Chapter Text
The first rule meant that Hermione Granger found herself at the gates of Malfoy Manor on a gloomy October morning, hair loose and swirling around her in the harsh wind.
The manor wasn’t as imposing as it was five years ago. The grounds felt unmoving, the large hedges dark and dreary. It was a depiction of dark splendour, but it lacked the venomous air and stench of death in the absence of snakes.
Could a home be sad, a residue of a broken past, Hermione wondered as she raised a hand to the iron-wrought gates. There was a shiver of magic and the gates opened to a gravel drive.
She walked down the long footpath, looking around the severe property, her eyes flicked between the cleanly cut but lifeless hedges, the brutish shadows of the trees as they thrashed from the wind, and the large curtained windows with no glimpse into what could be awaiting her inside.
According to the report Hermione received in her job at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Malfoy had been turned long before his vampirism had been discovered. The Aurors called to the scene noted that Malfoy hadn’t reported his condition and had been a vampire for at least a year. He had been fined for not disclosing his new magical identity, so Hermione sent a memo to Dean at the DMLE for a copy of Malfoy’s case file to be sent over to her as soon as it was filed.
How was that even possible? How was he feeding? What was he feeding on? She questioned the Aurors on it, but they told her that Malfoy was mute on the subject.
Malfoy’s statement told her he was more annoyed than penitent that his condition had been discovered. It also told her he was the victim of the assault and not the four inebriated young men that had accosted him on his way to the Leaky to Floo home from Diagon Alley, when they realised his identity.
Hermione thought the four young men who had accused Malfoy of being the aggressor in their altercation had a lot of nerve, considering all of them were uninjured when the Aurors came upon them. Hermione’s heart panged when she realised they were Muggleborns but she snuffed out the pity as quickly as it had appeared. She hadn't fought in a war to eliminate blood-prejudice so that people who hadn't even been old enough to take their O.W.L.s could throw their colourful and striking assertions about Malfoy about and enact their own sense of vigilante justice.
If the vitriol they spouted about Malfoy didn’t convince Hermione of his innocence, then the medical report that documented Malfoy’s rib contusions and bloody nose did.
Hermione had never liked the cruelty of revenge masked as justice, and had taken on Malfoy’s case as a top priority when he was being assigned a caseworker. All new magical creatures and other non-humans or part wizards were required to register with the Ministry so that their status could be determined and their rights protected. Ironic, Hermione thought ruefully, that vampires should not be allowed to own what other wizards considered as quintessential to their safety.
Hermione felt for her vine wand in her robes, feeling a guilty comfort for the safety that the smooth wood with a spiralling leaf design brought her. No matter their past, she pitied Malfoy for having his wand taken away simply because Wizarding council’s preferred arguing pointlessly about imminent danger should more powerful beings be allowed to possess something to channel their magic, while in the same vein insisting on protecting them because they were vulnerable in society.
Hermione straightened her shoulders, determined to do the best she could in helping Malfoy adjust to his new life, and reminding herself of the reason that she joined the department fresh out of Hogwarts six years ago.
To make real change.
She lifted the large ebony knocker, two snakes with silver-beaded eyes encircling each other, and let it fall after three short raps against the thick, black door. It was opened gently by an older female elf wearing a red tea towel with enormous blue eyes. They widened further in recognition as the elf looked Hermione up and down.
“Miss Hermione Granger,” the elf said excitedly. “My name is Wimly. Master Draco is in the library if you’ll follow me.”
She smiled at the elf and bent her knees to shake her hand. “Hi, Wimly. It is very nice to meet you.”
Wimly’s ears folded in shyly. “If you’ll follow Wimly, miss.”
Wimly led Hermione down the corridors, dark and grey to match the cold exterior. Apparently, Malfoy was enthusiastic about being a vampire, judging by the barely lit sconces on the wall and the almost arctic temperature. How did Wimly not freeze? Hermione bundled her jacket closer to herself, teeth slightly chattering as she inwardly cursed not wearing her large wool scarf today.
Everything was cast in shadow, making it somewhat difficult for Hermione to see, and she tried and failed to not shiver as she passed by a familiar drawing-room. There seemed to be a static thrum of magic coming from inside, but Hermione couldn’t discern what it was. A quiet cough from Wimly told Hermione that she had stopped walking. She realised that she was staring stock-still at the double-sided, dark mahogany doors.
