A/N:
Hi everyone. So, here's another Dramionaise story for you all. I can't help myself, I love that naughty little triad so much!
This was actually my first multi-chap fic I posted to AO3, and it was still a WIP when I hit writer's block with it! After re-reading it a few weeks ago I decided it could be better, so I pulled it down and have been working on it again. There are 16 pre-written chapters and I plan to post one a week, hopefully, this will give me enough time to write the rest!
This is a threesome fic - Draco/Hermione/Blaise. It's pro Harry and Ron and most definitely anti Ginny! If this isn't your thing, please click off this story.
And as always… a huge thanks to my wonderful beta and friend LaBelladoneX. She truly is amazing and never fails to make me laugh with some of the comments she leaves me when working on a chapter.
I hope you enjoy it!
~ coyg_81 x
THIS LIFE
Chapter One
~•~•~•~
Hermione sat at her dining table in shock as the hand holding her delicate teacup began to shake slightly. Across from her sat Headmistress McGonagall, a small frown on her face.
"Are you okay, Hermione?"
"I… um… I don't think I can do it, Headmistress," she answered after a few minutes, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
She'd just been told that she'd been made Head Girl for their forthcoming final year at Hogwarts. All students who missed their seventh year had been asked back to finish their education — if they so wished — but there was absolutely no way she'd be able to work alongside Blaise Zabini, whom the headmistress had made Head Boy.
McGonagall sighed loudly. "I feel that a Gryffindor Head Girl and Slytherin Head Boy would do wonders for house unity," she explained. "This divide between houses — nevermind the blood superiority — is still prominent, even after the fall of Voldemort. People aren't adjusting well."
Hermione cringed. She had no problem saying or hearing the very dead Dark Lord's name, but it still made her feel rotten, bringing back a flood of memories she was trying desperately to forget.
It was unusual to hear McGonagall call a student by their given name, but she'd always had a soft spot for Hermione. Being Head of Gryffindor House, she'd watched the young witch closely, observing her struggle to make friends in those first few weeks at Hogwarts, adapt to her new life in the wizarding world, and later suffer the humility of boys like Malfoy taunting and bullying her.
Not long after Hermione had started at Hogwarts, McGonagall had asked to see her after classes one afternoon. She'd wanted to ask the young Gryffindor how she was doing and getting on. From then on Hermione found an excuse to visit the professor in her office on the same day every week until it became a regular thing. They would chat for around an hour over tea and biscuits and McGonagall started to look forward to her visits. She found she was becoming quite close to the girl and, after everything that had happened during the war and with Hermione's parents still not around, McGonagall had taken it upon herself to look out for Hermione Granger.
"You've seen the papers, you know hostilities are still running high on both sides. The best place to begin to dispel these prejudices is here at the school. Hopefully, in a few years, the younger generations won't know what it's like to live in the world as it is, or has been."
Damn it! Hermione couldn't argue with that — not one bit. It was logical, and Hermione was a logical thinker. Still though…
"I don't think I can do it, Headmistress, it's too much. He and Malfoy are always together and I know Malfoy would be around the Heads' common room quite a bit. I can't see him! Not after what happened. Surely you can understand that?" She finished quietly.
It had only been a few months since she'd been tortured and branded by Bellatrix Lestrange at Malfoy Manor and Hermione was still suffering from nightmares and panic attacks. She remembered Malfoy had just stood there... watching. Okay, so they hadn't been friends at school — far from it — but she'd thought he wouldn't have wanted to see one of his fellow classmates suffer like that. She was wrong — he had — and it changed everything.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," the headmistress replied, her expression apologetic, "I've made Mr Malfoy a prefect again so you will have to deal with him too, I'm afraid. If anyone can do it, it'll be you, my dear. I have complete faith that you are the one to change things at the school. Now, I have spoken to both Mr Zabini and Mr Malfoy and they have assured me that their behaviour over the last seven years will not continue. They are under very strict instructions and they know what is expected of them both. If you have any problems with either of them, I expect you to report it to me straight away." She lifted her teacup to her wizened old mouth and eyed Hermione over the rim. She was waiting for a reaction, but saw instead the girl deep in thought so she continued, "Besides which, has Mr Zabini ever been vocal in his disapproval of you? As far as I am aware you've had no altercations with him. And his family were neutral in the war, spending the majority of the last year in Italy."
