Chapter Text
Turquoise water and fjords stretching out to the horizon greeted her when she opened her eyes. She didn’t expect to fall asleep, on a tiny boat, out of all places, but the several Apparitions must have exhausted her more than she realised. From London to Edinburgh, then another one to Oslo, and another from Oslo to Bodo.
She thought the small town in northern Norway would be her last stop before reaching her final destination. Apparently, it was not. She was welcomed by an older wizard who spoke with such a weird Norwegian accent that Hermione couldn’t understand a single word. She tried to learn some basics before she came here, but three months were not enough to prepare her for the multiple dialects spoken across the country.
Besides, she hadn’t expected she would actually have to talk to people. From what Minerva had told her, it was supposed to be a quick but demanding trip. So far, she’d been travelling for over three days. And it seemed as though she was not yet where she was supposed to be.
When the captain of the ship informed her they’d reached Kirkenes—the town she was certain was her last stop, she quickly gathered her belongings and left her cabin without looking back. If she did, she would likely decide to go back to London.
But she couldn’t. She had things to prove—to herself, to her parents, to Ronald. He’d claimed she wouldn’t survive a week in the northern cold, and as much as she wished she could be in southern Spain instead, she would never admit it to him.
“You can do it, Hermione,” she told herself as she stepped out of the ship.
The first thing that hit her was… well, cold. Even with the three layers of wool jumpers, the thickest winter coat she could find, and a spell that was supposed to keep her warm, she was already frozen to the bone. The draught in her cabin didn’t help either, but somehow the cold was not so upsetting on the ship.
If she started crying now, her tears would freeze on her cheeks before she wiped them away.
Although she knew the weather was going to be extreme and the hours of daylight minimal, she never would have been able to prepare for that . And it had only been a minute.
She rummaged through the pockets of her coat and pulled out a bronze coin that had been given to her by Minerva McGonagall before she Apparated from London. On one side, there was a picture of a dragon, its jaw open and flames bursting from its throat as it roared. On the reverse, something that she supposed was an address—or the name of the place she had to find.
Nordstjernen.
How fitting that it had been also a name of a fucking star. Shaking with fear and frustration, Hermione forced her feet to move. She would have researched the place earlier, but the address didn’t reveal itself until she reached the shore.
There was no one on the streets, not a single soul. It felt as though the small port town was dead, or at the very least asleep. It reminded her a little of Hogsmeade, only duller and less colourful. Almost as though the war had only reached this place now.
Only one establishment was opened. She noticed the dim light pouring into an otherwise dark street when she passed it the second time only. Hermione peered inside and let out a sigh of relief when she noticed wands and magical decks of cards on the table in the middle of the tavern.
Wizards.
The situation immediately became less miserable and, even though the cold was relentless in its attempts to break her, she couldn’t help herself but smile. It was weird—to smile here, out of all places. She hasn’t smiled since the Battle of Hogwarts; sometimes she didn’t expect to ever smile again.
Without second-guessing her decision, she waltzed inside the small tavern, clutching her wand in a gloved hand. All heads turned to her, some of the wizards watching her cautiously, some hiding their cards before she could see anything out of the ordinary.
She gave them a shy smile and waved her wand at them. “No need to hide from me. I know who you are.”
No one said anything but their expressions told her they understood what she’d said. They were young, Hermione realised. Perhaps they were still students, or freshly out of school.
“What are you doing here?” One of the girls asked, eyeing her with distrust. Her eyes were so dark and narrow, Hermione wondered if she’d altered them somehow. She swung her legs over the armrest of her chair and murmured something into the ear of a boy sitting closest to her. “And who are you? This is a closed party.”
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t want to make enemies before the semester had even started, but she already could tell this girl—and her friends—was going to be trouble.
She twisted the dragon coin between her fingers before throwing it at their table. “I’m not crashing your party, if that’s what you’re thinking. I need transport to Durmstrang.”
The girl opened her mouth to reply, possibly something nasty, but the curly-haired boy on her side beat her to it. He had a charming smile and beautiful eyes that screamed trouble, and yet his voice was soft and pleasant even despite his posh British accent when he said, “At this hour? It’s impossible, sweetheart. The first drakkar leaves at dawn but it will be full of shitheads and other first years.” A drakkar? She would have laughed if he didn’t look so serious. “I recommend taking the last one with us. There’s a slight chance we’ll be late to the feast but we can eat and drink here, anyway.”
Hermione knew it wasn’t a good idea. To trust a group of strangers that seemed to be only interested in her because she was fresh blood. And judging by the number of bottles and empty wine glasses on the table, they weren’t the most responsible students either.
She should stay clear of trouble—not walking into it before she was officially enrolled.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances with the shitheads,” she said, feeling the boy’s eyes on her all the time. He was watching her as though he knew her—which wouldn’t be a surprise really, had she not tried so hard to be unrecognisable. “I’d rather not be late on my first day.”
“Oh, come on,” he pressed. “No one cares about the first day. I’m sure the Headmaster will still be so wasted he won’t even notice you’re not there.”
This made her snort. She’d heard a lot of stories about the Durmstrang’s Headmaster from Minerva and other people, and though everyone seemed to have different opinions on the man, they all agreed on one thing: he was an old drunk.
“Just let it go, Theodore,” the girl with dark eyes whined. “We know you want to fuck her, Gods know why, but you’re going to have a whole year for that. Let’s party tonight, baby.”
Theodore. The name rang a bell.
Frowning, she looked him up and down, earning a shit-eating grin from him when he felt her eyes on him. She was nearly certain she had seen his picture somewhere—perhaps in the Prophet or when she was researching Durmstrang itself.
He had the face of a fuckboy, but there was some depth about him, something unreadable that she knew he was trying to hide from the world. And, unfortunately, this made him much more interesting than she wished to.
“So, what are you say—” His question was cut short by the girl jumping from her chair straight onto his lap. She straddled him and pressed her lips to his, the wet noises of their kiss filling the small space.
Their companions groaned, throwing cards and corks at them to break them apart, but when she heard the girl moan into Theodore’s mouth and when his hand slid under her blouse, Hermione knew no one would stop them now.
She had seen it way too many times in the Burrow last summer.
Not sure what to do, Hermione considered her options. She could either ask the barkeep if they had any room available for her to stay the night or she could order a beer, or seven, and drink until dawn. Neither seemed particularly tempting, if she were honest.
But she couldn’t wait outside, not with this weather. Ever since she walked into the tavern, the conditions worsened drastically. It was not only cold now, but she could swear a snowstorm raged outside, too.
Hermione let out a sound so pathetic she cursed herself for it under her nose and decided to try to rent a room. What she didn’t expect was walking into a wall when she turned around. Only it wasn’t a wall—it was a man. A big man.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t see you when I—”
The scent of cologne and peppermint hit her so hard she couldn’t even finish the sentence. Slowly, she looked up, and by the time her gaze reached the face of the stranger she collided with, her cheeks were almost as red as the Durmstrang uniform the man was wearing.
He was at least a foot taller than her and, for a second, she wondered how he could stand there so straight when the ceiling seemed to graze the top of his head. To say that he was handsome would be the understatement of the century, but she didn’t know a better word to describe him. Powerful, brutal, dangerous . Even fully clothed she could see chiselled muscles hiding underneath the heavy coat.
She knew that this man was one of the Durmstrang Professors because of the P badge on his chest and the crimson cloak only the teachers were allowed to wear. He scratched his stubbled jaw, the black, the leather glove he wore stark against his pale skin.
And when he closed his teeth on the tip of his middle finger and took off the glove, her entire body flushed with heat. She had to look away to control her heartbeat.
“You must be Miss Granger,” he drawled, his voice so low it sent a shiver down her spine. He didn’t seem impressed by her, but the fact that he recognised her with the Glamour she cast over herself did impress her. “That’s actually a pretty good charm you did,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “Unfortunately for both of us, I have been sent to retrieve you, so I know exactly who you are.”
That explained a lot. “Unfortunately?”
He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. His grey eyes drifted to the bar, then to the table occupied by the other students, then back to the bar again. It seemed as though he was considering either getting a drink or grounding the group. Or perhaps both. “You were supposed to wait by the docks. Did your welcome letter not explain this?”
She frowned. The professor stared her down, eyes cold and unamused, and she wished she didn’t throw the coin earlier. “I have never received any welcome letter. My Headmistress gave me a coin that—”
“Enough excuses.” He lifted his hand to silence her as though his commanding tone was not scary enough. “We’re leaving now, Miss Granger. Or is there something else you would like to complain about?”
“I was not complaining,” she snapped. It was a stupid move, she knew, to talk back to a Professor. But she was so tired and confused, all she dreamt of was a warm bath and soft bed. Not a scowling teacher who would rather join his students for a round of cards rather than escort her.
