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What a way to start the day! First, she slept through her alarm. Next, she puts salt in her coffee instead of sugar.
Bollocks! Bollocks it all!
Having overslept, her plans of finishing her grading leisurely in the library before meandering down to the great hall transformed into frenzied marking and slight grease smudges to parchment. Her flustered demeanor must have carried into her classes, too, as her students seemed to give her a wide berth. One or two students reluctantly answered her questions to keep her from reprimanding the class as a whole.
When dinner time had finally made itself known, all she wanted was to grab a few new texts from the library and curl up in her quarters with ramen noodles she’d had her parents smuggle to her in their last parcel. And she planned to do just that.
Winter break was swiftly approaching, and all she had to do was grade the last of her first years’ midterms. She always left them for last because of how easy it was to knock them out. A bit of a novel tonight, and she’d wake up early tomorrow to finish the grading.
It was a balance.
She signed happily as she pushed through the heavy door to the library and was greeted by the smell of books, old and new. She slowly paced the aisles, her eyes grazing familiar spines and labels. She took a sharp turn into the muggle literature section – miniscule in the grand picture of the Hogwarts library – and came to an abrupt halt.
“Malfoy?” She asked, shock and accusation mixing together. Even as she said it, she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing.
“Professor Granger,” he acknowledged her before pulling a book from the cart beside him and placing on the shelf. He did this a few more times before looking back at her. “Did you need help finding something?”
“I- Um, well- uh,” Hermione sputtered, irritating herself as she couldn’t particularly abide stutterers. She took a moment to composer herself, stra i tening her back. “ I'm just browsing, Malfoy. What ever are you up to? Here? At Hogwarts?”
He smirked a bit, a shadow of the smirk she knew from childhood. “I’m the new librarian, Granger.”
“That’s,” she had to pause and take a shuddering, calming breath. She smiled. She started again. “That’s great, Malfoy. We’ve been relying on student volunteers, and it’s been an absolute nightmare finding what I need.”
Malfoy nodded, almost sympathetic. “I’ve officially been on the job less than a day, and all I've managed is making a list of issues that need fixing. I’m sure the kids did their best, but they can’t be expected to understand CILIP standards.”
“CILIP? I’m not familiar, I’m afraid.”
The shadow of a smirk transformed into a solid form. “Granger? Not familiar? Why, I must take it to the presses. Do excuse me.”
He turned to walk away, and if she weren’t such a sucker for organization acronyms, she might have not reached out to stop him. As it were, she was a sucker, and she was grabbing the billowing sleeve of his robe before she knew what she was doing.
“My, Granger, how bold. Charted Institute for Library and Information Professionals. Is that what you wanted? Finished my postgraduate two years ago at University College London.”
“Isn’t that a muggle organization, then?” Hermione winced as she heard the accusation behind her own words.
Malfoy took it in stride. “For the most part. I imagine that you of all people would know there’s no such thing as a completely muggle organization.”
She nodded. “My word. Well, it sounds as if the library is in knowledgeable hands. I suppose I should just,” she motioned awkwardly behind her to indicate leaving.
“But you haven’t got a book, Granger. Surely, you’re not leaving without one?”
She could see the amusement twinkling in his eyes, even as his expression remained disinterested.
“Oh, I just couldn’t find anything I was interested in.”
“Well, you know readers advisory is a part of my job, don’t you?”
She really didn't want to spend more time trapped in whatever awkward surprise encounter only she seemed affected by, but she couldn’t very well leave. He was challenging her. Or asking her to challenge him. She couldn’t be sure, but she knew there was a challenge somewhere simmering between them.
“Well, I’m looking for something I don’t have to think about too much. We’re about to break for winter holidays, and I really don’t fancy doing more thinking.”
Malfoy hummed in thought (amusement?). “Who’d have thought Hermione Granger doesn’t want to think?”
He turned on his heel and began browsing the aisle they were in. Every so often he’d pull a book from the shelf, flip to the summary and the back cover, hmm in disappointment, shake his head, and put it back. She was almost certain he was just doing it to put on a show for her.
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hide her smile.
“Aha!” Malfoy said, plucking a small volume from the shelf, thumbing the corners quickly. Now she knew he was putting on a show. “Here you are, Professor.”
“ Anne of Green Gables ? Isn’t this a kid’s book?”