She thought there was something cruel about the way opulence could mask horror; intricate designs on a beautiful set of doors could show magnificence, immaculate marble floors that showed how well off a family was, and a luxurious rug that matched the furniture. The beautiful rug that Hermione’s blood soaked into as it travelled from the where her body lay prone, as jagged letters were cut into her skin, and a beautiful dark mahogany grandfather clock that she remembered watching dazedly as she almost passed out from the searing pain.
She felt her hand twitch to her left arm where said scar was but refrained and continued walking beside Wimly. The small elf gave her a strained smile which Hermione returned tightly.
“The young Master spends most of his time in the library,” Wimly said in an obvious effort to dissipate the awkward mood. “Other times he is in his potions lab, but you are most likely finding him here when you visit again,” she motioned, pointing to the double doors down the long hall as they turned a corner.
Hermione smiled at the cheery elf, so sharply contrasted against the bleakness of the manor, colour peeking out of a black hole. “Thank you, Wimly.”
They arrived at what Hermione assumed was the library. The magnificent double-doors, similar in colour to the other ones they passed, but different in design. The Malfoy family crest was carved in the middle, two dragons swirling around the curved M lettering. Wimly opened the doors wide and popped away with a nervous goodbye, leaving Hermione alone in a dark corridor and peering into an even darker room.
Hermione felt like there was at least some chance of her stepping through and dropping into a never-ending abyss.
Down the rabbit hole, she thought as she took a heavy step inside, casting a Lumos with her wand.
She was greeted with more books than she could ever dream of. It was a maze, all the different shelves making various paths like a labyrinth of words.
Walking further into the room, Hermione aimed her wand over the high, vaulted ceilings and the tall extensive bookshelves; cataloguing everything with greedy eyes. She had never seen so many books in one place in her entire life, but they weren't the only things capable of seducing her. There were display cases at the end of each aisle filled with different items, and from the dim light, she could see some sort of old dagger glinting off the glass of one of them. There were several tapestries and portraits on the walls depicting different scenes; a rainforests large canopy of trees moving back and forth as heavy rain beat down on them, a dark green dragon swooping over a large fairytale castle, and a more simple portrait, unmoving, of a family having a picnic together, two males with white-blond hair, and a female with a warmer hue of blonde and sparkling blue eyes as she looked down warmly at her son.
Hermione turned her attention back to the books, surveying the space in the same way she did when she first saw the library at Hogwarts. She felt a slight pang of nostalgia at the thought of the old library and the smell of old books and parchment, even missing the irritating tapping of Pince’s wand against her hand when Hermione would stay too late studying.
She knew she wouldn’t mind getting lost in this sweet abyss in the same way she had lost herself in that one.
“You still have that look in your eye,” came a deep voice from somewhere behind her. Hermione startled and swerved her wand in the direction of his voice.
She couldn’t see anything.
“What look is that?” she asked tentatively, narrowing her eyes to try and see better in the dark.
A flicker and several candles in the room lit up, bathing the high shelves in warm light, and from the shadow, he emerged, both so much and nothing like the boy she had gone to school with.
Malfoy had gotten taller. Much taller. Not a product of adulthood but rather the natural propensity of vampires to loom, she thought.
And loom he did. Malfoy stalked more than walked as he came closer, a curious gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her openly and without any sense of propriety, causing Hermione to blush under his leer.
“As if you could inherit all the knowledge of the world if you looked hard enough,” he replied, his face a cool mask, indifferent to her discomfort.
She scoffed, not replying as she lifted her wand up to get a closer look at him. If he could look her up and down as though she were nothing more than a piece of meat then Hermione saw no reason why she couldn’t partake in her own assessment of him.
Malfoy had always been pale, but the man before her was almost luminous. Not unhealthy, his pallor had a vibrancy to it that was mesmerising, but it was his eyes that pinned Hermione in place — a silvery mercurial colour that almost glowed in the soft light.
He was beautiful, something one would only admire from a distance rather than in close proximity, like a red rose with hidden thorns. If you walked too close, the cloying smell of the delicate flower drawing you in, you could fall victim to the tangle of thorns that sprung upon you when you reached out to touch the soft petals, and as you’re pricked over and over by the sharp barbs that surround you, you look towards the rose and notice that the red pigment was only ever blood.
