A Family Affair

Draco lay in bed for hours that night, reading. Long after the snores of Crabbe and Goyle and the deep, even breathing of Blaise Zabini became the only sounds in the dungeon dorm room, Malfoy studied the textbooks that Hermione had placed in his possession. He was determined to learn as much as possible in the next few days. He really didn't fancy the idea of asking Sirius Black or Remus Lupin about the Muggle world.

Between classes and all through History of Magic, Malfoy continued to study his new textbooks. He found himself rather fascinated by the Muggle world, and was surprised to realize he was looking forward to the night's study session in the Headmaster's office.

Hermione Granger stepped into the Headmaster's office while most of the school was still at dinner in the Great Hall. She had eaten quickly so that she could hurry to Dumbledore's office for a bit of quiet to organize her notes and thoughts before Draco arrived. However, when she entered the office, Draco was there, curled into a chair before the fire with a Muggle Studies book in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Moving quietly, so as not to disturb his reading, Hermione crossed the room and peered over his shoulder to see how far he had gotten in his studies.

"I really hate it people read over my shoulder, Granger," Draco said without ever looking up from his book.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore doesn't smell like jasmine."

"Oh," Hermione replied, moving to sit in another chair before the fire. "Well, I see you've made it through year one, though I'm guessing you've mostly just skimmed through it?"

Draco grunted something that could be taken for affirmation of her hypothesis, so she continued. "I suppose by now you know that Muggles don't have house-elves."

Malfoy raised his head at this statement, shook his fringe out of his line of vision, and made eye contact with Hermione. "I can't believe you were going on a few years back about fair treatment of house-elves when Muggles go 'round enslaving one another. It's... uncivilized."

Hermione giggled. "Not all Muggles 'go 'round enslaving one another'", she said. "You certainly won't find slaves where you're going. I doubt you'll even see any paid servants."

The boy's eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me."

"How very astute."

"I think I can manage without anyone to take care of me, thanks."

"Can you really? I was under the impression that you've never had to do much in that department. Certainly nothing like oh...cutting the grass? Making your bed?"

Draco scowled and turned away. "I'm not helpless you know," he said quietly.

"I never said you were. You're going to be living life in a completely different way from what you're used to, though, and I wanted to make sure you realize just how different it really will be. It isn't just a matter of 'Muggle' versus 'Magical', but of 'plebian' versus 'aristrocrat' and 'American' versus 'British'."

"I'm well aware of all of that, thank you very much!" Draco spat at her, blinking hard to keep tears at bay.

Hermione had expected Draco to be angry with her, to insult her, perhaps, as he had always done in the past. She hadn't expected to see tears welling up in his grey-blue eyes, and she was suddenly at as loss as to what to say or do. After a few tense moments, however, Draco sighed, and turned to her. He began asking questions about some of the things he had read, and Hermione slipped easily into the role of tutor. Before they realized so much time had passed, Dumbledore was back in the office, shooing them off to bed.

To Hermione's surprise, Draco stopped her beside the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office.

"I'll walk you up," he offered.

"All right," Hermione agreed. She wondered for a moment if perhaps he was just being nice to her because she was helping him. Before she could puzzle it out, Draco took her books from her and offered her his arm. Smiling, Hermione tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and he escorted her up to Gryffindor tower.

Outside the Gryffindor common room, Hermione paused. She couldn't go in until Draco left; even if he wouldn't be around the school anymore it simply wouldn't do to mention the Gryffindor password in front of a student from another house.

Passing her books back to her, Draco looked up at Hermione, then up at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Smirking, the boy said, "Wronski Feint," and the portrait swung out to reveal the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione gaped. "How did you...?"

"You'd be surprised what I know," he replied. "Good night, Hermione," he said, turning to walk away.

"Good night," she replied softly. She stood outside the open portrait hole watching Draco until he turned the corner at the end of the hallway and disappeared.