“Well, Granger, this is a school library. We do tend to have more children than adults here at any given time.” One pale slender finger reached out to tap the cover of the book. “And just because a book is written for children, doesn’t mean it’s bad. It usually just means you don’t have to think as hard to figure things out.”
“Well... thanks! Um, I’ll see you later!”
Ugh! I’ll see you later? Of course she’d see him later! Why had she said that? She berated herself like this as she went through the motions of checking out with a student volunteer who was sat at the circulation desk hastily underlining far too much of his textbook in a haphazard imitation of studying. He stops only to help Hermione check out, attaching the book to her account with practiced ease.
For probably the first time in her life, Hermione was relieved to leave the library.
-
Even though she’d finished Anne of Green Gables within three days of receiving it, it took Hermione a full week to work up the courage to confront Malfoy again. This time, however, it would be on her terms.
Not that she’d thought he’d accosted her the first time, oh no. But he had clearly been more prepared for that meeting than she had been. Everyone knew she worked there, after all. He’d had time to think about how he’d act around her.
Now she’d had that time, too. Maybe not as much time as he’d had, but enough. Clean- ish slate, she’d decided. A chalkboard that’d had been left too long to come completely clean. But she could write over it so long us she didn’t focus too much on the remnants of a past lesson. She’d still see it. It’d mock her ‘till no end some days. She knew that.
Still, she’d keep the chalkboard until those chalk stains eventually faded or overlapped too much to be of any benefit.
As she walked up to the staff table, she deviated from her normal routine. Rather than head toward her normal spot between Neville and McG onagall, she headed to the opposite end of the table. Hermione was pretty sure it was Flitwick’s seat she slid into, but he was on his annual Christmas visit to his niece.
“So that’s the end then?” she asked, carefully arranging eggs, bacon, and toast on her plate. “The enemies become something of friends? Bit too tidy of an ending for me, I’m afraid.”
Malfoy waited for her to shovel a forkful of egg into her mouth before leaning toward her just a fraction and quietly saying, “That’s not the end.”
Hermione chewed her food with a fierce quickness.
“What do you mean ‘That’s not the end?’ I read it!”
“It’s a series, Granger.”
Hermione set her fork aside. “You gave me a series? Malfoy! I told you wanted something I didn’t have to think about! I didn’t want a commitment!”
“Well, I figured you’d finish it fairly fast and would need something more to fill your holiday.”
He was right. Still... “That wasn’t exactly a no thinking required type of book, Malfoy. There were definitely some heavy issues to consider.”
“You said less thinking, Granger, not moral-less . Children’s books have morals. It’s kind of their thing.”
She sighed in resignation. He was right. What had she expected? “Well, can you just fill me in on the details? I have lesson plans to write.”
“You’ve been working here for years, Grange. I highly doubt you’ve not already tweaked your lesson plans beyond perfection.”
She huffed. He was right about that too. “I’m an adult, Malfoy. I can’t just spend my days reading children’s novels.”
He scowled – not angry, but confused. “Why not?”
“Really, Malfoy?”
“Really, Granger. Why not? I’ve spent the better part of the last decade reading children’s literature.”
“ Only children’s literature?”
“No, but a good deal.”
“Why?”
“I’m a librarian.”
“Yes, but what has that got to do with kid’s books?”
“I was a children’s librarian before becoming a school librarian, Granger.”
“I don’t know much about wizarding libraries. What’s their children’s department like?”
“I wouldn’t rightly know. I’d only worked in muggle libraries until McGonagall reached out one day and asked me to apply here.”
Hermione didn’t know how to respond to that. She could ask him what led him to muggle libraries. She could ask him how he liked it. She could ask him what he felt rubbing shoulders with muggles every day.
A part of her wanted to.
But she reminded herself: smudgy slate.
She wouldn’t say it. She wouldn’t ask. No matter how much she wanted to.
“Why did you only work at muggle libraries?”
Damn.
“I didn’t think any wizarding library would have me, what with my history and all.”
He said it casually, but Hermione noticed it scratched lightly at the fabric covering the arm that she knew held the dark mark.
“Did you enjoy it?”
A small, genuine smile graced his lips. She’d never seen him looking so sincere.
“I did. It was difficult to leave my branch behind. I enjoyed my work there.”
“Then why take up a job at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked, giving up all pretense of subtly.
Draco would have expected the words to be asked with some sort of acid behind them – she would have had the right – but it was just plain curiosity. The same raw interest she’d used when asking questions in their shared classes when they were just children. He returned the sincerity.
