Chapter Text
As Hermione started the walk down to the Great Hall, she noticed the whispers of students as she made her way down the corridor. Their words trailed behind her like wisps of smoke, slowly creeping closer until she felt as though the corridor was filled with sludge, thick and mucousy. Almost immediately she cast a quick bulla carminis charm, and her ears were enveloped in the sound of calming music. She continued through the castle, her face blank and empty, until she reached the large oak doors leading into the Great Hall. Here, she stopped. Drawing in a large breath, she took a step forward and pushed open the door.
Sitting down at the staff table in the front of the room, she let out a sigh as the students returned to their dinner and her bowl began to fill. In front of her was a steaming bowl of soup; potatoes and carrots floated to the surface with a dozen other vegetables in a dark beef broth. Next to her was a plate of sliced bread, half of the pieces were toasted and buttered, while the other half were toasted but unbuttered. On her left there was a cup of hot chocolate, steam moving upwards off of it in swirls.
As she began to eat, she noticed an empty space at the table next to her, a place was set but no one was eating. Then the doors to the Great Hall swung open, and Potions Master Draco Malfoy stepped into the Hall.
Draco Malfoy, with his high cheekbones and white-blonde hair often seemed ethereal when entering a room, but today he looked rather mundane as he made his way up to the staff table. His hair was pulled back into a bun of sorts, his wand holding it together. Strands of hair falling from the twist danced around his face, moving with him as he moved forward. Upon the bridge of his nose sat a pair of tortoise shell colored horn-rimmed glasses, which he often left in his office in favor of a temporary charm.
As he reached the staff table, he placed his teacher’s robes on the back of his chair and a plate of food appeared in the previously empty place setting.
In front of him sat a plate of Beef Wellington, peas, and beets. To his left a small empty plate and a goblet of wine popped into existence next to the fine china his meal sat upon. The wine in the goblet was charmed to look and smell like grape juice, no hint of the alcohol within. This was a charm perfected by Professor Flitwick (though if you asked him he would never admit it) and passed to Professor Snape, who then, in Draco’s sixth year, taught to him so that he could numb the pain caused by the Dark Mark. He did this to avoid sending him to Madame Pomfrey for pain potions since their usage was heavily monitored by the Ministry, and Madame Pomphrey was forced to report how often she was administering them. Oftentimes, when he finished his first goblet-full and a second appeared, he could feel the sting of a set of cat-like eyes burning into his head as he lifted it to his lips (he never dared finish the second glass).
Hermione watched as Malfoy picked up his fork and knife and began moving the beets off the main plate and onto the smaller one to his left. The second the last forkfull was on the smaller plate, it vanished. On the plate in front of him there was now a pile of steaming mashed potatoes lightly covered with gravy. He gracefully cut a small piece of the Wellington, and lifted the fork to his mouth. As he chewed, his glasses slid down his nose. Without second thought, he used one of his long, thin fingers to push them back up the bridge of his nose.
Those are new, Hermione thought, glancing next to her as he continued his meal in dignified silence. His left hand was home to a few rings, one of which was a metal snake that wove around his finger, moving from day to day, hand to hand, depending on its mood. His right hand however only had one ring, his signet ring. Made of a cold silver with the Malfoy crest stamped into the front, it never moved from its spot on his right thumb.
His hands and arms were lined with veins peeking through his pale skin, each one tracing their way under his sleeves and swiftly disappearing out of sight. His sleeves were rolled up and on his left forearm, in place of the Dark Mark that once marred his flesh, was a tattoo of his mother’s wand, a wisp of smoke swirling from the tip, moving its way around the wand. Hermione wondered what glamour he used to cover his mark and how he maintained it daily. On his other arm, the edges of a half sleeve of tattoos peeked out from under the edge of the rolled shirt sleeve, a flower here, a word there, constantly moving and shifting depending on his mood.
Hermione returned her gaze to the soup in front of her, wondering why it seemed Malfoy was rapidly downing his juice, a wince on his face after every gulp. Hermione reached for her drink, and as she brought the goblet to her lips she watched the marshmallows in her cocoa dance across its surface. Next to her, Malfoy was indulging himself in a small bowl of vanilla ice cream, a book about Medicinal Herbs and their properties in healing potions charmed to float in front of him.
Hermione finished her dinner and lef the Great Hall to make her way upstairs and to her quarters.
Trudging up the many staircases it took to reach her rooms, she used her wand to twist her hair into a knot at the back of her head, a few stray curls falling into her face. She then cast another quick bulla carminius, and began the trek up the spiral staircase of Gryffindor Tower. Her quarters were at the very top of the tower, the dorms being a floor or two below. As she reached the door she felt a wave of relief and walked inside.
To her left was a small kitchen cluttered with coffee mugs and various books opened upon the counters. To her right was the door to her bedroom, and further down, the bathroom. Directly in front of her climbing up the walls were multiple bookshelves, each one filled to the brim with books and various house plants kept alive by the house elves. Pictures from her time at muggle university and recent trips with her friends were carefully placed on the walls some moving from frame to frame.
In the sitting area were two couches and an armchair, stretched out lazily upon the furthest couch was her dear cat, Crookshanks. Upon hearing her arrival, he got up and began to walk in circles around her ankles, begging for affection. She leaned down, picked him up and held him in her arms as she walked into her bedroom.