Hermione turned the puzzle of Draco don't-call-me-Malfoy over in her head all the next day. In the end, after overhearing a bit of conversation between two of her professors, she concluded that having his father go mad and decide to murder him would more than explain his sudden change in personality.

On her way to dinner that evening, she, Ron, and Harry rounded a corner and found themselves facing Draco, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Draco sneered. "Well, well, well. Scarhead, Mudblood, and Weasel. How unfortunate I had to see your faces just now and ruin my appetite." Turning to the two boys behind him, he said, "Go on without me. I suddenly feel ill." Sparing a last glare for the three Gryffindor's, Draco turned and headed off on his own.

Hermione found herself blinking back tears. What in the world was that all about? she wondered. The entire scene had played out so quickly that Ron hadn't had time to do more than pull his wand from his pocket before Draco was headed off down the hall. He and Harry exchanged puzzled glances, and Ron shrugged.

"I honestly do feel ill after that," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice level. "You two go on. I think maybe I'll go to the library."

The boys tried to talk her into joining them, but in the end, they let her go her own way. Angry and hurt but determined to do as the Headmaster had asked her, Hermione headed directly for the Headmaster's office, hoping for a few minutes to calm her nerves before Draco arrived.

Again, Draco was there ahead of her. He was sitting in the same chair he had occupied the night before, sitting forward in the chair with his hands clasped before him, staring into the fire. He turned at the sound of the office door closing, and in a sudden flurry of black robes, he was standing before her, refusing to meet her eyes.

Hermione barely suppressed the urge to slap Draco hard across the face, as she had done once before some years past. Draco raised his eyes to meet Hermione's; he winced at the emotions he saw there, and let his eyes drop back to the floor.

"I didn't mean anything by it, you know. It's called 'keeping up appearances'. I can't very well let word get back that I'm acting any differently. Hell, what happened back there was out of character as it was. I'm just lucky Crabbe and Goyle are so thick they didn't notice anything."

Gently, Hermione reached out, caught Draco under the chin, and forced him to lift his gaze to hers. Searching his eyes, Hermione saw that he was telling her the truth - he hadn't wanted to insult her in the hallway. She smiled gently at him, then dropped her hand and took a step back.

"Well, that's settled then. Umm.. so shall we pick up where we left off last night?"

Draco replied with a slight shake of his head. "I was wondering..." he shook his head again.

"You were wondering what?" Hermione asked gently.

Draco walked over to lean on the back of the chair he had been sitting in earlier. He stared into the fire for a few minutes, thinking. Hermione resumed her seat nearby and waited for him to speak again.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Draco moved to sit at Hermione's feet, facing the fire. "When I was very small," he said, "my favorite place to sit was in Mother's lap. She never worried about whether I would rumple her clothes; she was always willing to cuddle up with me. Lucius wouldn't allow it when they had guests, of course, but I usually hid in my room when they had their dinner parties, anyway. When I grew too big to sit in Mother's lap, I'd sit at her feet, like this, and we'd talk about things."

The boy fell silent again, gazing into the flickering flames before him. Hermione instinctively reached out to stroke his silky hair in a comforting gesture, the way her mother often did when she was troubled. Sighing softly, Draco leaned back against her legs.

"I think we might have been friends," Draco mused, "if I were anyone other than Lucius Malfoy's son. If I hadn't been raised to be prejudiced and close-minded. Believe it or not, I've thought quite a bit about the whole Muggle/Muggleborn prejudice thing over the last few years. Obviously, if you're better at magic than I am, that proves that being Muggleborn doesn't make a person inferior to a Pureblood. Pansy says your skill is just all books and cleverness, but she's wrong. You've got real talent, and everyone knows it."

"Thank you," Hermione said, heat rising in her cheeks. "I think...as much as I enjoy learning and studying, I think you've helped me to be able to achieve as much as I have."

"How so?"