“Hogwarts will always be my home, Granger. I may not have been good, exactly, but I was happier here than I ever was at home. I had more freedom. I had to play a role, but I got to write some of my own scenes, too.”
He sounded so dramatic, but it was the only way he could think of to explain it.
But Hermione seemed to understand. She nodded.
“When breakfast has finished, I’d like to get that second book, if you please.”
-
Hermione was itching for book number three. Had muggle devices worked on Hogwarts grounds, she’d have searched up the summaries of all the books, going against her own reading principles. He’d known she’d want it, too, so really why should she be hesitant to go borrow it? She was sure he’d set it aside for her.
She spent the better part of the morning reminding herself that she’d never had reason to be hesitant about going to the library before, and she didn’t have any reason now.
Smudgy slate.
As if that was what was bothering her.
When she finally worked up the Gryffindor courage to go to the library, she found it deserted. Ah, the peace of winter hols!
Malfoy wasn’t at the circulation desk, and she daren’t go looking for him in his office. She decided to wander the stacks. It was one of her favorite things to do. You never knew what treasures you’d find hidden between a bookend and the end of a shelf.
She should probably pick up a classic from the muggles section. Dicken’s A Christmas Carol was her usual go-to around this time of year. It was what she’d expected to leave with when Malofy’d given her Anne with an E Shirley instead. She’d pursue some other aisles first, though. Professional
When she turned into the theoretical magic, she found Malfoy sitting in the aisle and leaning against a shelf and reading what she thought might be Is It or Isn’t it?: A Possibly How To Guide to Maybe Changing Magic’s Foundations Maybe by Luna Lovegood.
She’d thought it provoking on the surface, but utterly ridiculous on a whole. Magic’s core couldn’t be shaken so simply. Could it? Although, her point about evolutional characteristics in regards to... well never mind.
Seeing Malfoy sitting in the middle of the aisle engrossed in a book, Hermione could almost imagine what it’d be like if they’d been friends in school. Almost. The two of them arguing over a text. Him thinking he had the upper hand, and she swooping in with her ever unique understandings.
Almost.
She thought about the broad hands that held open that book reaching out to touch her.
Then she saw that his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Saw the dark mark.
She gasped.
She coughed.
Malfoy startled, snapping his book shut and instinctively pulled his sl eeves down in shame.
“Sorry,” Hermione said, thinking fast, or perhaps not at all. “Allergies. I think the book dust must be getting to me.”
She had no doubt that Malfoy hadn’t bought her excuse, but he also wasn’t going to challenge her.
“My library isn’t dusty.” He said. No room for argument. No room for discussion .
“Ah, but it’s sick season, you know.” She gave an exaggerated cough twice. “See?”
Malfoy pushed himself up and into a standing position.
“Well, I suppose that you’re looking for a book to curl up with as you heal, then.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Hmm.”
He moved to the muggle lit section, and she followed. He obviously knew what she wanted.
“ So what do you think, then? What’ll happen for Anne, I mean?”
“A happy ending, I suppose. An established author and married to Gilbert. Although it’s taking quite a bit to get there.”
“It is difficult to capture an entire person in all their facets and flaws. Possible, but difficult. Even more so for children.” He handed her the third book and leaned back onto the shelf.
Hermione let her eyes roam a little. He looked perfectly cozy; handsome and put together, but not in a stuffy sort of way. Her ears burned, and she gave the book a cursory flip through. She tried leaning on the book case as well, but she was sure she didn’t look as nice as he did. She’d never thought someone could look more at home in a library than her.
“Why would you think it’s harder to capture people in children’s literature? Surely it’d be easier since the author doesn’t have to be as detailed.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah, Granger, but that is just the thing that makes it so difficult! When authors write for children, they must write simply enough to be understood but intricately enough to create a connection between the reader and hero or heroine. Children’s literature sets the example by which many kids model themselves. It’s a difficult thing to accomplish.”
Hermione couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. Although he spoke softly, his entire person came alive with interest and care. She let herself relax a bit more against the book case and listened.
In the middle of waxing poetic over the importance mirrors and windows in children’s literature, he suddenly stopped, stood up straight, and attempted to school his face back into its normal collected and confidence state.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure this is a bore. You’ll want to be off reading and recovering from you cold, no doubt.”
Had his pale skin not so completely betrayed his vicious blush, she’d have thought he’d simply realized that he was talking to someone he didn’t care to be talking to. As it were, his flush appeared in splotches across his skin, creeping down his neck, and below his collar...