It was for this reason that Hermione felt her heart start pounding almost painfully inside her chest. She could almost hear the irregular beats in the deadly silence of the room.
She continued staring at him, mapping the six years that divided them from their youth by analysing his physical features. He had barely any of the typical features one might usually associate with the undead, although maybe that was because he had always been pale, and so it made little difference to his overall appearance. He was thin, which was natural for vampires because of their, well, unique diet, but his shoulders were broad in his white button-up and made him appear lithe rather than bony.
Malfoy was still staring at her, cold and impassive.
“It’s cold,” she said in an attempt at small talk.
“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied, his voice dripping with derision.
She tightened her jacket around her before reaching into the briefcase slung around her shoulders.
“I’ve read your file already, and I’m assuming you’ve been owled the papers of your registration.” He nodded, looking bored as he stood with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “You’ll need to go to the ministry to file them.”
His lip curled. “Can I not owl them to the department. What is the point of the delivery system if I can’t make use of it?”
“Because we like to encourage interaction between all members of society,” Hermione stated.
“Am I now? Is that why my wand was revoked?” he bit out.
He stepped closer, but Hermione forced herself to stay still. She could feel a puff cold breath on the top of her head as he breathed, causing a shiver to roll down her spine. “I don’t agree with the wand ban if that means anything,” she said, straightening her stance so she could stand taller.
Which admittedly, wasn’t much.
“It doesn’t,” he said, tone caustic as his eyes searched hers in suspicion, examining what Hermione wasn’t sure, but his eerie probing caused her to take a defensive stance.
“Well it’s not like you have much to do around here, it shouldn’t be so out of your way to come by,” she said icily, then winced.
He chuckled. “Touché.”
“Malfoy—“
“Tell me, Granger, how is working a low-level job in your little department treating you?”
Touché indeed.
“I happen to like my job very much, thank you,” she stated primly.
He arched a dark brow at her, lips quirking in amusement, before turning around and sitting in an armchair by the fireplace.
Unlit, which Hermione thought was an important detail considering she was quite literally shaking from the cold.
He must’ve noted her vibrating in the middle of his room because he rolled his eyes and pointed his hand towards the fireplace, wandlessly starting a fire.
Impressed, she moved towards the alluring warmth. “Wandless magic?”
He bared his teeth. “The noose needn’t be so tight, wouldn’t you agree?”
“The noose shouldn’t be an option,” Hermione said.
“Shame you're not the one making the rules Granger,” he quipped. “Now, If I must come to The Ministry to officially register, why have you come here?”
She cleared her throat, thankful for the more cordial air in the room after Malfoy must have concluded that whatever assessment of danger he thought Hermione might bring upon his pureblood sensibilities was low, and she sat down on the opposite armchair, thankfully close to the fire, and dug into her bag. “I am your ministry caseworker,” she started, pulling out a pen and paper pad. “As per my job description, I will visit you once a week to see how you’re adjusting.”
“To check up on me,” he stated.
“To make sure you’re acclimatising,” she corrected.
“And what does acclimatising look like to the Ministry? Should I join a club? Romance another vampire? How is the dating scene among the undead, do you think?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re not undead, you’re part human. And actually, there’s a society—”
He waved a hand dismissively, interrupting her. “Yes, yes. I know. The Society for the Tolerance of Vampires,” he said, the word vampire rolling off his tongue as if he had just eaten something sour. “I’ve already received a letter from them.”
She tilted her head up as she made cursory notes. “And?”
“The letter?” he asked, giving her a cold, close-lipped smile. “Oh, It and the guide they sent along made for a rather nice kindling for the fireplace.”
“Malfoy! You haven’t even tried—”
“I am perfectly fine being alone. I am allowed those allowances, at least,” he said, tone brokering no argument.
She gaped at him for a moment. She thought of saying something else but his tone could have cut stone. Sighing, she steeled herself to convince him slowly in the future during their weekly meetings.
“Alright,” she said quietly. “This week is just for us to introduce ourselves, and for me to inform you of the schedule of our meetings. I’m afraid I can’t stay long today, but I will routinely arrive at the end of my workday for our weekly meetups.”
“Why?”
Hermione furrowed her brows. “Why must we meet up?”
“No, why have you scheduled checking up on me at the end of your workday, when all you have to do is pop in and make sure I don’t have unsuspecting victims in my dungeons before you go to work?”
