The Redemption of Draco Malfoy

Chapter Two: The Seeds of Friendship

Hermione usually found Arithmancy to be a relaxing class. Whilst many of the other students would struggle to make sense of the complex numerical charts that Professor Vector set them to work on, Hermione found the methodological patterns and equations rather comforting. Until, that is, Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom.

In previous years, the Gryffindors hadn't taken Arithmancy with the Slytherins, but dwindling class sizes had forced an amalgamation of all four houses to make up the numbers. This wouldn't have bothered Hermione, were in not for the fact that Malfoy had, for some inexplicable reason, chosen to take the seat beside her. Trying her best not to look aghast, Hermione shifted her books as far to the side of the desk as possible and focused her attention on Professor Vector, who launched into an explanation of this year's course. It was hard to concentrate though, with the blonde-haired bigot beside her. Malfoy always made her feel self-conscious; she was sure that he was mentally ticking off all the faults he could find in her appearance. There would be many, of course.

"So, I must warn you now," said Professor Vector, "your first assignment will be handed out at the beginning of the third week. Not a lot of notice, I know, but at fifth year you are all expected to be well versed in the basic tenets of Arithmancy. The assignment will be straightforward, so don't panic just yet. Now, take out your textbooks, please - remove the plastic wrappers for those of you who didn't bother to do so over the summer - and turn to page fourteen."

Hermione retrieved her thick, and already slightly worn, Arithmancy textbook from the stack of books in front of her and opened it to page fourteen. As she did, a lazy voice spoke from beside her.

"I've forgotten my book," said Malfoy, looking expectantly at Hermione.

"So?" Hermione snapped.

"So let me look on yours."

Hermione snorted derisively. "And why would I want to do that?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm not saying you'd want to; but isn't sharing with others one of the most important rules in the Gryffindor handbook?"

"Yeah," replied Hermione, "right beneath 'Do not associate with Slytherins. Especially egotistical jerks like Draco Malfoy.'"

Draco gazed listlessly back at her, then raised a pale hand into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" Professor Vector asked.

"I've forgotten my book."

Professor Vector didn't look pleased. "Really, Mr. Malfoy, you cannot afford to be so forgetful if you wish to succeed in my class. Make sure you owl home for it tomorrow. You can look on Miss Granger's book for now."

Draco turned his smirking face on Hermione, who pushed her book into the centre of the table with a furious expression. He wore the smug look for the rest of the class, clearly pleased with himself for having managed to annoy her so early in the year. They said nothing else to one another until the bell rang at the end of the lesson and everyone stood up to leave. Hermione began packing her books into her bag. To her sheer frustration, Malfoy lifted the Arithmancy textbook from the table and handed it casually to her. Hermione snatched it from his grasp.

"Touchy this morning, aren't you?" he observed.

"Save it, Malfoy," Hermione snapped in reply, stuffing the book into her bag and shutting the clasps. She slung it over her shoulder, pushed past Malfoy and walked out the door.

* * *

In the Transfiguration classroom on the third floor, Harry and Ron waited beside a spare seat that they were saving for Hermione.

"So you really reckon I could make Keeper?" Ron asked Harry, continuing the conversation they'd been having in the hallway.

"Sure," said Harry. "You'll ace the try-out."

"I hope so," Ron said wistfully.

At that moment Hermione walked in, wearing a rather vexed expression on her face. She cheered up when she saw them, and took the vacant seat they had saved.

"How was Arithmancy?" Ron asked.

"Good," Hermione replied shortly. "I take it you had a free period."

"Yep," Ron replied. "Great way to start the year, don't you think?"

"Mmm," Hermione responded absently.

"So who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is? I still haven't heard anything."

"Me either," said Harry. "Maybe they couldn't get one."

"Dumbledore did say that they were arriving today though."

"Well, we've got it tomorrow afternoon, so I guess we'll find out then."

The door at the front of the room opened and Professor McGonagall strode inside. "Good morning, class," she said. "Wands away please, this will be a theory class."

There was an audible groan from the students as they slid their wands back inside their pockets or bags.

"Practice is useless without a solid foundation of theory," McGonagall explained. "This year will be particularly difficult for those of you who do not apply yourself to the written material." Her gaze lingered on Neville. "Books open to page seven please. Read the section on Surface Transfiguration and then answer these questions." She set about scrawling questions on the board with her wand.