Hermione took a moment to think about what McGonagall was saying; The headmistress was right, there hadn't been any run-ins with Zabini. He'd only spoken to her once, and that was during fourth year at the Yule Ball.
She had been standing beside a table, waiting for Viktor to come back with drinks, when a pair of hands wrapped around her waist. She'd stiffened when those hands pulled her back into a hard, warm body, followed by a pair of lips blowing warm breaths against her skin. "You look hot, Granger. I knew you had it in you." Those lips pressed just under her ear, on the soft skin of her neck, and then they were gone. She'd turned quickly to see Blaise Zabini strolling out of the hall and, with a backwards glance, he'd winked at her.
So, no, he hadn't been outright hostile towards her. Even all of those times during Slughorn's ridiculous Slug Club parties, where they'd sat opposite each other, he'd never spoken to her. She'd caught him looking at her a couple of times but put it down to her answering a question at the time, so everyone had been looking in her direction. She still wasn't happy about the current situation though; she didn't like Zabini by association of the company he kept but, if McGonagall had faith in her, that Hermione wouldn't let her down.
With a sigh, she nodded at her headmistress. "Okay then. I will try my best, and I promise to come to you the minute Malfoy upsets me."
Which will be under a week, she thought snidely; there was no way Malfoy would treat her any differently than he always had.
"Thank you, Hermione," McGonagall replied, exhaling a breath and rising from her seat. The ageing witch walked into the adjoining living room and towards the fireplace. Hermione had it connected to the Floo Network; even though she lived in a Muggle house, Kingsley had arranged it for her. Perks of being a war heroine, she'd thought at the time.
After the final battle Hermione had gone back with the Weasleys to the Burrow for a while. She'd wanted to be surrounded by people she loved — and who loved her — while they all came to terms with what had happened. After a couple of weeks though, she'd needed some time to herself to work through all the feelings and emotions she was reeling from, so she'd told Harry and Ron that she was going home until September and that she'd stay in contact with them both. They hadn't wanted her to go but, having sat them both down and explained her reasons, they'd seemed mollified.
Her parents were still in Australia and still had no idea that Hermione was their daughter, having been Obliviated by her before she went on the run with the boys. Kingsley had sent an Auror over to work with the Australian Wizarding Ministry to try and find them but they'd had no luck up to this point. Hermione felt closer to her parents at her childhood home and so she'd returned, where she was surrounded by their belongings and pictures of the three of them in happier times. These small mementos made her feel safe. And, to be honest, there was so much sadness and grief at the Burrow after the death of Fred and others that she hadn't been able to cope with it.
McGonagall turned back to Hermione before stepping into the hearth to say one last thing. "Hermione, please don't worry about anything. Take these next few weeks to yourself. This is going to be the quietest, most relaxed year you'll have at Hogwarts, I promise." She smiled at the girl encouragingly.
Hermione raised her eyebrow as if to say 'yeah, right' and bid goodbye to the witch. With a whoosh McGonagall was gone, leaving Hermione to collapse onto her sofa and exhale a huge breath. Quiet and relaxed? At Hogwarts? With one of the worst Slytherin snakes that ever lived hanging around?
She didn't stand a chance.
~•~•~•~
A couple of days later, Hermione was curled up on her couch reading the latest edition of Hogwarts: A History — which now included the first three years of their lives in the castle — when she heard a tapping at her window. Looking over, she saw a snowy white owl on the window ledge and crossed the room to let the beautiful creature in. For a second she thought it was Hedwig, who had been Harry's owl, before remembering his brave familiar had died trying to protect him. A wave of sadness washed over her and she sighed as the owl swooped in, landing on her coffee table. As the owl settled itself after its journey, Hermione went to fetch a couple of owl treats, returning to place them down next to the majestic bird.
Untying the envelope the owl proffered, she stroked its soft feathers as it ate its treats before pecking her finger gently in thanks and flying back out through the open window. Hermione sat back on the sofa and looked at the letter, the sender obviously not wanting a reply. It had a wax seal that she didn't recognise — laurel leaves around the outside arranged in a circular pattern, with the mythical Hydra in the middle. One head turned to the right, one to the left and several middle ones with their mouths open, ready to strike.
Hermione had a feeling she already knew whom this was from — the laurel leaves and the creature a blatant giveaway. Opening up the letter and unrolling it, she was immediately impressed by the elegant script, but frowned as she read:
Hermione, Looking forward to 1st September. BZ