It was a rather ugly blush.
Hermione realized with a start that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed to have been so passionate about his job? To have shared that with her?
She pushed off the book case as well. “Oh no! I mean, yes!” A cough that both of them knew was horribly false followed. “But it’s not a bore at all. I never read a lot of kid’s books when I was younger, so I never realized how much they can mean to some people.”
Malfoy’s stiff posture relaxed just a smidge.
“Perhaps reading this will help you then.”
They stood in a semi awkward silence for a few seconds before Hermione waved the book in the air a bit and bid him farewell to go curl up with a cocoa and read.
-
“You didn’t check that out.”
Hermione looked up to see Malfoy sliding into Neville’s seat. She head been completeing a second read of Anne of the Island.
“You didn’t tell me I had to.”
“Surely you know how libraries work, Granger.”
She scoffed. “Well, Malfoy, I was sick. I wasn’t in a very clear state of mind.”
“Somehow I feel that even in an unclear state of mind, you’d function better than most in their optimal state of mind.”
She sat up a little taller at that, pride coursing through her at the compliment.
“Well, I’ll give it back to you now, then, and I’ll be sure to check the next one out.”
“No can do.”
“What? Just because I forgot to check something out?”
“Oh, no. Hogwarts simply doesn’t have the complete set.”
“What?”
“I’m working on filling in the gaps, but Madame Pince wasn’t exactly up to date on Scholastic catalogues, you know.”
“Give me your personal copy, then!” Hermione said rather loudly, drawing the attention of the others sat at the head table.
“My what?”
“Your personal copy. Give it!”
“I haven’t got a personal copy, Granger. I only purchase copies of books I really found exceptional. I borrowed them from the library I worked at when I was getting my degree. Picked them up quite by chance.”
“But if you like them enough to recommend them, you must have your own copies!” She was sounding a bit manic, but she couldn’t imagine not finishing the series. It was part of the reason she rarely started series that weren’t complete.
“I don’t feel very strongly either way, towards the series. I just thought you’d like it. It’s part of my job, you know. Advising readers.”
She huffed, shoved a piece of toast into her mouth and tried to calm herself down. It was a kid’s series. Not a big deal. He said he was working on it. There were plenty of books in the Hogwarts library to read in the interim.
But to be stopped just as soon as Anne was hitting her prime?
“Granger. Granger.” She looked at him. “I will get you the rest of the books. Relax.”
“That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but what am I meant to do until then? How can I focus on another book if all I can worry about is Anne and Gilbert and their future?”
Draco would swear that her hair puff and crackle in annoyance. He was almost scared to be sat next to her. Almost.
“You’ll get your books, Granger. Soon. I’ll take responsibility for that. In the meantime, why not simply pick another book? You’ve never found the library lacking before.”
“I certainly have!”
“Oh?”
“There are plenty of topics that the library is scarce on. Some, I understand. Children needn’t be looking into certain things. But really, that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have access to a variety of different resources. They’re children. They have the capacity to learn and handle heavier topics than we give them credit for.”
Malfoy let a little smile grace his lips. “If you wouldn’t mind, Granger. I’d appreciate knowing what my library is lacking.”
“Finish your breakfast, then, Malfoy,” she said, moving a sausage from her plate to his. “If you’re going to spend your day listening to me, you’ll need your strength.”
He chuckled. “I think my regular day to day stamina can handle you,” he took a bite of the sausage, “but thanks all the same.”
-
Ah, Christmas at Hogwarts. A bit sad. Hogwarts would always be home, but it wasn’t a home. Hermione and her parents had patched up their relationship since the war, but it wasn’t exactly the same as it was before. Things that had to be patched up never were.
So Christmas was different. They’d spend Christmas Eve together, but they’d make separate plans for Christmas day. Well, her parents would, but they thought she had plans too. The Weasleys and that ilk. And, well, she didn’t correct them. It wasn’t so far off. She did spend the day after Christmas at the Burrow, and she was usually there for the New Years Eve party as well.
But Christmas day? Well, she was alone.
At Hogwarts.
The portraits were silent. The ghosts - ominously absent from the halls. Even McGonagall spent the day with her brother’s family.
Hermione wandered the halls before stopping at the library, noticing a small light on near the checkout. She gave the door’s handle a gentle tug and it opened without hesitation.