He didn’t dignify that with a response, though he looked like he was one second away from ripping her head off her neck. It was the first time she thought that perhaps choosing this particular school was not a good idea.
“Having second thoughts?” He mocked as he led her out of the tavern. “We can find a ship back to England for you first thing in the morning.”
Oh, she knew he would love to see her give up. He was probably that kind of a teacher who got off on his student’s suffering. But she hadn’t survived war and tortures and battles to be defeated by a bloody teacher.
“No,” she replied.
“Good.” If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Before he closed the door behind them, he shouted at the rest of the guests of the tavern, “If I see any of you even a fucking second late tomorrow, you are all grounded for the rest of the semester! Is that fucking clear?”
He didn’t wait for a response.
And she liked him a little more for that.
Durmstrang was not what Hermione had expected it to be. She had heard many and read even more stories about the school, but they all claimed it was a dark and grim place. And perhaps it had been like that once, when it was still run by Igor Karkaroff.
With the new Headmaster and the new approach to education, it seemed like a completely different place from what she knew about it. Viktor had always called it a prison , with iron bars in their windows and hard, uncomfortable beds. He’d told her that the teachers bullied any student who had shown any sign of weakness and that corporal punishments were not uncommon.
Although she couldn’t yet say much about the teachers and their methods, she already knew there were no iron bars or crooked windows. She was lucky enough to be assigned with a single room, but from what she had been told, every student was provided with the same accommodation. Her bed was large and the mattress soft—softer than what she used to be sleeping in at the Weasleys.
Much had changed in the school previously described as cursed, gloomy and unforgiving.
The castle itself was nothing special compared to Hogwarts, though. It was smaller and less magnificent, the brick walls clearly challenged by time and the relentless weather in the past. But since the war—neither the first nor the second—had never reached this place of Europe, the construction remained untouched.
What she loved the most about this place, however, were the dragons and their smaller cousins, wyverns. The sky was swarming with their colourful scales, the shades of red and green and black blurring into one as they chased one another in the clouds. She had never seen so many of them at once, and it was the first time she saw a wyvern, too.
They seemed more docile than dragons and whenever she wandered to the meadows at the bottom of the mountains surrounding the school, there would always be at least one or two of them baking in the winter sunlight. They looked happy, serene. And whenever she got to spend time with them, so was she.
It didn’t take the wyverns long to accept her after she’d brought them piles of fresh meat and patted their heads then they approached. Was it reckless—to get so friendly with creatures that could kill her with one snap of their jaws?
Probably yes. But she didn’t mind being reckless anymore.
Due to unexpectedly bad weather conditions the beginning of the school year was postponed to the next week in order to allow every student to reach the castle on time. Hermione found out that while the teachers could Apparate directly to the school grounds, they could only take one person with them at a time. The Headmaster decided it wasn’t worth exhausting his teachers like that.
Hermione considered finding the grumpy professor who had found her and brought her to school the night before the storms broke and thanking him. If it weren’t for him, she would get stuck in that shady tavern with the group of students who would surely grow bored of her company by the time the weather improved.
But he was nowhere to be found. There were no students she could ask and approaching the teachers felt, for some reason, wrong. And contrary to Hogwarts, this school had no list of current and previous professors anywhere, so she couldn’t even check it on her own.
She supposed it had something to do with the Headmaster not being the most… organised person in the world. He didn’t even bother to welcome her personally, not that she expected some special treatment, but it would’ve been nice to familiarise herself with the school and him.
The mysterious professor dropped her to her room and left her the welcome letter she was supposed to receive two months ago, along with the books required in this semester. He didn’t apologise for being rude when he realised she had actually never seen it.
In fact, he didn’t say a word to her after he threw it at her and left her dormitory.
So, all in all, perhaps he didn’t need a thank you from her at all. He must have known she would be lost and lonely in the castle and yet he did nothing to help her with acclimatisation.
Jerk, she thought when his face popped into her head again. She couldn’t stop thinking about him for the past four days and, quite frankly, it started to get a little ridiculous. Yes, he was handsome, maybe more handsome than any man she’d ever met but… he was also an arsehole.
He was surely married too. Or seeing someone.
And he is also your teacher, a little voice in her head said.
Oh yes, and he was her teacher. It was easy to forget about that—especially with how the lines had blurred in the teacher/student relationships during the Wizarding War. It wasn’t as though Hermione had any indecent thoughts about any of her Hogwarts professors, but after they fought together she was on a first-name basis with most of them. And that, unfortunately, made it extremely easy to forget that they were not her friends.
Neither was Professor Arsehole.
She shook her head and stretched out on the soft grass, thankful for the illusion of summer and warmth the school created for its students. When she looked up, the sky was full of dragons again, their wings flapping in the distance and sending cooling breezes at her.
It was going to be a good year. She would finish her education, far from prying eyes and the trashy journalists following her every step; far from Ronald Weasley and his outbursts of jealousy and toxic possessiveness. Far from everyone who knew her as Hermione Granger, Britain's Golden Girl.
This wasn’t going to be a good year.
Hermione knew it the second she opened her eyes and saw an envelope on the pillow next to her head. At first, she thought the press found her here. Then, she considered it to be another fan—or a hater—mail.
The reality, however, was even worse.
She read the few sentences over and over again, rage and frustration filling her veins and threatening to pour out of her nose as though she was a fucking cauldron. She was boiling with fury.
Her eyes drifted to the elegantly scribbled letters once more, hoping she somehow misunderstood the letter. But she wasn’t an idiot—she could read. She simply didn’t like what she read.
Dear Miss Granger,
Together with our teaching council we have decided to evaluate your previous education in order to ensure you graduate from the Durmstrang Academy of Magic with no gaps in your knowledge and expertise. ( What gaps?, Hermione screamed into the void. She was offered full-time jobs by the Auror Office, the Gringott’s and the Department of Mysteries. She doubted lessons on taming fucking dragons were necessary for either of these positions. Not that she needed any, thank you very much.)
Since the curriculum of your previous Academy is drastically different from ours, we have assessed that you are going to need at least three more years to catch up with the classes you might have missed.
To make sure the process goes as smoothly as possible, a Tutor has been assigned for you. Should they choose to delegate some of their task to a 9th Year student, you will be notified about it during your first liaison meeting. (A tutor. Was she some kind of underdeveloped student who couldn’t read the materials provided for her? She certainly didn’t need a babysitter, either.)
Expect a written notification from your Tutor no later than by the end of the week. (Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her tutor could expect a warm and fat fuck you from her.)
We appreciate your cooperation and understanding. Should you have any questions, my office is open for the students every first Tuesday of the month. (It just so happened that the said first Tuesday of the month was two days ago. Naturally, it was Hermione’s bad luck, not the headmaster being a jerk.)
Warmest regards, (as warm as piss, she supposed)
Headmaster Douglas
She didn’t even have enough time to fully process the content of the letter and the anger it caused when another envelope appeared out of nowhere on her bed. She was going to have a serious conversation with Headmaster Douglas about the means of communication in this school.
The second letter was shorter, but definitely not less infuriating.
Saturday, 9PM. My office is on the seventh floor.
Don’t be late. — DLM
Hermione has never wanted to be wrong as much as she wished for it when she was getting ready for her first liaison meeting . But she had a pretty good guess who was going to be her tutor. Though the letter was only signed with the initials, and it wasn’t as though she knew Professor Arsehole’s name, the tone of it suggested that it was him.
That, or there were even more jerks like him in this school.
She was already dreading climbing up all the way to the seventh floor, but after two days of searching for an alternative route, she knew there wasn’t any. Unless she planned on riding a dragon again, she would have to climb three hundred seventy-four stairs.
Yes, she counted them all.
After the welcome feast, she learnt that the students had to wear their uniforms during any meeting with the teachers. It didn’t matter if it had been a four-in-the-morning detention, a Quidditch practice, or a fucking ridiculous tutor meeting at night.
She made sure her shirt was ironed and buttoned properly before she grabbed her skirt and leather knee-high boots. Having decided she was going to be a little rebellious, she left the tie on her bed and pulled on a black jumper before she left her room.
The corridors were empty. Unlike Hogwarts, there were no Prefects or Prefect’s rounds so no one was patrolling the castle at night. She supposed it was better this way, for she knew how pointless it was in her old school. It was a waste of time and resources, Hermione had always said.
And no one ever listened.
She heard loud music coming from one of the classrooms on the second floor and she laughed under her nose, remembering how upset it would have once made her. The old Hermione would have put everyone in detention and ended the party without a second thought. Now, she would rather join them.
But she was yet to make any friends, and, honestly, she doubted she ever would. These people knew each other just as she knew—or used to know—Harry and Ronald. They’d spent years in the same school together and she was just an outsider to them, someone not worth attention.