She huffed. “You don’t have people in your dungeons, Malfoy.”
“And how would you know?” Malfoy stood, and placed his arms around both arms rests, effectively caging Hermione in and levelling his face with her. His eyes were even more silver up close.
She shivered at his cold breath.
“You should be careful, Granger,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Vampires, after all, are parasitic and bloodthirsty creatures.”
She gave him a cold smile. “I could say the same about all humans. Now, tell me what time works best for you each week so I can schedule it.”
Malfoy smirked again. “That they are. I’ll come by The Ministry tomorrow, and as per your earlier description about my abundance of time, I am pretty flexible for meetings.” He gave a dry chuckle as she grimaced, rising up and thankfully putting space between them again. “Afternoons are fine with me but you can owl me if we need to reschedule accordingly.” Without another word, he turned towards the shelves and disappeared behind the stacks.
Staying still on the chair for a moment to calm her upturned breathing, Hermione then rose to her feet, packed up her papers and bid Malfoy a farewell, for which she rudely got no response, and walked off the manor grounds and apparated to the Ministry.
When Hermione arrived back at her office, she pondered how best to interact with Malfoy.
It wasn't that she really thought Malfoy would hurt her. He never killed anybody during the war, and though he had been and still remained a ponce, he had been nothing more than a bully when they were younger.
But there wasn’t much knowledge of the behaviours of vampires. They were a secluded group, and Hermione suspected that like all other creatures and non-human beings, people who interacted with them did so with an air of bigotry.
She didn’t know if observations of vampires' apparent impulsive and fervid behaviour were factual, or if people were just wary of them and therefore used any flicker of antagonism by vampires, or any magical creatures for that matter, to assume that they were naturally prone to violence.
As Hermione glanced around at the endless stack of administrative work that somehow always made its way to her desk, she sighed. Somehow extra work from her colleagues in the department always made its way to her desk. She dipped her quill into some ink and started on the first paper, a case of a wizard who had been recently freed from the allure of a Veela and was suing her for damages to his heart.
And damages to his bank account, Hermione noted privately. She let out a wry chuckle as she took notes on the case while still pondering Malfoy.
Specifically the issue of his bloodlust. Did he experience it to the degree she’d read about in books, where vampires were almost feral in their desperation for blood? How bad were his symptoms even if he had been feeding? Was there anything she could do to help alleviate his discomfort? Was it even uncomfortable or did it thrill him? No one really knew how much, or how little it would take for a vampire to lose their senses and it was frustrating, to say the least. Hermione wasn’t even sure if there were any innate differences in the temptation to violence that was different to normal witches and wizards. Vampires and other creatures tended to form packs or covens to build community in a world that ostracised them for their differences, therefore making studies on vampires woefully sparse.
She decided that she would have to properly research the proclivities of vampires.
She would research the proclivities of Draco Malfoy.
Hermione looked up at the clock in her office the next day. She’d finished her workday, only four hours later than usual, which was an improvement.
Sighing tiredly, she waved her wand and her continually rising piles of papers were neatly stacked on the side of her desk. She picked up her coat and bag and exited her office.
She looked around the empty cubicles. Everyone, even the fresh-fashed interns had left for the day.
“You really do love your job,” came a drawling voice from near the main doors.
She refrained from jumping, only just, and turned around to see Malfoy leaning against the wall at the entry to the department.
“What are you doing here? It’s way past work hours,” Hermione said, breathing somewhat heavily as she tried to calm her startled nerves.
“I could say the same to you, Granger,” he replied. She looked up at him gingerly but said nothing.
He pressed off of the wall, reaching into his dark robes and taking out a piece of paper. “I need a signature from my caseworker before I’m granted weekly blood packets by The Ministry, care of St. Mungos.” He was wearing a large black coat that made his shoulders broader. He more or less towered over her as he approached.
Hermione’s eyes widened and she frowned, remembering the time. “Malfoy, how long have you been waiting here? My office has my name on the door, why didn’t you just knock?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I was curious to see how much you overwork yourself. And like you said yesterday, I have nowhere to go, so I thought I’d conduct a study in observation.”
What an irritating man. Her hands twitched where she had them balled into fists. “You are ridiculous, Malfoy. Is all the other paperwork complete?”
“Yes.”
