cleverness | don't close your eyes to deceive

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draco malfoy

don't close your eyes to deceive

When Hermione first noticed her name once more on the bulletin board as a nominee for Council, she stopped to ask herself a few questions. Wondering, first, if she was prepared to once more give up a good portion of every day to the work that being on such a committee required. Asking, second, if she had ideas that made her the right person for the job, ideas that she would push in the following term, no longer sitting in the background. With both of those being an immediate and resounding yes, she asked herself the last question as she turned away from the sign, a small and nervous smile on her lips, that of who she wanted to talk the matter over with. Who she would run her ideas by, making sure that she didn't miss any glaring flaws before taking them to the podium. Assuming that she'd find enough signatures to make it on.

Harry and Ron might have been the first thought that came to her mind, but it was one that she quickly discarded; the boys had lost themselves in recent weeks to the formation of Quidditch teams, to the excitement over each new hoverbroom that Hermione turned out after class. While she had no doubt that either of them certainly cared for the welfare of the island, knowing how best to protect its interests was another matter entirely. She, too, considered running to Ginny, or Bill, or even Luna, but found herself wondering if it wouldn't be best to first run her thoughts against someone who would be inclined to criticize, to poke holes in her logic, to find reasons to set her back.

With a small smirk, she shook her head, thinking the answer pretty clear.

Not half an hour later, she stood outside Draco Malfoy's hut, breathing a soft sigh as she raised her hand to rap smartly on the door.

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It was mid-afternoon, but with no pressing obligations, Draco had been lounging in the bedroom with a book. With a heavy sigh, he put the volume aside, pushing a hand through hair that was more mussed than usual and padding barefoot to the door.

Swinging it open, his pale eyes landed on Hermione and he calmly arched a brow. "Granger. Have you gone and gotten yourself lost?"

It had been weeks since they'd spoken last, and frankly, Hemrione wasn't very much inclined to change the status quo. For all that she recognized that Draco wasn't as malicious as he'd once been, and that he'd always paled in comparison to many of the Death Eaters who continued to follow Voldemort's every step, he still wasn't her first pick in terms of company. Far from it. But it took encounters such as these to remind her of the fact that, even beyond that realization, things had changed for him. And that, frankly, perhaps she could stand to talk to him a bit more on the whole, if for no other reason than to, at least, look after Luna's well-being.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the greeting. "I'd rather skip past the pleasantries," she said frankly, folding her hands neatly. "Do you have a few minutes? I thought that the both of us should talk about the Council, perhaps, seeing as how you've signed in support of my candidacy two terms in a row, now."

"You're looking for advice?" he asked, doing nothing to hide his surprise, nor his amusement. "From a former Death Eater? Tell me, just how desperate are you?"

He couldn't imagine getting anything useful or coherent from Weasley, and Potter was too hot-headed for politics, but he would've thought she would've preferred taking hot pokers to her own eyes before asking him his opinions on such matters.

"Still wearing that title proudly, are we?" Hermione immediately returned, her voice lightly cutting before she heaved a deep sigh. There was some amount of pride that she was swallowing, after all, by coming to ask for his help at all. Some admission on her part that she trusted some facet of what he had to offer, possibly even more than she trusted her two best friends. The ability to be objective, to be honest— to push her beyond her limits in a way that the two never really bothered to at all. But insulting him at will didn't seem to be the best way about asking him for the favor. Her hand rose to circle lightly around her temple.

"Look, I have other people I could turn to," she began, tilting her head carefully. "But I thought that... you might be the most critical of the people I know. And constructive criticism can be one of the most effective tools in pushing for progress."

His lips curling into a faint sneer, he said, "Do I sound particularly proud of it?"

He certainly hadn't begged to join their little circle of misfits, but he had admitted, at least to some degree, that his decisions in his youth had not always been sound.

"Fine," he agreed, and if he felt any sort of pride at having her respect in that regard, he didn't show it. Instead, he pointed her into what was the sitting room. Lyra's father had furnished it quite well, and there was a table and a sofa, along with a chair or two. "Have a seat."