"Ooh, Surface Transfiguration," said Hermione. "I was hoping we'd start with this. It sounds really interesting."

"Right," said Ron, "I always wanted to be able to turn all my clothes into metal." Hermione ignored him and began reading from the book.

* * *

Draco sat in the back of his Charms class, twirling his Peacock feather quill with his fingers and staring contemplatively at the ceiling. He wasn't sure whether it would be more industrious to think of ways to gain Hermione's trust, or ways to get out of this ridiculous plan of his father's. Already he had bungled a simple attempt to strike up conversation with her, namely because he simply could not refrain from insulting her. It was just too much fun.

There was, however, the shadow of Voldemort looming over his thoughts; the man - if he was a man - that Draco had never seen, but had heard too much about to doubt his power. The guy was a real bastard, according to the snippets of conversation he'd overheard in the Manor, and none too eye-catching either, apparently. Then again, Draco had seen some terrible things in his years, enough to overcome any squeamishness he would once have felt in the presence of most dark beings, human or otherwise. If Voldemort had red skin, horns and clawed hands, as Draco pictured he would, then he couldn't see what could be so off-putting about the bloke. But then physical appearance and magical potency never went hand in hand. Just look at Dumbledore.

At the front of the room, tiny Professor Flitwick waddled through the door and stood up on the dais, breaking Draco's reverie. Not feeling in the mood to take notes, he laid down his quill and leaned lazily back on his chair as Flitwick explained Acceleration Charms to the class. Wish I could make this class go faster, Draco thought.

It dragged, however - so much so that by the end of it Draco was close to sleep. He shook his head awake and collected his books before leaving the room.

Outside, the hall was teeming with students, most of who looked to have shrunken over the summer. Either that or Draco had grown. He cut an easy swathe through the crowd; it parted before him like parchment under a knife. There was one young student, however, that didn't see the need to move out of his way, and was sent staggering back as they bumped right into him. Draco's eyes searched for the impertinent offender. Young, female, freckled and sporting a mane of long, red hair.

"Weasley," Draco spat. "Why don't you watch where you're going?"

"Rack off, Malfoy," Ginny snapped back, once again amazing Draco at the vehemence the Gryffindors were capable of.

"I'd watch how you speak to me if I were you," said Draco.

"Oh, really?" said Ginny. "And why's that? Because you'll get daddy Death Eater to put another one of Voldemort's things in my books? You're pathetic."

Draco was exceedingly surprised now, primarily because the freckled fool had actually said the Dark Lord's name. He thought everyone on Team Potter would shy away from the name like death itself. Well that was it - if this little Weasel used the name then Draco sure as hell would, his father be damned.

"I could turn you inside out with a flick of my wand," Draco drawled. He expected his threat to send a chill down the girl's spine, perhaps make her walk away with her head hung low.

"I wouldn't need my wand to turn you inside out, Malfoy," Ginny replied, "just a blunt stone."

Draco actually felt his eyes widen in shock. When in the hell did Ginny Weasley become a Slytherin? He couldn't let her have the last word though.

"Too bad you can't use a blunt stone to get Potter's attention, though," he said, and knew he'd struck a nerve. "Guess you can't work miracles after all."

Ginny glared back at him with malevolence oozing from her eyes. There was pain in that look too, which Draco absorbed like a drug. It took a little longer these days, true, but he could still make the Gryffindors' blood boil. He stood where he was as Ginny spun on her heel and stormed off into the crowd. Draco smiled to himself as he continued down the corridor. "I wonder what's for lunch."

* * *

Ginny was still reeling with fury when she sat down for lunch in the Great Hall. Damn Malfoy, she thought. He always knew exactly what to say to cut her nerves, and he always did it with such a straight face, as though the idea of feeling guilty for what he was saying was more foreign to him than the surface of the moon. One of these days, she thought, I'll get the chance to say something cruel to him; and I won't even feel the slightest bit of remorse.

Her mood hadn't brightened by the time Harry, Hermione and her brother entered the hall and seated themselves around her. As always, Ginny lowered her gaze nervously and prepared herself to listen to whatever exciting adventures the famous trio were embarking on next.