"I wanted to show you up, of course. And I wanted to prove you wrong. Wanted to show you that being a 'Mudblood' didn't mean that I was stupid or lacking in any way. I think that drove me to push a little harder even than I would have."

A quiet moment passed before Hermione continued. "You're right, you know. We could have been friends under different circumstances. I know it's too little too late, but...I'd like to be your friend now."

Draco turned slightly and rested his cheek on Hermione's knee. "I'd like that," he said. A moment later, he chuckled wryly. "Congratulations, Granger. You've just become my first real friend."

At a loss for words, Hermione went back to stroking Draco's hair.

"Imagine being sixteen years old and never having had a real friend. All my childhood playmates were the children of Lucius's connections. My so-called friends here at Hogwarts are more of the same. It's all about social status and the game of houses. Not like you and Weasley and Potter," he concluded with a sigh.

Hermione slipped out from behind Draco, and sank down onto the floor beside him. "Have you..."

"Been drinking? No," Draco answered playfully. "Been jealous of you three all this time? Yes. Very much so. Potter has everyone looking up to him, Weasley has all those brother's - I always wanted a brother, or a sister, you know - and you," he paused to chuckle. "You've got top marks," he teased.

Hermione grinned at him.

"And you've all got one another. Always, no matter what. Hell, during fourth year when Potter and Weasley weren't on speaking terms, they still had you, and eventually everything was all right again. I've never known anything like that. And now, I never will."

"Don't say that!" Hermione cried. "Surely this will all be over soon, and you'll be back at Hogwarts before you know it."

Draco shrugged. "I'd still be Draco Malfoy. I'd still be an outcast, enemy of Gryffindor's, hated by Hufflepuff's, loathed and despised by the members of my own house. Even the teachers hate me. They look at me and see Lucius."

Teasingly, Hermione said, "You left out the Ravenclaws."

"No, I didn't. The Ravenclaws are so caught up in themselves and their studies that they haven't bothered to notice I exist. They'll not notice when I'm gone, either."

"Sounds like the Ravenclaws, all right."

Silence reigned again.

"You look tired," Hermione noted. "You should probably head to bed soon."

Draco nodded. "There's just one more thing before I go."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask, "What's that?", but she never got the chance. Draco had anticipated the question, and he took advantage of it to sate his curiousity. As Hermione's lips parted to utter the question, Draco's slightly open mouth covered hers. She resisted for a moment before leaning forward and gently gripping Draco's shoulders; Draco took this as his cue to deepen the kiss, and he felt Hermione's grip tighten as he gently parted her lips with his tongue. A moment later and Hermione was returning the kiss with all of the pent up emotions and hormones of fifteen years.

Later, neither could remember who actually ended the embrace. With much blushing, they disentangled themselves, muttered a few incoherent excuses about why they needed to hurry off, and stood to leave.

Pausing by the door, Draco smirked at Hermione. "If anyone had told me five years ago that I'd end up snogging you in the Headmaster's office before running off to live with Muggles, I'd have packed them off to St. Mungo's straight away." Truthfully, though, he had to admit that he had been wondering what it would be like to kiss Hermione since the Yule Ball in their fourth year; Hermione had looked nothing like the bushy-haired know-it-all mudblook he loved to hate with her hair slicked back and done up, clothed in elegant dress robes.

Hermione giggled, heat rising in her cheeks again. "If anyone finds out that the first boy I ever snogged was Draco Malfoy, they'll be sending me off to St. Mungo's."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You'd never been kissed?"

"I didn't say that!" she replied, clearly embarrassed. "I'd just never.. been kissed.. like that."

A genuine smile spread across Draco's face, and he reached out to caress Hermione's cheek. "Thank you," he said softly. "For.. everything."

"You're welcome, Draco."

"Goodbye, Hermione." Quickly, without looking back, Draco turned and fled the Headmaster's office.

"Good luck, Draco," Hermione called softly. She returned to her chair by the fire, gazing into the flames, and thinking about the new, improved Draco Malfoy and how much she would miss him.