It didn’t matter.
She just needed to finish her education.
But by the time she reached the seventh floor, breathing heavily and sweating like a pig, she didn’t think it was a good idea anymore. She wasn’t going to stay here for three more years, but day after day she wondered if staying here at all made any sense.
She cursed under her nose, strolling down the hallway to the only door on this floor, and banged against the wood. No response came, so she tried again, her knuckles hitting the door so hard she could swear it would splinter soon.
Still, there was no response.
Hermione was ready to cast a Bombarda, her wand pointed towards the iron lock, when the door finally opened. Hesitantly, she walked in, never putting her wand down, and didn’t even flinch when she heard a click behind her back.
The room was dimly lit, making her first steps rather unsure and shaky. Climbing hundreds of stairs didn’t help either, but something about this place made her heart somersault in her chest, as though she just entered into a trap.
Hermione looked around, searching for Professor Arsehole or for the source of the weird light, only to realise there were no candles anywhere in sight. Frantically, her gaze flickered from the small window to the ceiling and to the floor, when it finally landed on the mammoth desk she somehow missed.
There was a small golden globe next to an inkpot; shining brighter the longer she looked at it; so bright she had to squint after a few seconds. A similar one, though larger and shimmering with a different shade of yellow and orange every few seconds, was behind the professor’s chair, illuminating his pale skin like a setting sun in the afternoon.
With his relaxed posture—legs propped on the desk and head thrown back, he reminded her of the wyverns sunbathing in the meadows. The top three buttons of his black shirt were undone, collar crumpled. His white hair was tousled, falling lazily on his forehead and shielding his eyes from the blinding light.
He was a really handsome arsehole.
Oh.
His eyes snapped open immediately and she wasn’t sure if she said it out loud or if he finally decided to acknowledge her presence. Either seemed unpleasant.
Slowly, Professor Arsehole straightened in his chair, his feet hitting the floor with a hollow thud, and tucked the loose strands of his hair behind his ears. She watched as his throat bobbed once, then twice, his gaze fixed on something above her head.
“Miss Granger,” he greeted her with a fake smile. “I hope you are not going to make being early a habit of yours. I am rather fond of my free time.”
She glanced down at her wrist watch. It was two minutes before nine and it didn’t look as though he was busy when he let her in. Unless staring at the ceiling and being a dick were his hobbies. “It’s almost nine.”
His eyes narrowed at her. “And you are almost properly dressed. No wonder Douglas thought you needed three more years to finish your education if you can’t even follow the simplest rules.”
“It’s nine in the evening on a Saturday," she seethed. And so what if she didn’t wear her tie only to piss him off?
A mask of glorious boredom replaced his irritation. “Do the school rules say anything about the tie not being a part of your uniform at nine in the evening on a Saturday?”
“No.”
“And were you under the impression you can interpret the rules in any way you want?”
“No.”
A smirk spread across his face. “Then perhaps you cannot read, after all.”
Hermione counted to five in her head to steady her breathing. He really was going to be a class-A arsehole, wasn’t he?
“How rude of me,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t mind being rude at all and motioned to the chair across him. “Please, have a seat, Miss Granger. We have a lot to talk about and I don’t want to waste any more time tonight.”
“You just told me off for being here early,” she couldn’t help but say. “If anything, I wanted this ridiculous meeting to be over as soon as possible so we can both—”
“So we can both what?”
The leather groaned under her weight as she slumped into the chair, shifting uncomfortably a few times. The fact that he was constantly watching her with more scrutiny than Molly Weasley was of no help either.
Her fingers sank into the skin of her thighs, gripping tightly. “So we can still enjoy our evening. Believe me or not, but I want to be here even less than you do.”
After that, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and placing his chin on his joined hands. “Who said I don’t want to be here?” His voice was mocking, dripping with cruelty Hermione knew so well from Hogwarts. “Teaching is my passion, Miss Granger. If I can help a lost student find their way to greatness, I will do anything in my power to achieve that.”
She would have snorted if she was in the mood for jokes. “Fabulous. The problem is, Professor…” she waited for him to finally give her his name, but he only kept staring at her. “The problem, Professor, is that I don’t want to find my way to greatness. I want to take the NEWTs and finish my education.”
His long fingers tapped against the surface of his cherry-oak desk, somewhat impatiently and somewhat curious. As if he was waiting for her to say something else, or as if he wanted to say something.
“You could have finished your education at Hogwarts,” he said, silver eyes boring into hers. “Or are the teachers not good enough for the Golden Girl anymore?”
She pressed her lips into a tight line but didn’t respond. She didn’t owe him any explanations, especially not when he wasn’t even willing to introduce himself. Manners worthy of a fucking pig.
“Let me tell you one thing.” He said. Hermione smiled with mock sweetness, her nails digging so hard into her thighs that they would soon draw blood. “I don’t care about your war heroism or about your supposed genius. If you wanted special treatment, you should have stayed in Scotland where—”
“I don’t want special treatment,” she seethed through gritted teeth, interrupting what was surely going to be another fascinating monologue she didn’t want to listen to. “What I want is respect.”
The professor let out a dark chuckle, the sound so hollow that gooseflesh erupted all over her skin. “That, darling,” he hissed with venom, “is special treatment. There are very few people who have ever earned my respect. And you, coming here with disregard for the school rules and talking to me as if I were your friend, are not making a good first impression.”
“So you expect the students to respect you but you never offer them the same in return?”
“I don’t expect my students to respect me.” His voice dropped an octave, now nothing more than a dangerous purr. “I expect them to obey me and my rules.”
Hermione should have realised she was in trouble right there and then. She should have realised that when his eyes darkened as his gaze slid to her mouth, her exposed throat and finally to her lap when she still gripped her thighs as though her life depended on it.
She swallowed thickly and uncurled her fingers, finding her wand in the sheath strapped to her leg. She knew he was watching her all the time, waiting for her move—for any reaction he could use against her.
And Hermione decided she would give him none. She whipped her wand under the desk, raising a brow at him when the school tie she conjured wrapped itself around her neck neatly.
He blinked once—the only reaction she would draw from him. “It’s good that I am exceptionally good at obeying orders, Professor.”
Something that could be interpreted as both hunger and anger flashed behind his eyes and, for a second, Hermione regretted her performance. She didn’t come here planning to seduce or flirt with him, but he made it so easy for her she couldn’t help herself.
And she did know it could end up in an expulsion.
Silence fell and all she could hear was her racing heartbeat. Blood pounded in her ears, a reminder of all the bad decisions and foolish bravery. She half expected him to hex her or send her straight to the Headmaster’s office.
Instead, he rubbed his stubbled jaw, as though he was still debating what to do with her. Then, he said, “We are going to meet once a week in my office to discuss your grades and progress with the material that will be assigned to you by me and my colleagues.” He twisted a crystal whisky tumbler in his hand, swirling the golden liquid until it threatened to spill out. His fingers clinked against the walls of the glass, loud and quiet at once. “There will be a test on general knowledge every Monday and a practical assessment every month. Should you fail more than three tests or two consecutive assessments, more classes will be arranged for you.”
Hermione nodded in confirmation. She didn’t mind tests or assessments or extra homework—so long as she could leave this place as soon as possible.
“And who is going to grade these… assessments?”
His sly smile was answer enough. “Me, naturally.”
“You?”
“Is there a problem?”
Plenty, she wanted to say. After spending a few minutes with him, she could already provide him with a colour-coded list of problems she had with him. She could arrange it alphabetically too, if he wished.
“Are you qualified enough to grade all of my tests?”
He took a sip of whisky, those silver eyes sparking with mischief. She wondered how old he was and if he had always been such a twat. “Are you doubting my qualifications?” He asked and licked his lips, his tongue darting out to catch the lone drop of whiskey trapped in the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to see my references? My NEWTs results and college degrees?”
Hermione crossed her legs, the tie around her neck suddenly too tight, too suffocating for her to breathe freely. Her hand darted to the knot and she tried to loosen it slightly, never taking her eyes off him. “I just want to be treated fairly. You might not respect me,” or anyone but yourself , she wanted to add, “but I don’t want to get kicked out of here because you dislike me.”
There was some noise outside the room, but Hermione paid it no heed, blocking out anything that didn’t concern her at that moment. She might have been a shy Muggleborn once, and Professor Arsehole might not care about her past, but she survived enough shit to be treated like one.
“I do not dislike you,” he said, starting to appear bored. “I was just about to say that apart from meetings with me, you have been also assigned with a point of contact from the eighth year—”
“It was supposed to be someone from the ninth year,” she corrected sweetly. “That’s what the letter from the Headmaster said.”