Four years on and I'm still a fourth wheel, Ginny thought, wondering if the remark made sense. Harry, Ron and Hermione were such a tight-knit group that it was next to impossible to penetrate their circle of friendship. Ginny remembered hearing from her brother how he and Harry had never been friends with Hermione until they rescued her from that mountain troll that Quirrell had let into the school. So she had thought - foolishly - that after saving her from Tom Riddle, Harry would have become closer to her, perhaps serving as her gateway into the impenetrable trio. But no, that had never happened, and Ginny was still doomed to be the one-year-younger accessory to their daring schemes. She rested her chin on her palm and gazed off into the distance, feeling worse than she had when she'd entered the hall.

"You okay, Ginny?" Harry asked her from across the table.

"Hmm?" Ginny, realising who was speaking, yanked her elbow off the table and felt her cheeks start to burn. Why did she always have to get like this when Harry spoke to her? It wasn't fair.

"Are you okay?" Harry repeated. "You look kind of distracted."

"Oh, I'm fine." She gazed nervously down at her plate and wrung her hands in her lap.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Ginny nodded. "Just...ran into Malfoy in the hall."

As always, that got Ron's attention. "What'd the dirty slug do to you?" he demanded, leaning forward across the table.

"Nothing, Ron," Ginny assured him. "He was just being his usual evil self."

"Bastard," Ron muttered. "The next time he opens his big mouth I'm going to get a Bubotuber from the greenhouse and shove it right up his..."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "None of us want to picture that while we're eating."

"Agreed," Ginny added. She noted, horror-struck, that Harry was still looking at her with concern.

"Don't listen to anything he says," Harry told her. "Whatever it was it's not true."

Ginny smiled weakly, more at Harry's plate than at Harry himself. She couldn't force herself to smile any more heartily because the truth was that Draco - inexplicably - was right. Ginny couldn't get Harry's attention, no matter what she did. Admittedly, she didn't do much beyond gaze wistfully at him in the common room or run timidly out of sight when he came near, but shouldn't that be enough of a hint? Maybe Harry was just too preoccupied with all the saving the world stuff that he didn't have time to take notice of girls. Or maybe Ginny just wasn't the kind of girl Harry wanted to take notice of. After all, he could have his pick of any girl in school - barring the Slytherins, of course. Why would he want her?

Sinking even deeper into her self-created depression, Ginny almost wished she were arguing with Malfoy again.

* * *

Draco sat on his bed that night, reading over the letter his father had sent him. It seemed that even if he tried, he wouldn't be able to forget the daunting task of securing Hermione Granger for Lord Voldemort. His father, certainly, felt compelled to remind him.

Draco,

I take it you have arrived safely at school and are already hard at work on the task we spoke of. I do not need to remind you of its importance, or of the consequences you shall be subject to should you fail. You and I both stand to lose much from this, but we also stand to gain more than you can imagine. The rewards for success will not be modest.

At this stage I am leaving you to your own devices, in the hope that you will use your common sense to make me, and the Malfoy name, proud. I will, however, be in further contact with you in the near future, by which time I hope you will be ready and able to deliver on your promise. (What promise? thought Draco).

Until then, you are to treat this matter as your top priority. Do not fail me.

Lucius Thanatos Malfoy.

The letter was predictably vague, though it was more of an added precaution than a necessary security measure. All mail sent from the Manor to a Malfoy was imbued with an advanced Encryption Charm that would invalidate itself upon contact of the parchment with the skin of a Malfoy. Only then, after Draco had touched the letter, would the ink coil itself back into coherent words.

Finished with the missive his father had sent, Draco released the parchment, watching it burst into flames before it hit the floor. The small pile of dust was scattered by the cold breeze that blew through the open window.

"Easier said than bloody done," Draco said aloud, voicing his irritation. He stood up and paced about the room, turning his thoughts over in his head.

Hermione Granger. He would have to befriend her, or at least gain her trust. Though his father hadn't mentioned it - or perhaps because he hadn't mentioned it - Draco knew that simply knocking her over the head with a Beater's bat and dragging her off to Voldemort wouldn't work. She would have some sort of protection charm on her that Dumbledore had devised to ensure the safety of Harry's friends; to guard against the very thing Draco was planning to do. Bribe her, beg her...seduce her if you must, Lucius had said. It was clear that however Draco convinced Hermione to leave the castle, she would have to do so willingly. That could be a problem.