No locks or charms, then.
She continued inside. The light was coming from the back office. She’d never been in that office before. Madame Pince had never offered, and Hermione had certainly never asked. But the light was on, the castle was deserted, and...
Well she and Malfoy had become something for chums lately. Good friend!
Oh, who was she kidding? Hermione’d developed a massive crush on Malfoy of all people. If her second year self could see her now, she’d weep.
But Hermione was an adult now, and as a professor she had a duty to make sure none of the holiday stragglers had snuck into Malfoy’s office.
She passed through the threshold and found a fair-sized work room that was littered with books, papers, labels, mylar, and who knows what else. She was a bit jealous of Malfoy’s ability to spread out all of his work. All she had to spread her things across was the coffee table in her living quarters.
No one was in the workroom, but Hermione noticed an open door on an adjacent wall and walked towards it. As she got closer, she heard soft music flitting gently towards her. She knocked on the door frame.
“Hello?”
A clatter of what sounded like pots and pans sounded and then - “Granger?”
“Malfoy?”
“Come in!” He called.
He was frantically looking around his living quarters for any sort of mess that needed throwing under the sofa or in a closet. Luckily, everything was tidy enough for company. Not as tidy as he’d have liked it for her, but tidy enough.
When she walked into his quarters with her brown hair laying gently on her shoulders instead of up in her professor’s do, he was nearly certain he was dreaming. It was Christmas day, and this was too good of a present for someone as bad as he had been.
But after a few seconds of silence, she was still there, and he was certain he wouldn’t have been so awkward if this had been a dream.
“I didn’t think you’d be staying behind for Christmas.”
Hermione shrugged. “Oh, I usually end up here on Christmas day. Someone has to be, you know? But I didn’t think you’d be here.”
He lifted his nose in the air a bit. “Ah. So you were planning on going through my personal things while I was away, were you?”
Hermione had the decency to blush – a rare, full blush that reached past her ears and dusted her cheeks. “No! I thought – well I thought perhaps an errant student was wreaking havoc in the library. So I stopped in, and the light was on and the door was open... and then I knocked and, well, here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“Happy Christmas?”
He nodded, and walked out of the room, returning with a shopping bag that he offered to her. “Happy Christmas, Hermione.”
It took her a moment to realize that he was handing her the bag. His use of her first name had thrown her for a bit of a loop. She took the proffered bag, foregoing the ‘oh I didn’t get you anything.’ She would get him something, and soon.
The bag was heavier than she’d anticipated. When she’d pulled the gift out, she laughed. What had she expected, after all? Anne. But Instead of just getting her the books she hadn’t read, he’d purchased her a nice, complete set. Although he’d never tell her, he’d spent many hours within himself debating which editions he should get her.
Hermione let the plastic bag dropped to the floor as she cradled the box set he’d gifted her.
“Oh, Draco! It’s lovely!”
He smiled, and blushed his ugly blush that she loved.
“I told you I’d be responsible. Of course, I’ve ordered the rest of the set for the library, but I figured you’d like a set that you didn’t have to share.”
“You figured right. Now you must tell me what you want for Christmas, so we can make this an even exchange.”
He had to hold his tongue from telling her what he’d like. Not a dream, he’d reminded himself “Oh, nothing in particular. Really, you needn’t get me a thing. I swear, I won’t hold a grudge. This time.”
“Well, I’ve a bottle of cheap merlot in my room that I could grab, and we could make a night of it,” Hermione said, hope tinging her voice.”
Draco smiled. “That sounds excellent.”
-
Oh bollocks! Bollocks it all! It was Christmas Adam (the day before Christmas Eve) and she’d made the mistake of packing her things at the last possible minute. After several minutes of searching for her favorite blue sweater, Hermione gave up the task and zipped up her bag before making her way to Draco’s quarters.
“Ready to go?” She called, settling herself on the sofa. She figured Draco would take much more time getting ready than she. He always did, the little narcissist.
When he dropped his bag down on the coffee table in front of her, she startled.
“Ready. I’ve put your blue sweater in my bag, too. Figured you’d want it at some point.”
“You’re ready rather early! For you, at any rate.”
“It’s not every day you spend the holidays with your girlfriend’s parents.”
“Oh! Trying to make a good impression, are you? Make too good of an impression, and they’ll never let you leave!” Hermione joked, grabbing onto Draco’s hips.
“That’s the plan,” he said, smirking at her slight shock.