"In... all honesty," Hermione began with an arched brow, even as she stepped into the hut and crossed both arms tightly over her chest, "you always sound as though you're carrying a faint hint of pride about no matter what you do, so forgive me if I wasn't able to distinguish enthusiastic pride from... tired acceptance." In spite of her words, Hermione didn't carry any hint of a defensive air— if anything, she was only being honest with Draco, seeing no reason to hold back on her opinion. He would have seen through the effort, regardless.

At least, she managed to refrain from calling him a complete prat. (It didn't seem to hold as true on the island, after all.)

"But, thank you," she bowed her heart, hesitating and hovering before seating herself at last in one of the chairs, hands awkwardly clasped and resting on her lap as she glanced briefly around. "I've been thinking about some of the things that I'd like to say during my speech, and where I'd generally like to push my efforts... school and research seems to be the large sum of it. Likely unsurprising to most who know me."

"Force of habit. Mother and Father taught me well," he said dismissively, though it was a rare moment of real honesty, revealing something about himself without entirely meaning to. It wasn't as though he hadn't wholeheartedly believed everything he'd spouted over all those years, and still did to an extent, but he was a product of his family. Everyone was, when you got down to it.

"Certainly not shocking enough to need advice for," he agreed, arching a brow, "Are you adding something new to the usual?"

Hermione's gaze turned to Draco at once, the small confession not passing unnoticed, although she wasn't sure that there was enough reason to expand further on it. In some ways, it should have been natural to assume that he was the product of his upbringing, and yet, Hermione had to wonder whether it was truly possible it was to inject so much confidence into a child. High expectations usually had the opposite effect, after a time.

Shaking herself away from the thought, Hermione shook her head, bringing a hand up to brush under her chin. "Well, I thought... I think, rather, that a shortcoming of the Council is how wholly uninvolved it seems to be in certain aspects of island life. Or, at least, the elected officers. Everyone has their own cause that they champion, but there seems to be so little unity in the group. I feel that the whole point of being elected at all is to learn a bit of everything, isn't it? To allow for a fully informed opinion or vote. So, I was thinking that the elected officials really ought to coordinate more with the military, with the labs, having someone there for the proceedings rather than simply delegating it entirely."

"In theory, isn't that what the appointed representatives are for? Whether or not they're actually doing their bloody job," Draco said, arching a brow, "Personally, I think they've rendered themselves largely powerless by handing over so much responsibility to their different departments or whatever you want to bloody call them, but I think they like it that way. The people here seem, for the most part, to want to do whatever the hell they want, and the moment you start suggesting their government actually govern, you're likely to feel some resistance."

"In theory, yes, the professional representatives are meant to remind others of the unique needs of each one of their divisions, but I mean to go further than that. Quite frankly, some of the people appointed to such positions are only there because they're the only available candidate. They bear no responsibility to keep up with the rest of the island's affairs. I think... elected officials ought to involve themselves with all of the different groups, not just push their own agenda." Hermione sighed, running her fingers through her hair in a momnet of frustration. Anywhere else, this type of governmental structure wouldn't have worked. Anywhere that didn't provide its population with the minimum necessary to live and eat well would have found themselves collapsing under such a system.

"Personally, I don't think the professional representatives should be a part of the executive Council, but... I don't know if that would make for the best of speeches. There are twice as many professional representatives as there are elected, and when matters come down to a vote, rare though it may be, they get the same amount of sway as the rest of us. They could literally entirely outvote the group of representatives elected by the people. I don't understand how the population is fine with this."

"You're assuming that any of them give a damn. They might have an election, but this isn't a democracy. They want to be taken care of, all while being left their freedoms and luxuries, until the tough decisions come along, like whether or not someone ought to be put in jail, and then they want to pawn off those decisions onto someone else. You, presumably," Draco said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, "You're talking about a complete restructure, but personally, it would at least be a better speech to listen to then the endless droning about needless social works programs."

"Believe me, it frustrates me to listen to most candidates propose social works programs as well," she sighed, almost with a wry sort of amusement over the fact that of all people, she seemed most capable of seeing eye-to-eye with Draco on the matter. "Most of the proposals made during Council speeches could be pursued by any individual, and in certain cases, I don't think any Council support is necessary. But people seem to be of the opinion that anyone who mentions the such programs surely must know the island well and be fully equipped to serve on our elected board. I'll probably end up discussing the school, at least— there are a great deal of changes I wish would be enacted for that as well, although I'm sure I'd come against a great deal of opposition in that."