Draco paused in front of the open window to gaze down at the forbidden forest as the cool night air played across his face. His father - and Voldemort - meant business; there was no doubt about that. He had to find a way to kidnap Hermione Granger. If he didn't, then he would find himself the target of the Dark Lord's ire.

* * *

Not again, thought Hermione, turning to look at the wall as Draco Malfoy slipped into the seat beside her. What was he playing at? He must be truly sadistic to tolerate her company - which he obviously detested - just so that he could torment her. Evil, evil boy.

Fortunately, the prat didn't say anything this time; he simply waited in silence with the rest of the class as Professor Vector entered the room. "Page seventeen, please," the Professor told the class. "Advanced cosmological equations using the seven astral numbers. Complete questions one through forty-six. Any you don't finish in class are homework."

Hermione opened her book to the set questions, delighted that this class would be a simple affair of working through the book - something that she could do easily enough. There would be no distractions, and no problems, and she wouldn't even have to talk to...

"Granger."

"What!?" Hermione snapped.

"I forgot my book again."

Exhaling an irritable breath, Hermione nudged her textbook across the table so that it was between her and Malfoy. She unrolled a sheaf of parchment, inked her quill and started scribbling down equations.

Beside her, Draco made a slow start, dipping his long exorbitant quill into a pot of jade-coloured ink. When the tip hit the paper he wrote quickly and deftly, laying out his equations as neat as Hermione herself was. Several questions on, she realised Draco was catching up to her, and sped up. He wrote much slower and more precisely, but unlike her, he never seemed to pause to calculate something in his head. Hermione wandered if the slower pace was deliberately meant to avoid the impression that he was struggling with something in his head. Again, she quickened her pace.

Question twenty-six though, was a difficult one. The book hinted as such, with a small star printed beside it, signifying an advanced question. Most of the students in the class, Hermione knew, automatically skipped over these questions. She, however, would always attempt them, and refuse to move on until she had answered them. But this one was particularly difficult. She stuck the end of her quill in her mouth and thought it through.

Five minutes later she had used up half a sheet of parchment on this question alone and still couldn't find the answer. As she glanced sideways at Draco's parchment, she saw him finish question twenty-five, and begin twenty-six. She turned back to her work, determined not to copy off Malfoy, despite her curiosity to see if he could answer the question.

To her satisfaction, Draco paused in thought after copying down the question. Hermione's sense of smugness grew, as she realised Draco couldn't get past the first line. Staring down at her parchment, she saw him glance over at her work, making no effort to hide the gesture. Hermione was about to round on him and tell him to keep his eyes on his own parchment when he spoke to her.

"I think you need to square this," he said, pointing at one of her numbers.

"What?" Hermione asked, caught by surprise.

"This twenty-eight here," he said, "you need to square it."

Hermione glanced down at her parchment. "Why?"

"Two months means two lunar cycles. So twenty-eight squared."

Hermione blinked, considering his suggestion. Crap, she thought. He was right. Malfoy was right. She turned to him, expecting him to be looking back at her with a smug expression. His face though, was blank.

"Thanks," Hermione said slowly, making the change on her parchment whilst she looked suspiciously at Malfoy out of the corner of her eye.

"No problem," said Draco, turning back to his own work.

It took Hermione a while to overcome the shock of what had happened, before she could proceed with the question. The answer revealed itself promptly, and she was left feeling strangely indebted to the blonde boy beside her.

She continued on with the questions, progressing through them easily. Question thirty-four was another star-marked question. Hermione glanced instinctively over at Draco's work once she reached it. He was up to it too, staring curiously down at his equations. Hermione spotted his problem almost immediately. Feeling she owed him one, she tensed herself to speak.

"Um...I-I think you have to multiply this by three-quarters, not one-quarter."

Draco glanced up and then back down at his work. "The sun's travelled one-quarter of the ecliptic. You multiply by a quarter."

"It travels one-quarter of the ecliptic at the vernal equinox, not the autumnal equinox."

Draco looked up with sceptical eyes. "You're wrong, Granger."

"I am not," Hermione insisted. "Look..." She held her hand high in the air until Professor Vector walked over to their table.

"Miss Granger?"

"Professor - does the sun travel a quarter of the ecliptic at the autumnal equinox, or three-quarters of it?" Hermione asked.