“Give it here then.” The lights shut off by magic at a certain point of the day, usually at the end when employees not named Hermione Granger and the janitors of The Ministry went home, so she lit a nearby lamp at one of the desks as she motioned Malfoy forwards.
Dimly, she was aware that he was standing more than a respectable distance away from her and the desk after he handed her the parchment.
“I don’t bite. You can come closer,” Hermione said.
“No, I think that’s my job,” Malfoy said dryly.
Hermione blushed. “Oh, my gods. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, I know, Granger,” he moved towards her and from a closer distance she realised he was even taller than she thought he was, “I was only joking.”
“I was too,” she defended.
He bared his teeth at her in a sardonic grin. “Clearly.”
She looked down again, and for all the cold in the room, it was the spot of his sharp fangs that caused a shiver to roll down her spine.
“Right.” She fiddled through the papers to make sure everything was in order before taking a quill off someone’s desk and signing her name at the bottom. “You’re all set. I think there would be less waiting time if you went to St. Mungo’s first thing in the morning than now, so the blood samples you should have received from the front desk should be fine for today. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without any blood.”
“Who’s to say I have?”
She looked up sharply at him. “What, did someone offer to feed you? It’s not illegal exactly but unless it’s from a consistent source, I think that blood packets are optimal. They’ve been injected with extra minerals so you won’t need feeding every single day.”
He hummed. “You would be surprised how many women would offer their blood for its,” he paused, “potential aphrodisiac effects.”
Hermione blushed and looked away. “I didn’t know there were any,” she said shyly, face flushing.
“Something to do with where the blood travels as it leaves the bloodstream is my guess.”
“I see,” she said nervously, feeling her cheeks heat. “It’s really interesting research.”
“You do love to learn, Granger,” he said darkly. She looked up at him and found that he was intentionally trying to rile her.
“From a distance,” she replied coolly.
He chuckled. “To answer your second point, yes, I got all of that in the guide you slipped inside the book I had on my table.”
He said the word with such derision that Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “I enjoyed the story of Sisyphus as well.”
His lips twitched. “A man punished by the Gods by rolling a rock up a hill for eternity.”
“Well, he was punished for his hubris,” Hermione answered.
“Why didn’t they just kill him?”
Hermione crossed her arms and faced Malfoy more fully. “A greater punishment than death is forcing a person to live through life and contemplate what they’ve done wrong.”
“Can a person really contemplate what they’ve done wrong if they don’t have a chance to learn something new? To unlearn the past?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think being bitten was a punishment, Malfoy?”
“I know it was, but that has nothing to do with Muggle philosophy. The vampire who bit and turned me had a son who was tortured and killed by my father during the war. He thought it apt to mix blood for blood loss, and if the bite was not an unfortunate turn in my relationship with mortality or lack thereof, I would appreciate the metaphor more.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. She hadn’t known the circumstances of his turning. “I’m sorry,” she said after a heavy silence. It was all she could say in reply. She felt her earlier defensiveness drop a little when she thought about how bad she felt for him having to deal with all of this alone.
He sneered at her. “I don’t need your apologies, Granger. Please don’t give me those doe eyes. I’m hardly a victim in all of this.”
“I’m still sorry,” hoping he heard her sincerity.
He gave her a terse nod before looking away.
She bit her lip, thinking of something else to say. “Do you believe you’re bearing the sins of your father?” she asked before her brain caught up with her mouth. She wanted to slap her hands over her mouth for how intrusive the question she asked was.
He stilled for a moment before looking at her again and smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I have plenty of sins on my own block, Granger.”
She nodded, understanding that disagreeing with him was not the best method to use if she wanted to be a good caseworker. “I’ve always found it interesting that muggles and wizards both have conceptions of fate,” she said instead.
He gave her a bitter laugh, and there was an inscrutable expression on his features.
Sighing, she handed him the papers. “I am truly sorry that this happened to you. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with being a non-human but it doesn’t mean you should have had the choice taken away from you.”
He looked away, not replying again.
“Where did it happen?”
She did not need to ask what it was.
After looking like he wasn’t going to answer, he spoke. “I moved to Germany after my year in Azkaban. There was a university in Heidelberg where I registered as a Muggle and studied for four years.
“What degree?” Hermione found the idea of Malfoy and muggles so odd she experienced a fit of vertigo for a moment.
“History.”