The professor looked as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to murder her for the interruption or appreciate the reference. Judging by the corners of his mouth that slightly tugged upwards, she guessed the latter. “The ninth years are idiots,” he said simply and she knew he truly believed that. “This one is an idiot too, but he has potential not to be one.”
Hermione cocked her head to the side, not even bothering to appear satisfied. “And where is he, if I may ask?”
Letting out an exasperated sigh, he waved his hand and the door to his office opened again. A student stumbled inside, toppling over his feet and cursing loudly, his struggle indicating that he was eavesdropping.
“As usual,” the professor snarled, “he is late.” Then, with a fake smile, “You two are going to make a formidable pair if at least one of you learns how to use a watch.”
She wondered if she would be expelled if she punched him in the face. After seeing his satisfied smirk, she realised it would probably be worth it. But then her gaze drifted towards the boy behind her, cursing the carpet as if it was the sole cause of his sloppiness.
His blue eyes were unmistakable. “It’s you.”
Theodore flashed her a grin. “Oh, hello again. Why’d you run so fast from Nordstjernen?”
“From what?” She frowned, not even bothering to repeat the name. But she had to admit the words rolled out beautifully from his tongue. “Oh. The pub?”
“Yes, the pub. Imagine the fun we’d have stuck in there for a week—”
Professor Arsehole cleared his throat, even that small sound demanding attention of everyone in the room. “Miss Granger, this is Theodore Nott. He is going to be your point of contact throughout this year,” he informed with barely concealed disdain. “I’m sure you will find him very… hospitable.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. This clumsy halfwit was supposed to help her with studying and passing the assessments? She’d probably have more luck if a wyvern were her teacher instead.
“Granger? This Hermione Granger?” He let out a low whistle, eyes gleaming. He sketched a theatrical bow, his messy curls shivering. She didn’t know if he was being serious or mocking her all this time. “What an honour.” Theodore raked her body up and down, his gaze lingering a little too long on her legs and chest. “Oi, professor. I thought this was going to be punishment?”
Well, it certainly was going to be a punishment for her. From one arsehole to another, she thought. How fabulous.
“This is a punishment,” he sighed. “You are going to study with Miss Granger two hours every weekday. And unless someone blows your brains out, Mr. Nott, I suggest you don’t miss a single of these meetings. I will check up on you, so don’t even think of bribing some first-year to drink Polyjuice Potion to take your place so you can go gallivanting around the castle.”
He snorted. Hermione didn’t believe he was capable of brewing Polyjuice Potion, but he certainly was creative. “Gallivanting? Who under the age of eighty says that?”
Professor Arsehole didn’t laugh.
Maybe he didn’t know how.
Theodore Nott’s face blanched a little, the olive tone of his skin paler than it had been a second before, but he quickly pulled himself together. “Of course, of course. I’ll make sure not to blow my brains out then.” He said. “I wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to score extra points for our house.”
“You will not score any points, Theodore. Or have you forgotten over the summer what the purpose of a detention is?”
“We’ll see about that,” Theo winked at her. “I will show Hermione all my favourite spots in the library and we will study so hard —”
Hermione threw daggers at him with her glare but he either was used to getting that look from girls or didn’t care. But it was Professor Arsehole who said, “I wasn’t aware you knew where the library was.”
He rolled his eyes, his tone more playful than frustrated. “I know everything. Including the fact that a very angry Astoria Greengrass is waiting outside.”
From the way they talked to each other, Hermione deduced the two of them had some special bond she didn’t understand, a connection that went far beyond a professor and student relationship. They couldn’t possibly be related, with their features so different from one another, but maybe their families were somehow tied together?
Nott was another Pureblood arsehole, so it was more than possible.
“That’s Professor Greengrass to you,” he said, straightening in his chair once more. It didn’t look as though he was particularly happy about having another visitor. “Escort Miss Granger back to her dormitory and come back here later. We need to discuss your curriculum this year.”
Theodore groaned, his smile turning into a grimace. “We have Quidditch practice at six in the morning—”
“Then you better hurry up. And don’t do anything stupid.” He stood up and quickly fixed his shirt and tie, checking his reflection in the small mirror on the wall. “See you at the Dark Magic classes in the afternoon, Miss Granger.” He leaned down when Theo turned his back to them, his breath hot against her skin. The proximity made her, somehow, completely miss the name of the class he was teaching. “And make sure to wear your uniform properly this time.”
“Or what?” She challenged.
“Or I will have to punish you,” his voice was soft, almost a purr. She forgot how to breathe when his stubbled jaw grazed her cheek, the scent of his cologne making her blood buzz. “And I’m not sure you are ready for that just yet.”
It turned out that there was an easier and quicker way in and out of the damned seventh floor, if only one knew where to look for it. Theodore Nott, obviously, did.
Hermione was rather wary about following him into a secret passageway that appeared in the wall out of nowhere, the grey bricks shifting until they revealed a door and a corridor basked in dim torchlights.
“Scared?” Theodore asked, mischief lilting his voice. His blue eyes shone brightly when he looked over his shoulder, waiting for her response. She knew he was teasing her—maybe even challenging.
She clutched her wand tighter and shook her head. “So long as it doesn’t lead to the Chamber of Secrets, nothing can scare me.”
Theo held the door open for her and flicked his wand, casting some sort of modified Lumos that created an orb of light—similar to those in Professor Arsehole’s office—that loomed above their heads. “Chamber of Secrets, eh? I didn’t think that was a real thing.”
“I technically never went down there,” she admitted, “but I can tell you being petrified by a Basilisk was a very real thing. Snakes kind of freak me out since then.”
He nearly tripped over his feet but somehow regained his composure. “Wicked! We were told that the Chamber of Secrets was a myth and that your old Headmaster couldn’t deal with running the school,” Theo said and Hermione, despite old sentiments, was inclined to agree. Professor Dumbledore didn’t know how to run a school. Period. “I tried to sneak into one of our ships during the Triwizard Tournament to check it out myself but, sadly, I was discovered before we sailed.”
“You tried to sneak into another school without the Headmaster’s permission? You know that’s illegal, right?”
Not that she expected any other reaction, but the boy snorted, telling her exactly how much he cared about any rules whatsoever. He and Harry would be best friends, she was certain of that.
Harry.
Her chest tightened at the memory of her best friend; a best friend who had ignored her for the entire summer and hadn’t replied to any of her letters.
“Hey, didn’t you break into the Ministry of Magic a few years ago?” Theo’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “And into the Department of Mysteries, out of all places?”
Like a fish on the shore, Hermione opened and closed her mouth, not sure how to answer his question. It wasn’t common knowledge what they’d done in the fifth year, and even after Professor Dumbledore and the Aurors tried to erase memories of any possible bystanders, there had always been a chance they missed someone.
And apparently, that someone was Theodore Nott’s family.
“We went there to save someone’s life,” her voice trembled when she spoke. Out of all the things she’d done in her life, that night might have been one of the biggest mistakes.
Theo stopped. “And how did that work out?” It didn’t sound as if he wanted to hurt her with the question but it stung nonetheless. He must have sensed it, too, because he quickly resumed walking. “Anyways, I wanted to check if the Chamber of Secrets was real for my school project. Everyone was describing the anatomy of dragons and manticores and I wanted to stun everyone with a Basilisk.”
Hermione didn’t know what was more surprising: the fact that the fourth-year students had to prepare an anatomy project on what seemed to be the most dangerous creatures in the world , or that Theodore Nott decided sneaking into Hogwarts and finding a deadly snake was a great idea.
Or, the fact that she started to like him.
“You’re insane,” she breathed.
He smiled. “I know. But that’s what makes me special.”
Silence fell after that, only their steps and breathing echoing off the empty walls. Hermione had to cut through some thick cobwebs every now and then with her wand, careful not to end up with a bunch of spiders nestling in her head by the time they left the passageway.
Theo told her it would probably take around twenty minutes to get to her floor, which felt surprisingly long, but the thought of these cursed stairs again made her stomach churn with nausea.
“I can’t believe he made you climb all the way up to his office,” Nott chuckled. She wanted to tell him that it was not funny at all, but she didn’t think there was any point in arguing with him. “He’s a tosser… sometimes.”
“He is your teacher,” she said in the tone of the old Hermione. Bossy, know-it-all, annoying Hermione. Somehow, Theo didn’t seem to mind. “You two seem close.”
“Ew, Hermione. Don’t make it sound like he bends me over one of these bloody cauldrons he makes everyone clean in detention and fucks me raw.”
She grimaced, although a rather disturbing thought popped up in her head. Involving lots of cauldrons, fucking, and Professor Arsehole. Pull yourself together, Granger! “I—what?”
“I’m not fucking him, okay?”