"That would be three-quarters," Professor Vector said. "Although if you were in the southern hemisphere it would be the other way around."

Hermione smiled to herself as Professor Vector continued patrolling around the room. "Told you," she said to Draco.

"So you did," he replied, turning back to his work with a smile.

Now that's creepy, Hermione thought. No vicious retort? No vehement protest? Not even a lousy 'you will rue this day'? He hadn't even called her Mudblood!

"Hey, Granger," Draco said. "How would you do this one?"

Hermione goggled at him. Was he asking her for help? Was that even possible? Something was going on inside that twisted mind of his, she just knew it.

"You want my help, Malfoy?" Hermione asked dubiously.

Draco looked back at her with lazy grey eyes. "Granger," he said with slight annoyance, "I am not going to slip poison in your ear while you lean across the table. So quit worrying."

"Okay," Hermione replied defensively, somehow feeling foolish for having brought it up. "I was just asking." She leaned over to peer at Draco's work. "Okay, how many signs of the zodiac has the sun passed through by this time..."

Hermione spent the remainder of the lesson working through problems with Draco, and wondering, quite seriously, whether she had entered a parallel universe. It wasn't that he was being actively nice to her (he wasn't) or that he refrained from smiling complacently whenever he obtained the answer and she couldn't (he didn't do that either), but he was being strangely tolerable; even polite. They weren't friends but they weren't enemies either, just - classmates. Hermione shuddered at the thought.

She was so engrossed in the last problem with Draco that she barely heard the bell ring. Luckily, they managed to finish the question before it did, ensuring that they would have no homework for the night. Once they had packed their books away in their bags, and stood up to leave, there was a moment of awkwardness. Hermione looked at Draco as he looked back at her, wondering if she ought to say something. They both seemed to move at the same time.

"Well, I should..."

"...go. Need to get to Potions and I..."

"...don't want to be late."

Hermione stopped talking, feeling even more awkward. Eventually they both settled for a nod and hurried out of the room as quickly as possible.

* * *

Harry was, admittedly, rather curious to find out who the new Dark Arts teacher would be. Having a history with them, as he did, he'd like to know who would be trying to kill him, erase his memory or deliver him to Voldemort this year. Maybe if he was lucky they'd just appoint a bloodthirsty vampire and make it easier for him.

He sat between Ron and Hermione at the front of the class, staring expectantly at the door. Perhaps Ron had been right; maybe they couldn't get anyone. Maybe the curse had finally reached the public's ears and no one was willing to...

"Afternoon all," said a familiar voice. Harry, Ron and Hermione all goggled at the man that had just walked through the door.

"Professor Lupin," said Harry, smiling broadly.

Lupin acknowledged him with a nod. "Hello, Harry." He walked to the front of the classroom and set down his briefcase. The case, like his clothes, was rather less shabby than the one he had had two years ago. He looked healthier and more robust than Harry remembered. Obviously he'd been living well since they'd last met, which was good to know.

"Nice to see so many familiar faces," Lupin remarked with a warm smile, opening his briefcase and removing some books.

Clearly, the rest of the class were glad to see him too. The news that their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had been a werewolf had reached everyone's ears by now - the Slytherins had made sure of that. But the Gryffindors - in this class at least - looked extremely pleased to have Lupin back. Werewolf or no, he was easily the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher they'd had.

"Okay," said Lupin, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Let's see who can remember what we learnt about last time I was here."

The rest of the lesson was dedicated to answering questions about Grindylows, Hinkypunks, Boggarts and all the other dark creatures they had covered during third year. Most of the class had no trouble remembering the many details of the creatures' habitats, hunting methods, anatomy and, most importantly, their weaknesses. Even Neville couldn't fail to remember the Boggart that had transformed into a cross between Professor Snape and his grandmother. Harry too, recalled the occasion fondly.

All in all it was a pleasant class, and by the time it was over and the students were filing out the doors, Harry was glad that at least this year, he wouldn't have to use the knowledge he learnt in Defence Against the Dark Arts against his own teacher.

* * *

That night, at the same moment Hermione was sitting on an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, after finishing her Transfiguration homework, and gazing off into space, Draco was smiling at himself in the mirror in the adjoining bathroom of his Prefect's room.

"Gryffindor's," he said to no one in particular, "they're all a bunch of naive idiots. This will be easier than I thought."

* * *