoulder and over to McGonagall, as if checking to see that she was aware of the threat in the room. He put on his best sneer and made pointed eye contact back, their gazes turning panicked as they realized they were caught in the act. 

He turned his focus to McGonagall, finding the decrepit witch’s stare already upon him. She may have given him the job, but he can see the suspicion still clinging to her stare. 

The Great Hall glowed warmly with the flickering light of the fleet of candles floating below the cloudy night sky. A chorus of voices surrounded him. Students animatedly recounting their summers to their housemates. Ghosts flying through windows and popping through tables, excited to have students back in the castle to scare. The professors were talking all around him, rehashing years old debates, comparing lesson plans, guessing the houses of first years. He looked around and found himself to be the only person not wrapped into jovial conversation, as well as the only one with an empty chair beside him. 

I have nothing to prove to these people, he reminds himself with a scoff, turning his attention back to his pumpkin juice. Still. You would think someone so desperate to hire a talented candidate would hide their reluctance to have him in the castle a little better. 

And people think I am the rude one? 

His eyes caught on the empty chair. He did not need to look up to know who was missing from the room.

Surely the Golden Girl would have been here by now, droning on about elf rights to her awestruck colleagues. As if Granger would ever be behind her schedule, he thought to himself incredibly. He’s seen her seemingly be in two places at once just to pile more classes on her back, but she is not able to make it to dinner on time? 

As if right on cue, Hermione Granger busted through the arched oak doors, her cloaks a deep, gryffindor red with rich gold detailing in all the right places, flowing elegantly behind her, almost like she put a spell on them. All eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. 

She was accompanied by a trail of twelve year olds following behind her like ducklings. Ah. The Golden Goose, thought Draco, smirking behind his cup. She led the first years up to the front of the hall before the professor’s table, where an old dusty hat sat on a stool. 

There were whispers echoing throughout The Great Hall as the Witch came to a graceful stop alongside Minerva and the Sorting Hat. Malfoy’s eyes darted rapidly between each of the house tables, expecting to see sneers, and looks of disgust for such a young Witch in a high position of power. 

His eyes, however, deceived him. He saw hushed glances and giggles, excited pats on shoulders of excitement, he even saw one student waving to her as she passed. What an abomination, her prancing around here like a celebrity, he thought. It’s almost like she wants to be their friend.

“Everyone, may I please have your attention…” Minerva started, delivering a practiced welcome speech to begin the sorting hat ceremony. 

Her speech was different from the ones he remembered Dumbledore giving during his school days. Her’s was honest. She did not shy away from the castle’s gritty past. She warned everyone of the dangers within. She had definitive wisdom on how to combat darkness. She inspired them to live in the light. 

It almost made him envy the Hogwarts they have now. The students now won’t have to be afraid. They won’t have to almost bleed out onto the bathroom tiles from another student’s curse. They won’t have to map out all the castle’s entrance and exit points. They won’t have to prepare to die at the end of term. No dementors lingering above, no DADA professors torturing them, no ancient beasts waiting to strike in the hallway. None of the pain he had to endure. Well, it just is not fair, is it? Draco thought. 

He allowed himself to feel the bitterness of the Hogwarts he had.  His Hogwarts was a battleground. Theirs is a school. 

Granger came to her seat at the table, unfortunately placed at Draco’s right. She gave warm smiles to each of her colleagues as she passed. Her expression dropped into a glare at the end of the line where Draco sat. Her eyes only landed on him for a brief moment before averting, nose up in the air with a lofty turn of her head. She elegantly took her seat, not-so-subtly angling it away from his direction. 

Authors Note

Here lies our Dramione fanfiction.

Summary

Teachers at Hogwarts (7 years after the war)

In Hermione Granger's third year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy enters his first year teaching Potions. They squabble and can't get along, alerting the attention of Minerva McGonagall. To help restore peace and order in the castle, she insists they work together and get to know each other. As a play to improve his reputation and assure wary students, Malfoy is enlisted to co-sponsor Hermione’s Muggle Studies club.

Chapter One: A Wary Welcome

“How can I be sure I am making the correct decision, Albus?”, Minerva fluidly paces in front of the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

“Well, you cannot be. Decisions are about trust and vulnerability. That is why they are the hardest thing to make. The question is now, do you trust yourself enough?”, the portrait replied, his voice wispy with decades of wisdom.  

“I trusted myself when I made this very decision two years ago. And the year following. This time I am trusting him. And, I am trusting Horace”. 