Leaning her head back so that her gaze rested momentarily on the ceiling, Hermione shrugged helplessly. "As much as I hate to admit it, with politics, the only way to meaningful progress seems to be first catering until one gets their foot in the door."

"Seems you've done a fair job of it, in the past," Draco pointed out, considering that she'd been on the council before. "You have a way of inspiring confidence, Granger. Candidates twice your age, with twice your experience here, don't manage to speak with the same authority."

It was an unveiled compliment, and he offered it freely. Well, almost.

"Whether or not you're always as right as you think you are remains to be seen."

"Well, quite frankly..." Hermione said, her tone more muted than one might have expected in response to a statement made as strongly as Draco's had been. "Quite frankly, I think that all of us have earned the right to speak with a certain amount of authority, don't you think? I'm sure that there are people on the island who've seen a comparable amount. I'm sure there are those who've seen things that even the two of us can't imagine. But all of us have been rather involved in conflict since a very young age. We've certainly the experience to make those quick and decisive choices, if it comes to that."

With a soft exhale, she tucked her hand under her chin, arching a brow in his direction. "As flattered as I am though, I suppose that makes the next question a rather natural one to ask. How do you think we should treat the island, Malfoy?"

"I've been here four years, and I still have a difficult time accepting this place as home. Life goes on and all that, but this place is a bit like a holding cell. It feels naive to treat it as anything more," Draco said, which perhaps made him cynical, but he refused to take on such a Pollyanna view of a world they'd been trapped in against their will.

"This place isn't home," Hermione replied quietly, fighting the initial reluctance she felt upon agreeing with Draco— but in this, there was no way around how she felt. Whether or not their experiences on the island were important might have been another matter, but she firmly believed that there'd be a day when all of them left the place, whether it was to return home, or at the very least to travel somewhere completely foreign. Nothing about the island felt permanent, nothing about it felt secure. "I do think it's important to protect the desires of those who see themselves staying here for as long as they can, but there's nothing that this place can really do to convince me that we'll be here indefinitely. Home is— well, you and I both know where it is."

Humming in agreement, Draco was quiet for a moment, then conceded, "While we're here, we might as well ensure our captivity is as pleasant as possible."

He had to admit, he'd learned a lot over the last four years. His life had changed in ways he could no longer ignore.

"What has the world come to," Hermione asked quietly, not without some shade of wry amusement, "when the two of us seem to be more firmly agreed on this place than anyone else from home?" On some level, she was fairly certainly that Harry could have been convinced to head home, given his sense of duty— all the same, however, she also knew that having Sirius on the island would always make him reticent about the thought of returning home. And, in its own way, even having Severus Snape on the island probably brought a similar reluctance.

Ron, though, Hermione could admit to probably wanting to head home more than anything else, with so much of his family gone.

(But, she thought with a slight chill, were Fred to ever show...)

"This was helpful," she added quietly, with a nod. "Brief though it was."

"Well, good to hear it wasn't a complete waste," he muttered dryly, a slight quirk to his lips.

"Regardless, I suppose you'll have my vote again." He admitted it as if reluctant, but they both already knew it to be true.

She could have thanked him, Hermione supposed, but somehow she found herself rather disinclined to. It was, in fact, a bit of a struggle not to let her grin stretch too far, instead maintaining the civility that the two of them shared as of late on the island. (Which was, she reminded herself, still some distance away from trust. To believe someone capable, and to then be able to offer them respect in turn, it was a far cry from actually trusting them with decisions when the pressure grew to be great.)

"I was operating under that assumption," she said instead, playing on his field. Using his tone— or perhaps it was her own after all, the confidence that she'd had in herself since the very first day.

"Don't get too full of yourself just yet, Granger. I could change my mind," he said, though he wasn't so vindictive anymore as to withhold his vote just to prove a point.

Besides, her campaign hardly hinged on his vote alone.

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