“I never said you were!” She rolled her eyes when Theo stopped once more. Her heart was racing and she was sure her companion could hear it, too. “It just seems that you and Professor Arsehole have a—”
“Professor Arsehole?” Theo burst out laughing. “Oh, he is going to love this one. Maybe we could get him a golden plate with that name as a gift? Or we could start a fanclub and make shirts with his face—”
Hermione shoved him forward. “See, this is what I meant by you two being close. Unless you talk like that about every teacher?” He shook his head, lips pressed tight as he was forced to admit defeat, even though she could see mirth dancing in those sapphire eyes. “So, what did you do to earn yourself a babysitting duty with me for the whole year? Piss in his whisky? Touched his hair?”
Theo didn’t say anything for a good minute, and she wondered if she went too far with jokes and mockery, especially if he and Professor Arsehole really were close. She already had a feeling that he’d make her life here a living hell, and if Theo repeated anything from their conversation to him… she’d be truly fucked.
But he only chuckled. “We’re going to be best friends, Hermione Granger,” he said with such certainty that she was inclined to believe it, too. Even though she doubted she was that kind of a girl Theodore Nott wanted to befriend. “I might have fucked a girl on the desk in his office before summer holidays.”
If she thought choking on her own breath was impossible, she was certainly proved wrong just now. “You did what?” After having patrolled every inch of Hogwarts in her fifth and sixth year, she knew the students were really creative when it came to finding places to have sex in. Classrooms, empty alcoves, the Great Hall. But never a teacher’s office. “He caught you?”
Theo smirked. “Do I look to you like someone who gets caught?” After seeing him stumble over his own feet at least three times within the last hour, she wanted to say yes, but he lifted his hand as if to silence her. They stopped— again.
He rocked back on his heels and ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth, practically beaming with pride. “Do you know the spell that turns any substance into gold? It was really popular during the last Quidditch World Cup.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the rest of the story, and Theo’s amused smirk only made it worse. “There is a similar spell to it—an older, stronger sister, if you will. It allows you to turn anything into gold forever,” he took a theatrical pause, “but it’s extremely difficult and you can’t remove the gold object from the place it originally was.”
She frowned. She’d heard of this spell before, though she had never even attempted it. “You are talking about a spell not even Albus Dumbledore could properly cast,” she told him. “Or the Unspeakables—”
He waved his hand. “Yes, yes. As I said, it was really difficult. Took me two years to master it,” another grin, “but it was worth the effort. Draco… I mean, Professor Arsehole , had nearly burnt the school to the ground when he found my present on his desk. Such a nice, golden… stain. He’d tried everything to remove it but no magic worked. You should’ve seen him dragging it down the stairs because someone cast an anti-magical shield on it.”
“Oh my god,” she groaned. She wasn’t sure if she was more impressed or disgusted by his actions. Possibly the former, though she still didn’t actually believe he managed to cast that kind of a spell when he was younger than eighteen. “I retract my statement—you’re not insane. You are fucking unhinged.”
“He had me scrub his cauldrons with a toothbrush, Hermione,” Nott whined. “And had I been powerful enough, I would have cast the spell on his chair, too. But I only had enough for the desk. His punishment was long overdue, if you ask me.”
Truth be told, she was rather inclined to agree with Theodore. Even if she had only known Professor Arsehole for a few days, he did seem like a person who made student’s life miserable for sport.
“Well, I am a little disturbed by your ideas,” she admitted truthfully. “But also impressed… if you really managed that spell.”
Theo shrugged dismissively as if he hadn't just told her he was a bloody genius. “I told you I’m not just a pretty face, sweetheart.”
“No,” she agreed. But she wasn’t necessarily sure if it was a good thing, after all. “You're definitely not.”
The smile he gave her was nothing short of wicked—a promise of trouble and debauchery of the worst kind. Exactly what she found herself attracted to in the recent months.
“We’re here,” he announced, motioning for the door on their left, that smile never leaving his face. He stepped closer, his broad frame towering over her as he opened the door for her. They stared at each other for a good minute, her heart thudding in her chest, her eyes transfixed on his olive skin illuminated by the pale light of the magical orb. Before she had a chance to break eye contact, his lips brushed her cheek in the gentlest kiss she could ever imagine. “See you tomorrow in the library, Hermione. I’ll send you a schedule for our meetings later.”
And just like that, the door closed behind him and he disappeared into the darkness.
The next morning, Hermione felt rebellious again. To her greatest surprise, Theo had actually sent her a schedule for their library liaisons for the next three months, with specific topics they were going to discuss and with proposed reading material, too. It seemed that he took his detention very seriously, or at least he made a good job of pretending that he did.
From his note she’d also found out that they had most of the classes together and that he’d be more than willing to be her partner should she need one. The three winking smiles at the end of this particular sentence suggested that what she should do is to consider whether Theodore Nott was worth the headache he was surely going to give her.
But, she supposed, he was charming and cute enough to risk it. And he had been genuinely kind to her last night. She could still feel the ghost of his kiss on her cheek when she washed her face before breakfast.
Theo had also informed her that the first, and the only, class of the day would be Dark Magic. It was supposedly the most demanding class taught at Durmstrang, therefore each session lasted only three hours and after that, the students were allowed to rest.
And she knew there was only one teacher who could be running this class. Professor Arsehole. Also known as, according to Theo, Professor Draco Malfoy. To say that she was surprised to see that particular name on the list would be the understatement of the century.
The Malfoys had once been a very influential and wealthy family in Britain. They had been known as the Dark Lord’s supporters and Lucius Malfoy was his right hand during both Wizarding Wars.
What she had never known before was the fact that Lucius had a younger brother. Supposedly, he had left the Isles long before the Second Wizarding War started, but that was all she managed to find about him. That—and the fact that after Lucius’ death, he was the sole heir to the Malfoy wealth.
It changed everything and nothing.
Everything, because the time she had spent at Malfoy Manor, beaten and tortured by his family, was still haunting her in her dreams.
Nothing, because he was not the one responsible for her torment. Until now.
How could she not realise that he was a Malfoy before? The resemblance was uncanny—white blond hair, stormy eyes and those sharp features that screamed aristocracy and arrogance. He was taller than his brother and somehow more dangerous, but the more she thought about his scowl, the more it reminded her of Lucius Malfoy.
She supposed cruelty ran in the family, too.
But Hermione decided that she would not be caged by another Malfoy. His family, although he was not aware of that, already cost her enough. And if he wanted to torment her, she would not make it easy for him.
She spent half of the night reading the thickest book with school rules she had ever seen, but by the time the sun rose again she found a way to make his blood boil. She would not play fair. Not that it ever did her any good.
After she skipped breakfast, too nauseous to eat, she walked into the Dark Magic classroom that, not surprisingly, was located in the dungeons. It was a spacious room with only twelve desks, lined in three rows.
One row, naturally, was completely empty, while the students fought for chairs in the other two. Hermione rolled her eyes and fought the urge to sigh loudly when she threw her school bag onto the chair in the middle of the first row. Directly across Professor Malfoy’s desk.
Theo was not in the classroom yet, and she wondered if he was going to be late or if he’d lied about taking this particular class with her.
“Miss Granger,” Professor Arsehole’s deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts. He was leaning against his desk, hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. She looked up at him, waiting. “A word, please?”
It was impossible to ignore his scorching gaze as he dragged it up and down her body, lingering over her skirt (shortened in the morning by an inch and a half) and the sleeves of her white shirt (rolled up to the elbows). She hid her ugly scar with the strongest Glamour she could manage and hoped it wouldn’t fade away during the class.
The murmurs behind her ceased, or maybe she just imagined they did, because all she could focus on was him. She didn’t realise before that he wore glasses; or that they could make a man look so attractive. The dark grey frames complimented his eyes and the rectangular shape perfectly fitted his sharp features, making him look even more serious.
She mustered as much bravado as she possibly could and walked over to his desk, her hips swaying more than usual. She batted her eyelashes at him, smiling innocently while doing so. “Yes, professor?”
Storm raged in his grey eyes as he spoke. “What is it that you’re wearing?”
Bingo.
She wasn’t sure he would notice—especially the length of her skirt, but the way he positioned his leg, seemingly innocent; the way his knee brushed the hem of it, told her that he did notice.
Her breath hitched when she felt the fabric of his trousers pressed against her thigh, heart hammering in her chest. “The school uniform, sir.” She wrapped the red tie around her finger. “Don’t you recognise it?”
It was so inappropriate—so wrong. But it also made her alive.
“Have I not made myself clear what was going to happen if you don’t dress properly for my class, Miss Granger?”