Minerva McGonagall stood in the headmistress’ office. The portrait of her late colleague hung proudly on the wall, the glimmering gold frame often catching her eye from her desk. Oftentimes she found herself wandering towards this corner of her office, seeking solace from her past friend. It sometimes seemed like the gold shone brighter than the frames surrounding him, drawing her attention in grief. 

Is she betraying him now, inviting the person who compromised Hogwarts security, and illustrated the demise of one of the most powerful wizards of all time, back into the wards of this ancient school, still freshly refurbished from the damage of the battle. The attack that was only possible due to this very person. 

She thinks back to her conversation with Horace just weeks ago. 

She could not say she was surprised when two years ago Horace Slughorn sat her down to discuss his second retirement plans. She knew he only came back to the potions position at the strong request of Dumbledore. After 11 years of his second run in the classroom, and having the threat of Voldemort’s eyes removed, he was ready to leave the castle again. 

Minerva felt the weight of choosing a new professor on her shoulders, feeding her determination to fill the position with a thoroughly qualified witch or wizard. Hogwarts has been a great school for centuries. Her position as headmistress required her to be cautious with her decisions, so that everything she did ensured the success of the school. Her students deserved to be taught by the best minds of their time, masters of their subjects. 

Disappointingly, her expectations seemed to be a great feat for the pool of candidates. Both potions professors in the two years following Horace’s leave proved to be wrong fits. Frustrated in her third attempt, she requested a meeting with Horace to seek new contenders.

She sat a cup of tea down in front of the balding man she’d spent so many years with, the buttons on his waist coast straining towards the wood of the table. 

“As you know, I have had quite the trouble trying to replace your seat in the castle. I imagine since you were the best fit for the job, you may have some insight on who else may live up to the challenge,” Minerva enthused as she took a sip from her own cup. She was well aware of what flattery could do for her old colleague, always looking to satiate his vanity. “I remember your attention for the gifted. Do you recall any students who have graduated in recent years with exempleramy marks, for whom you would see a good fit? Besides our own Hermione Granger of course,” She questions, sneaking in a prideful gleam in the end.

“Well, wherever Hermione Granger stood in marks and exemplary, you always only had to look a couple steps behind to find Draco Malfoy. I’d say one of the most talented students in potions I’ve taught. Had a knack for it, a natural talent, it seemed. Although he also had a natural talent for disrupting my classroom. Always fighting for attention and picking on Miss Granger and her friends,” Slughorn returned with a chuckle. 

The teacup paused briefly on the way to her lips at the surprise of hearing that name. “Mr. Malfoy? I remember his academic prowess, but I do not recall him being a part of your club. If he was so exemplary, why would he not have received an invitation?” Minerva eyed suspiciously over the rim of her cup.

Slughorn’s jovial demeanor faltered briefly with nerves. “Well, you know, when his father was a student he had much of the same talent for potions, naturally I invited him to the SlugClub. But, seeing what he grew up to be, and what he went on to do…”, his voice trailed off distractedly. “I saw so much of his father in him, like a perfect duplicate. I was afraid to get caught up in the wrong people again, you understand.” 

Minerva regarded his explanation warily. She had seen what Horace was referring to in Mr. Malfoy through the years. She had never expected Draco to follow in his father’s footsteps so closely, and so quickly. Learning he took the dark mark at just 16 years old had filled her with something akin to pity. To know he cemented his place in a world he had yet to explore.

Minerva had not been keen to bring Draco Malfoy back into the place he had put in so much danger just seven years ago. But she was not ignorant to the change people can be capable of. She had seen many wizards experience a change of heart. Some to the light, others to the dark. 

She accepted the application when it came through Owl, for the third year in a row, placing it with the others on her desk, the silver M shining on the top of the pile.

After countless interviews, candidates were slowly dwindling out of the running, or being cut entirely. The envelope with the silver wax seal stared at her from its place on the desk, now the last remaining of its stack. 

Every question she asked was met with an easy reply, like the answer had been obvious. His confidence flowed in a steady stream, regardless of the complexity of the potion he brewed. She watched in scrutiny as he perfected each test potion, every stir he made in the cauldron exact to the turns, every ingredient precisely measured. 

“Well, I certainly have not seen anyone more talented and suitable for the position.” Minerva said shortly. 

“I will see you at the beginning of the school term then,” Draco sniffed before walking out of the Headmistresses office.

Minerva was brought back to the present as her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. 

Hermione Granger is greeted by Minvera at the door with a familiar smile. 

On her way to the desk her eyes scan the portraits lining the walls of former Headmasters. Her steps falter slightly when her eyes make connection with Dumbledore’s. She brushes off the intrusive edge of contempt and makes her way quickly to the seat across the desk.