She perked up. “I love history,” Hermione said.
He rolled his eyes. “I never would have guessed, Granger.”
Hermione stood straighter, preparing her argument. “There is a lot to learn about the consistency of human behaviour in different historical events,” she said, hearing the rising frustration in her voice. He was going to be such a difficult man to talk to. “I always wished that we could’ve learned about the similarities of the Muggle and wizarding world more discernibly in Muggle Studies back at Hogwarts.”
A moment of silence. “We’re all the same underneath, it seems,” he said, his voice barely a breath.
When Hermione looked up, Malfoy had a pensive look on his face.
She stared at him, dark bags beneath his red-rimmed eyes, slumped shoulders, sallow cheeks.
He looked tired.
Suddenly determined, Hermione grabbed a bottle of drying powder and tipped it over the wet ink. Rolling up the parchment, she handed it to Malfoy who took it with a nod before tucking it into his robes.
“Would you like me to go to St. Mungo’s with you?” Hermione asked.
His eyebrows furrowed. “While I imagine having one of the wonder trio with me would speed the lineup, I think I can manage a hospital visit on my own, Granger.”
“I’m only offering. I am your caseworker after all,” she stated.
“That you are. Now while you do frighten me and every person who crosses your bushy path, I think I may yet survive an encounter with the staff at St. Mungo’s. Although, my eyes really do not appreciate the lime green robes the healers wear.”
She bit back a smile. “They are rather bright.”
He gave her a small smirk before peering over her shoulder into her office. “Are you done for the day? Or night, I should say.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am. I was just leaving before you arrived.”
He nodded. “I will escort you to the Floo.”
Hermione couldn’t help the smile that broke out on her face. Pureblood mannerisms in a vampire. Surely there was a joke to be made there.
“Thank you”, she said instead. Hermione picked up her coat and slid it on, waving her hand to close and lock her office. She picked up her bag, slightly grunting at the heaviness of it as she placed it across her shoulders.
“Why don’t you cast a featherlight charm?” Malfoy asked from behind her. She barely stopped a shudder going down her spine, wondering how long it would take for her to become used to his silent movement.
“I’m practising putting some weight on my shoulder,” she said.
“Why?”
Hermione winced at the memory. “I was visiting a werewolf pack to present a new treaty detail in legislation I’m helping draw up, and it looked like I came during a feud between two packs. Things escalated and they got into a brawl. One of the werewolves who was shielding me got pushed to the ground and I was attacked by a younger werewolf who was stressed and agitated by what was going on,” she explained.
Malfoy's eyes widened in horror.
“It wasn’t the werewolf's fault,” Hermione continued, adjusting the bag again. “He was recently bitten and had turned earlier in the month because of some genetic mutation that no one was aware of. His emotions just got the better of him.”
He went paler if that were possible. “And your shoulder?”
Hermione turned her head towards her shoulder. “He broke my shoulder with his hand. It’s mostly repaired. There are a few scratch marks that are healing but I mostly only have muscle stiffness now.”
She turned back to him, amused. “He actually visited me—”
Her smile fell when she looked at his face. Malfoy looked pained.
“Malfoy?”
He looked sharply at her before his face contorted into a blank mask.
Hermione took a step forward but before she could say anything he gestured towards the door. “After you,” he said stiffly.
Hermione stood for a moment longer, then moved towards the door. Walking on the black glossy floors to the lifts, Malfoy’s billowing robes brushed against her legs, and they were freezing. She wondered if he was cold to the touch.
They got into the lifts, and Malfoy gave her a wide berth. It had to have been one of the most awkward silences she had ever experienced. She was thinking of something to say about Malfoy’s change in mood, but every time she opened her mouth she felt the words close up in her throat.
Once they exited into the atrium, she felt him stiffen on her right. She looked up and saw his eyes dart around the open and empty space before visibly relaxing. He moved forward ahead of her and they stopped at two sides of the floo network.
“Granger,” he nodded before he stepped in.
“Malfoy, wait,” Hermione said.
He inclined his head back, waiting.
She bit her lip again, and she noticed him track the movement.
“Yes?”
She said the first thing that came to mind, hoping he understood her sincerity. “Claws are still nails underneath. It’s the choices you make that define you, not what others try to force it to mean.”
And with that, she stepped into the Floo, not looking at Malfoy’s reaction as she disappeared in the green flames.