A coy smile crept onto her lips. “But I am dressed properly,” she said, taking a half-step forward. When she walked into his personal space, he grabbed the edge of the desk and retreated almost immediately. Uh-oh. “The rules say students must wear a white shirt, a red tie, a skirt and a blazer if they choose to. However, they do not say,” she paused, eyeing him cautiously. “ How we are supposed to wear them. I suppose I could wear the skirt on my head if I wanted to, sir.”
A muscle feathered in his clenched jaw and though she knew this would cause her a lot of problems in the future, the look on his face was worth it. Hermione wasn’t sure if she rendered Professor Malfoy speechless or whether he was already thinking about some elaborate punishment for her, but it felt good either way.
His throat bobbed but he still didn’t say a word. She considered returning to her desk when he shook his head slightly and smirked. “Perhaps I shall make you wear your skirt on your head in the next class. I’m sure the boys would appreciate the views,” he added in that low voice. Then, “I certainly would.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, trying to ignore the heat pooling in her core, and plastered a fake smile to her face. She was playing a dangerous game with her new professor and she wasn’t sure she could win.
“Go back to your desk, Miss Granger,” he ordered. His gaze flickered for a split second to the rest of the class and he barked another order at them, though again, all she could focus on was his eyes on her.
A few minutes later, when Professor Malfoy had started his lecture about some dark objects she had never heard of before, the door to the dungeons swung open and Theodore Nott waltzed into the classroom with a blonde girl clinging to him like a koala bear.
The class went silent and if looks could kill, Theo would be already dead three times. “You’re late again, Nott,” Professor Malfoy snarled. “Is your goal this year to collect as many detentions as possible? Because I will gladly help you.”
He opened his mouth to reply but their professor’s eyes landed on the petite girl, disdain evident on his face. “Get the fuck out of my classroom, Avery. I told you not to come back until you learn how to cast basic spells.”
“But Professor—” the girl whined.
“GET OUT!”
She was gone before Hermione blinked again. Come to think of it, it seemed as though Professor Malfoy could have been treating her worse than he already was. Not that she wanted it, or thought it was alright, but it really could have been worse.
He returned his focus to Theo. “So, do you need another detention, Nott?”
“I’m afraid there are not enough hours in a day for you to add more, professor,” he said nonchalantly, pulling a chair next to her and greeting her with his trademark grin and a wink.
“Then I’ll make sure to get you a fucking Time Turner,” Professor Malfoy replied. “You could be in detention forever, how about that?”
Hermione’s gaze flickered between the two of them, shock mixing with amusement. He couldn’t really be considering it, could he? Not only was she convinced that all Time Turners had been destroyed during the war, but it would also be illegal to use one for something so idiotic.
Theo, however, seemed fascinated by the idea. Though to be honest, he seemed to be fascinated by everything. “Cool. Maybe I’ll jump back in time to that day before the end of the semester and pay your desk another visit—”
“Detention, Nott.”
He winked at her again, and this time, Hermione couldn’t help but snort. Unfortunately, it came out louder than she anticipated. “Is this funny to you, Miss Granger?” And, before she could reply, “You’ll join Mr. Nott in detention this week, then. He’ll give you the details.”
She held his stare, fire blazing in her eyes. “Detention for what? For smiling?”
Theo whistled, nearly bouncing in his chair in excitement.
Professor Malfoy slammed his palms at her desk and leaned so close they would share the same air if only she dared to breathe. “I will give you detention for breathing in my class if I want to. You’d do well to remember that, Miss Granger.”
Not entirely sure what made her feel so stupidly brave, she parted her lips and exhaled loudly, the air making a single strand of his hair fall onto his forehead. “Go ahead, sir.”
His features hardened and she could swear the vein throbbing on his forehead was about to burst, when he slowly straightened his spine and walked back to the makeshift dais he constructed for himself in the middle of the classroom.
After the lecture resumed, Theo whispered in her ear, “You made him so angry he’s probably going to make us lick the cauldrons clean tonight,” she felt his smile against her cheek and Professor Malfoy’s eyes on them. “But it was totally worth it.”
She smiled weakly at her classmate, not so sure if it was a good idea anymore.
Professor Malfoy kept stealing glances at her, heated and furious. But he didn’t slick the single strand of his hair back. He just left it there—a reminder. And a warning.
Professor Arsehole did not make them lick his cauldrons clean during the detention with him, but after spending four hours cleaning dragon’s shit from the school grounds without magic, she wished he did. It wasn’t just the physical exertion that made her weak muscles tremble as she lifted the heavy shovel over and over again, but the bloody reek of it. She suspected she’d need a skin transplant to wash it off and maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.
Hermione was so miserable by the time he told them they were done for the day that she considered asking Theo to help her bury him under one of the piles they had to get rid of. She would be less upset that he made them do things that were pointless and completely ridiculous, if it wasn’t also the most inadequate punishment she’d ever heard of.
Theo, obviously, didn’t mind. He whined like a baby for the first fifteen minutes and threw a fit about getting blisters before the first Quidditch game, but then he remembered something about his dragon research and started whistling under his nose.
So much for an ally. Of course she had to land in detention with someone who would be fascinated by the medical properties of dragon shit. Of fucking course.
She wanted to cry.
With her frustration dangerously close to pouring out of her ears, she threw the shovel away and walked to Professor Arsehole. He was draped over a chair with a magical bubble preventing the fetor from reaching him, reading (or pretending) a book she knew he didn’t care about.
Hermione bursted through his little bubble with arms crossed at her chest. Beads of sweat collected at her brow but she didn’t risk wiping it off with her dirty shirt.
“Are you finished?” He drawled, unamused. “I might have to give you a medal if you are, Miss Granger. Imagine the headlines,” he mocked, still not looking up from his book. “Britain’s Golden Girl wins an award for the Best Shit—”
“You’re an arsehole.”
His lips curled into a smile. “So I’ve heard.”
Her heart beat faster.
“Don’t you think the punishment should fit the crime, professor?” She changed the subject the second he snapped his pale fingers and the piles of shit disappeared in less than a heartbeat. “This is preposterous.”
He closed the book with a loud thud and slowly looked up at her, not bothering to hide his grimace or the wrinkle of his nose. “I suggest a shower, Miss Granger. You smell so bad I’m afraid any point you’ll try to make will—”
“And I suggest you take your big head out of your even bigger—”
Behind her, Theo cleared his throat in warning and squeezed her shoulder as if to stop her from earning them another week of detention. Professor Malfoy’s brows wiggled in amusement as he waited for her to finish the sentence. “Yes? You were saying something about my big body parts? I can assure you there are quite a few of them.”
She wondered if she could get away with murdering him.
Probably not.
But maybe in his sleep…
No. This arsehole was probably so paranoid he slept with a collection of daggers under his pillows. Besides, it would actually require her to know where he slept and… no, this wasn’t a good idea.
She smiled sweetly at him, when a different solution crossed her mind. “Oh, I’m so sorry, professor. I think I’ll listen to your suggestion and take that shower,” she said. His brows knitted together as though he didn’t know where she was going with it—and for a second, she almost said something really, really stupid. But then, she added, “Would you like to join me, Theo? I could use a…” she trailed her fingers down his torso, noting how his shirt clung to his toned chest. “Hand.”
The look on Professor Malfoy’s face indicated that tomorrow’s detention would be even worse, and judging by Theo’s expression he knew it too, but being the good friend he promised her to be, the boy nodded eagerly and led her out of the rooftop before someone could stop them.
“You still smell rather terribly,” Professor Malfoy said the next afternoon in a way of greeting. Theo, naturally, was running late, which was not helpful at all. He lowered his voice as if someone could hear them, though she knew the only reason behind that was him watching her squirm. “Does Theodore not know how to use his hands?”
Hermione swallowed thickly, her whole body flushing with heat. Once again, she asked herself what the fuck was she doing; flirting and seducing a teacher? And what the fuck was he doing, flirting and seducing a student?
“We got distracted by other things,” she told him in a conspiratorial whisper. He cocked one of his white eyebrows as if he really expected her to spill the tea. “It would be inappropriate to talk about this with a teacher, sir.”
He threw her a cold glance, trying to act unimpressed by her antics. But she knew, oh, she knew jealousy when she saw it. “Are you aware that sleeping in another student’s bedroom constitutes breaking the rules, Miss Granger?”
She shrugged innocently, biting her lower lip in the most seductive manner she could muster. She might have or might have not practised it in front of her mirror last night. “Who said anything about sleeping, professor?”
Anger crossed his features at her playful tone. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, his grey eyes shimmering so brightly she could have sworn they turned silver. “Listen to me—”
But before he could finish, Theo walked into the greenhouse, humming a bawdy song as though he didn’t mind being late. Which he probably didn’t. Professor Malfoy released the grip on her, but the expression on his face said that they were not done with this conversation.
And she wasn’t sure if she was more thrilled or scared by that.