It was not uncommon for the two witches to be sitting across from each other. She often sought out Minerva when she needed reassurance, or wisdom. In times like these, the comfort of her voice echoes in her mind and mixes with the sound of her mother’s. Hermione quickly pushed it out of her mind and suppressed the wave of sadness in her stomach. 

She hadn’t known why her headmistress had asked her to meet in her office, but Minerva cut to the chase as quickly as she sat down.

“Hermione dear, I requested your presence today out of respect for you as a person, and out of knowingness of your past. Know that I am not seeking your counsel on this decision,” she paused. "I have filled the position of Potions Professor.”

“That’s great,” Hermione started cautiously, wary of her superior’s preface. “Who did you choose?”

“Draco Malfoy–

“I’m sorry?–” Hermione interrupted, thinking she must have misheard. That can’t be right.

“–will be filling the position because he has the proper qualifications. I understand Miss Granger, that you have a complicated history with Mr. Malfoy, but you need to understand that it was a case of childhood. Mr. Malfoy grew up to be an exceptionally talented potions master. Hogwarts can benefit from his expertise,” Minerva stated in a stern voice. 

“But he tried to kill Dumbledore!” Hermione couldn’t help but burst out. 

“Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore, you know as well as I do”, she replied gravely. 

Hermione stammered in rebuttal but Minerva’s clipped tone cut her off. 

“Draco Malfoy is a reformed man. The ministry backs his safety and pardon as a reinducted member of society. He was the most capable candidate for the job, so I must give him the job. It will do you well, Miss Granger, to give him a chance.” 

Hermione sat in stunned silence for a moment before retorting quickly, “But–...but, Minerva, the things he used to say to me, what he used to call me…you expect me to pretend like it didn’t happen?”

“I would never expect you to forgive him if you do not feel like he has earned it. All I am asking is that you be civil with each other, and maybe consider giving him a chance to apologize.”

“Draco Malfoy would never apologize to me. He made it very clear I am not worthy of it,” Hermione replied bitterly.

She is startled when the door to the office thuds closed behind her. 

“Talking about me behind my back are we? Nice to see nothing has changed,” a low voice cooly drawled. The second Hermione heard the first word she froze. She didn’t dare to turn around, she knew exactly who she would face.

“Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for joining us. Please, take a seat,” the headmistress greeted.

Malfoy swiftly takes a seat next to Hermione and takes an inquisitive turn in her direction.

“I heard the Golden Girl is the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor? I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Hermione swore she could see the smirk on his face as he said it.

“You're just ornery because I got to it before you did. I see you got potions, just like Snape.” She snapped.

She noticed in her peripheral vision his posture grow slightly more rigid at her words. This seemed to shut him up just long enough for Minerva to push her way back into their bickering.

“Professor Granger, now that we have all been reacquainted, I will have you escort Professor Malfoy to his sleeping quarters here at Hogwarts for the rest of the term,” she said with finality Hermione didn’t dare question.

The two young professors stood silently and proceeded to leave, finding it better to not argue with the headmistress so early in the school year. 

As they reached the door, Minerva called from her desk, “I certainly do not want to be alerted to any funny business coming from the two of you. I expect you to be on your best and most professional behavior. You are professors here after all, not students”.

As Hermione crossed the door, she became acutely aware that she is now alone with Draco Malfoy. She refused to feel afraid. Malfoy was nothing but a bully from her school days, she would not allow him the satisfaction of her fear. 

This resolution did nothing to cut the tension, rising with the seconds between them. She glanced at Malfoy from the corner of her eye, his stride confident and smooth but with the air of indifference. His eyes stared hard ahead, as if he was trying not to notice her next to him. 

She debated speaking to him, but she decided that if she had nothing nice to say, she was not going to say anything at all. She didn’t want to stoop to his level.

Their walk was painfully silent, the only noise being their footsteps echoing throughout the empty corridors of the castle. She couldn't help but notice a slight bellow of his cape, eerily reminding her of Snape. Interesting. There was a stark shiver of unpleasantness shooting down her spine as they rapidly approached the large dark chestnut door leading to his living quarters.

She slowed to a stop in front of his door. As she opened her mouth to speak, he barged through the door. The slam a second later blew her hair back off her shoulders. She stood there gaping for only a few seconds before remembering herself. 

What am I doing? 

She shut her mouth abruptly before turning on her heel and stalking away. Frustration pricked in her veins on her walk back to her rooms. He is going to rue the countless days he taunted me. 

No. I need to be the bigger person. 

Hermione stormed into her rooms, slamming the door behind her before falling face-first into her bed with a scream.

Authors' Note