Her mother used to say: If you want to play with fire, be prepared to get burnt. She supposed her time for getting burnt had come.
“You make me sound like a fucking parrot, Nott,” Professor Malfoy sneered. “But you are late to your detention again. Should I buy you a watch?”
“Oh, how very considerate of you!” He pressed a hand to his chest mockingly. “You like me so much you want to buy me gifts, sir?”
He laughed softly and padded to Hermione, pressing a kiss to her cheek just as they agreed he would. His lips were soft and warm and she wondered how kissing him—really kissing him—would feel. “Hi,” he murmured with a heartbreaking smile.
“Hi,” she said, flushing. Chocolate curls fell onto his face and she quickly brushed them away, revealing the pair of brilliant blue eyes staring back at her with equal measures of confusion and dare.
She really did want to kiss him now.
And she almost did, her lips so close to his, when Professor Malfoy cleared his throat and pulled them apart. “You two are making me fucking nauseous,” he snarled. But his hand slid down to the small of her back, pressing hard as though he didn’t want to let her go. “Unfortunately, you still have four days of detention left and I will consider it a miracle if I don’t end up emptying my guts out because of you.” His fingers skimmed her ribs, the touch sending a shiver down her spine.
Then, he retreated and motioned to the ceiling. “The plumbing system in the greenhouse needs some long overdue cleaning. Gods know what’s in those old pipes.”
Theo rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to think you have a shit kink, professor.”
“If I did, Mr. Nott,” he said, looking at Hermione still, “then I would be wildly attracted to you. And since I am most certainly not, we can cross this off the list.”
And that was how Hermione Granger ended up spending her entire evening and night thinking about what kinks were on her unfairly hot professor’s list.
The next afternoon, Professor Arsehole decided to host his daily marathon of student harassment in his office. He had told her to come an hour later than usual and not wait for Theo. Not that she planned to, but it surprised her a little.
Maybe he was getting more jealous than she expected him to?
Or maybe she was getting extra detention for openly calling him an arsehole two days ago. Though he didn’t seem like someone who would have waited that long, she wasn’t going to rule out that possibility just yet. But if he would make her touch any kind of excrement or grime, she was going to go back to London even if she had to swim all the way to England.
She didn’t risk entering the hidden passageway Theo showed her recently so she was forced to climb over four hundred stairs again. It seemed like punishment enough for her. But knowing Professor Malfoy, it was just the beginning.
When she reached his office, the door was slightly ajar and she heard a woman shouting at him. Though Hermione was not one for eavesdropping, it wasn’t her fault that she could hear their conversation without even trying.
“You are a pig, Draco Malfoy!” The woman repeated and Hermione nodded eagerly, agreeing with her. Her voice was so shrieky and high-pitched that it hurt Hermione’s ears but she didn’t move. “I do anything you want, and I mean anything,” the woman started sobbing now. “And this is how you’re thanking me?! By telling me we are over?”
Oh, Gods. She didn’t want to hear the rest of this conversation. Professor Malfoy had yet to say anything, as though he was letting the woman pour all of her frustration out while he patiently waited for her hysteria to be over.
“You think you can get away with everything because of your fucking big cock—”
Hermione’s eyes widened and the door flew open. “Astoria, that’s enough.” He said, voice calm and flat. “My student is here for detention, I hardly think this is an appropriate thing to discuss—”
But Astoria—or Professor Greengrass as Hermione knew her—didn’t seem to care. She let out a pathetic whine, clawing at Professor Malfoy’s face after she nearly jumped over his desk. “I don't give a shit about your students!” He held her wrists tightly, discomfort evident on his face. “Make her scrub the floors clean or feed her to the dragons, I don’t fucking care —”
Hermione wanted to leave. And she really wished Theo was here with her. He would surely have some commentary to offer about this… peculiar relationship. And about Professor Greengrass’ apparent issues, too.
But Professor Malfoy caught her eyes and shook his head, pinning her in place with that stern gaze of his. “Go back to your room, Astoria. Get some rest and we will talk tomorrow.” When she whispered something Hermione couldn’t hear, he added. “I have never promised you exclusivity—”
Even Hermione knew this was the stupidest thing to say to a hurt and humiliated woman, and she hoped he could read it in her expression. Astoria Greengrass wailed like a wounded animal, throwing half of the papers from his desk to the floor. “So that’s it?” She pointed a shaky finger at him. “You found a different cunt to—”
“Astoria.”
She turned around and nearly bumped into Hermione on her way out. Her glazed eyes told her that Mrs Greengrass didn’t even see her properly. “Is that her? Your new whore?”
Before Hermione had a chance to defend herself, Astoria walked away. She heard her scream as she ran down the stairs, her despair echoing off the brick walls. Not sure what to do, Hermione closed the door behind her and went inside the office. She stood there awkwardly, waiting for him to say something or tell her to get out— anything.
He motioned for her to sit on the same chair she did the first night. “I’m sorry you had to witness this. We had a little disagreement and it escalated more than it should have.”
“Is Professor Greengrass okay?”
He looked at her as if he saw a ghost. “She just called you a whore and you’re asking if she’s okay?” There was genuine surprise in his voice.
“She didn’t look fine to me,” Hermione shrugged, “and being compassionate doesn’t really hurt, sir. You could—”
Professor Malfoy let out a deep sigh, his hand working with the knot of his tie to loosen it, deft fingers swiftly unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt. The longer she looked at him, the more tired he seemed—there were purple shadows under his eyes, his hair was dishevelled as if he didn’t even have time to comb it, and his stubble was no longer a choice, but rather a testament to whatever was haunting him.
With a flick of his wrist, he poured himself a glass of bourbon that slammed loudly in front of him. “Would you like something to drink?” He asked, gesturing to the liquor selection to his right. “Tea? Water?”
“Water, please.” She wasn’t thirsty but she supposed it would be good to have something to busy her hands with.
A tall glass landed in her hand, filled to the brim with ice, water and lemon slices. She mouthed a silent thank you and waited. And then waited some more. Professor Malfoy downed his drink in one gulp, poured himself another. And then another. “Astoria’s younger sister was killed during the Battle of Hogwarts.” Out of everything he was going to say, she didn’t expect this. Bile rose in her throat and she tried to wash it down with water, albeit unsuccessfully. “Daphne was too stubborn to run when we asked her to and the stubbornness cost her and her family everything. Did you know her?”
Hermione shook her head. The name sounded familiar, though if she were to guess, she’d say Daphne Greengrass was a Slytherin student. And she didn’t really make a habit of befriending them.
“Astoria didn’t take it well, to put it mildly. What you saw tonight was just a minor episode,” Professor Malfoy explained. “She is attending therapy sessions and taking medicine but some days are just… worse. And I don’t know how to help her,” he added, grimacing when alcohol burnt his throat. “I shouldn’t tell you that. I—I’m sorry. Please don’t repeat it to anyone.”
Hermione didn’t say anything and they stared at each other for so long she lost track of time. It could have been a second, a minute, or an hour, and she wouldn’t know the difference.
She wasn’t surprised that it was him who broke the silence. “Why are you here, Miss Granger?”
“Here, as in this room?”
“In this school,” he said, tone lighter; life returning to his eyes. “I’ve seen your records from Hogwarts and I know you could take the NEWTs without attending a single class in the eighth year. Not to mention your war… contributions.”
Looking at him right then, she couldn’t tell if he was being an arsehole or genuinely praising her. His expression, despite the exhaustion, revealed very little of his real emotions.
“Did you know that I was in your family house?”
He frowned, cocking his head to the side to examine her. “Really? Did the Ministry turn it into a rage room for the war survivors to destroy? Or maybe a museum?”
She closed her eyes for a second, breathing in and out, in and out. She wasn’t sure why she mentioned it to him when he clearly cared very little about anything but himself. And maybe Astoria Greengrass.
“They should burn it to the ground if you ask me,” she answered. “But I don’t know what they’ve done to the Manor after the war. I was there during the war.”
His eyes darkened. “What are you saying, Miss Granger?”
Tears burnt in the back of her eyes and her palms grew so slick she nearly dropped the glass of water she clutched to. Carefully, she set it back on the desk and lifted her gaze to meet Professor Malfoy’s eyes. “I’ve spent a week in Malfoy Manor, tortured by your brother and his sister-in-law.”
There. She said it out loud. Her therapist should be proud.
Cold sweat trickled down her spine but she ignored it, focusing on steady breathing instead. Saying these words was supposed to make her feel better, lighter—but all she felt was emptiness. The hollow ache in her chest threatened to swallow her whole as silence stretched between her and Draco Malfoy.
She didn’t know what reaction she expected from him, but quietness and that hard, unforgiving stare was not one of them. Her lips began to tremble and she bit down on her tongue so hard the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth almost instantly.
Better blood than tears, she told herself.
A minute passed and Professor Malfoy didn’t say a word.
Then another. Her eyes followed the movements of the thin hand of the clock, each second passing so painfully slowly she thought the time had stopped.
It was a terrible idea to tell him about that. People usually offered her pitiful or condescending smiles, very rarely caring about her feelings. She hated pity. But she hated silence even more. “Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
“Miss Granger,” he interrupted, his voice raspy. A crack formed in his mask, so small she barely noticed it. But it was there. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, and I’m sorry that my family,” venom dripped from his voice as he said the word, “was in any way responsible for that. They deserve to rot in hell.”
She nodded grimly. “That they do.”
The room seemed to grow darker, the orbs floating above their heads and behind Professor Malfoy’s back duller and smaller than they were before. His chest was heaving, lungs expanding to the point it must have hurt. “You’re here to forget,” he said.
It wasn’t a question but she answered nonetheless. “You probably think I’m pathetic now,” her voice shook. She didn’t even realise she was rubbing the scar on her left arm until she felt his eyes down there. “That I’m a coward who runs from her problems.”
She was thankful he didn’t press. “Miss Granger, I am thinking many things about you right now,” he said, a touch of vulnerability lighting his gaze. “But I am far from thinking you are a coward.”
Just like the last time during the Dark Magic class, he leaned over the desk, erasing the distance between them. His hand found hers and he pried it from her scar, the touch making her heart leap into her throat. “I ran from my family when I was twelve,” he admitted, entwining their fingers together. “And even though they’re all dead, they still haunt me.”
His proximity was making her dizzy, her head spinning like a fucking carousel. He looked at her as if he could see her soul, her heart—and her fears, too. And since he offered her a piece of himself, she decided to return the favour. Partially because it was the right thing to do, and partially because she needed to get that weight off her chest. It would drag her down if she wouldn’t.
“I still have nightmares about being there,” she said, her voice small. As small as she felt at this moment. Understanding dawned in his eyes and he squeezed her hand, the gesture telling more than any words would. “I know they’re dead but—” she quivered, the face of Bellatrix Lestrange and her dagger poisoning her thoughts. “I’m sorry.”
After what might have been a minute or an eternity, he released her hand and sat back down in his chair. Even then, he seemed different, though she couldn’t explain what the difference was.
“Go back to your dormitory,” he said at last. She suspected he was going to drink more and if it wasn’t a school night—and he wasn’t her teacher, she would have asked to join him. “I have to travel tomorrow, so your detention is cancelled. Come back on Friday and make sure Mr. Nott goes through your homework with you.”
She nodded, her knees wobbling as she stood up. She told herself it was the stairs’ fault.
“Miss Granger?” Professor Malfoy called after her. She looked over her shoulder, already twisting the knob. “If you need a tonic to help you with the nightmares, I can get it for you.”
“There’s no need,” she said. “The tonics don’t help, sir.”
Theo threw a grape at her, the fruit hitting her right in the middle of her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open and she had to blink a few times to dissolve the fog clouding her vision. “You cannot tell me my dragon stories were so boring,” he complained, stuffing his mouth with as many grapes as physically possible.
“You weren’t telling me dragon stories, Theo,” she stuck her tongue at him and caught the grape he threw this time. He was so likeable and charming she couldn't even deny she enjoyed his company anymore. “You were telling me about your sex life. Which, by the way, I don’t really care about.”
“Oh my god, Hermione,” he looked up as though looking for help from some deity that didn’t even exist. “Don’t you get it? The dragon in the story is my—”
She shoved a handful of fruit into his mouth again. “Do not finish that sentence.”
He swallowed the grapes, nearly choking at least three times, and leaned over to kiss her lips. Somehow, there was nothing romantic about it—nothing inappropriate. She tasted the sweetness of the fruit and hot chocolate he consumed like an addict, and faked a grimace. “Ew.”
“You wanted to kiss me three days ago,” he pointed out, pretending to be hurt by her rejection. “When Draco said you still smelled like dragon’s shit.”
Well, that wasn’t a lie. But a lot has changed in the last three days. “Why do you call him Draco?”
“That’s his name,” Theo said.
“Are you on a first-name basis with every teacher?”
He shook his head, not looking particularly happy to be interrogated by her but she knew he wouldn’t last long. Among other things, Theodore Nott was the biggest gossip she had ever met. He knew everything about everyone, and she suspected his charm made it easy to acquire secrets.
“Fine, but you must promise me you won’t tell him anything,” Theo said in a serious tone—one she rarely heard from him. She promised to keep it to herself twice and made a pinky promise with him before he started talking. “Draco and I were raised together here, in the north. My father was a fucking jerk but when he realised the war was not a profitable business for his shady deals, he packed his bags and moved to Norway with my mother and me, leaving all the great Nott legacy behind.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, waiting. “I was two when we arrived here and I am not sure how he found us, but little Draco Malfoy apparently knocked on our door and my mother decided that we had to take him in. He’s been like an older brother to me ever since.”
“And his parents never fought for him?”
Theo let out a humourless chuckle. “I’m sure you know his family better than I do. Once he left the Manor, they announced him dead to the world. I don’t think they knew he ended up in our house.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. Professor Malfoy told her last night that he escaped his family’s claws, but she didn’t expect him to… come here when he was still a child. To be honest, she didn’t even try to imagine what he did after he ran.
“No wonder you were so offended when I said you two were close,” she joked but Theo didn’t laugh. “Does everyone know?”
“Most people don’t. My father kept it a secret so he could control Draco,” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “He had no other family, no money… and when my mother died, he had no one else to take care of him. And Daddy Nott can be so convincing he could sell sand in the desert, so of course he convinced Draco Malfoy that he loved him.”
“Is he still alive?” She knew it was not her place to ask, but from everything Theo had told her so far about his family, in addition to this story, she really wished he wasn’t.
Theo made a face. “Unfortunately. But not for long,” he added. “I hope.”
“You hope?”
“What, did you think I would tear up and tell you a sappy story about a little boy with an abusive father who found his only friends in books?”
She didn’t. Honestly, she didn’t know what to think about him sometimes. “Then what kind of story were you going to tell me?”
He smiled. “A story of a little boy with an abusive father who had read every single book in his library so he could find a way to kill his abusive father.”
Hermione smiled back. “This little boy seems to be really smart, but does he know what he’s doing?” She didn’t doubt he would find a way to get rid of his father, but she wanted to make sure he knew the price of it. Still smiling, Theo looped his arms around her waist and pulled her close into a warm hug. “You’re crushing my ribs, Theo.”
“Oh come on, Golden Girl,” he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re stronger than that.”
When she returned to her room that night, after a liaison meeting that lasted four hours and had as much in common with studying as Theodore had with dragons (despite the things he said about his cock), a thick envelope waited for her on her pillow.
She opened it with shaky hands, the colour suggesting it was from Professor Malfoy. And she had a feeling that whatever was inside had nothing to do with studying, either.
It was a copy of Daily Prophet— tomorrow’s copy.
The front page made her heart stop. A picture that took up at least half of the page was printed on it, immediately catching her attention. It was a magical photograph of a burning building, the flames destroying the mansion on a never-ending loop.
Hermione didn’t need to read the headline to know exactly what building it was. After all, she saw it in her dreams almost every night. It was impossible to mistake the ludicrous gates with any other building, or the rose gardens with any other place. But she decided to read the article nonetheless, if only to make sure what she was seeing was real. That it wasn’t a cruel prank.
FIRE IN WILTSHIRE! MALFOY MANOR DESTROYED BY WILDFIRE!
Around two in the morning, the Auror Department was informed of an unnatural fire in Wiltshire, South West England. It had been first noticed by the inhabitants of the nearby villages, who claimed the flames reached the sky and burnt brighter than the stars.
The Chief of the Magical Accidents Division, Percy Weasley, confirmed that the Malfoy’s family estate had burnt down due to an explosion of Wildfire. The Aurors are looking for the culprit, however we already know that the mansion will be unsalvageable. Read more on page sixteen…
A small note was attached to the copy of the newspaper, only one sentence written on the grey parchment. She read it over and over again, the letters blurring into a black stain as her tears dripped on the piece of paper.
But even though she couldn’t read it anymore, the note ruined and her eyes squeezed shut, Hermione knew she would remember the seven words for the rest of her life. They were burnt into her brain forever, replacing the memories she fought so hard to bury in her head. Replacing the ugly scar that no spell, no potion, and no surgery would remove.
I hope this helps with the nightmares.
For the first time in months, Hermione slept peacefully. She dreamt of red and orange flames, and of fires that destroyed her enemies. She dreamt of the man who made it all happen for her, too.