ACA: Chapter 7, 8

Chapter 7

“Suicide sometimes proceeds from cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live.”
- Charles Caleb Colton (English essayist)

“He actually thanked me!” Hermione cried for the fifth time and was met with the same remark and rolling eyes,

“We heard you, ‘Mione,” Harry and Ron both chanted.

“But-but it’s Malfoy! At least now do you believe he’s changed?”

Harry kept silent, glancing at Ron. They were in the library and he didn’t fancy a shouting match, but Ron didn’t take the cue.

 “So he thanked you one time-that doesn’t change a lifetime of criminal activity-“

“He is not a criminal!”

“He let the bloody Death Eaters in! He’s worse than a criminal! He’s a-“

But at that moment, Harry jammed his foot in Ron’s shin, steering him away from what he was saying.

“Ow! What in the bloody blazes…!” Ron cried, but trailed off when he saw the reason. Malfoy was glaring at them a table down, his face almost ashen and eyes as cold as ice. “Oh. You reckon he heard us?”

“He can still hear you,” Harry whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the stormy grey ones. He was locked in an intense staring contest and he would be damned if he let his nemesis win.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their childlessness and disappeared behind her Transfigurations textbook. She was sitting beside Harry so she had a view of the blonde and couldn’t help but peek from time to time over her page. At last, after what seemed like minutes, Malfoy dropped his gaze and Harry smiled triumphantly, removing his glasses to wipe away his watering eyes.

“He’s running away, mate,” Ron snickered when Malfoy trudged past them, tripping over his long robes in a haste to get away.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh although he knew it would damage his nemesis’ pride. Hermione sighed, annoyed, and hissed at them to shut up. She wished they would leave Malfoy alone.

**

Their laughter followed him like the Devil’s taunt as he scrambled out the door. How much more humiliation could he stand? He wished for once he were invisible…or better yet, that he had never existed.

Sighing, Draco slowed down and ran a trembling hand through his blonde locks. It was a cold, October Sunday-the sky cloudy and smelling of rain. He pulled his bag higher over his shoulder and trudged through the dew covered grass towards the lake.

There were no students out and he couldn’t find a better place to be alone. It was dreadfully gloomy and the wind whipped his robes about, covering his rosy skin with nippy bites. He sniffed and plopped down on the lake’s bank, hugging the robe tighter round him for warmth.

He watched the breeze create ripples in the clear water, wondering what it would feel like to immerse in those icy depths. After a time, his shivering stopped and he felt numb all over. Draco stood and kicked off his shoes. He peeled off his socks and unfastening his cloak, dumped it along with his sweater on the wet ground.

Tentatively, he walked down the slippery bank and crouched by the lakeside. He dipped his hand in the water and gasped. It was deadly cold! A slow grin spread up his lips.

It’s cold enough to kill, he thought, Perfect.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly stepped into the water, pausing every once in a while to let his body adjust to the frigid temperature till he was waist deep in. He dropped his hands, creating a splash, and stood statue still, gazing out at the expanding horizon. Birds dotted the murky skies and he could trace green mountains in the distance.

I never knew this place was so beautiful, he thought, unconsciously wading deeper till the water lapped at his chest. He closed his eyes, letting the wind play with his hair for a bit, before taking a breath and plunging below the surface.

His throat constricted from the force of the icy water and he almost choked when the pressure hit him. Bubbles rushed out of his mouth and he tried to claw his way back up, but his limbs were too heavy.

With blurry eyes, he watched the light on the surface as it began to fade. He knew he was drowning, but he didn’t care. Closing his eyes, he let the air leave him and welcomed the water as it began to fill his lungs. He felt heavy-he wanted to sleep forever. He longed to sleep forever.

Vaguely, he felt a pressure on his right arm. Something was tugging him, disturbing his peace. He tried to fight it, but a blast of ice suddenly washed over him and he gasped.

Coughing and spluttering Draco turned on his side and vomited a puddle of murky water.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Someone shouted loud enough to deafen him.  “YOU COULD’VE FUCKIN’ DIED!”

Draco, still coughing, sagged on the ground, shivering uncontrollably as the cold wind washed over him. It had been a stupid idea, he knew, and he didn’t need anyone, least of all Blaise Zabini, to tell him that he could have killed himself. The way things were going, he was sorry he hadn’t died.

With difficulty, Draco pushed himself up and hugged his knees, curling into a ball like a hedgehog to hide his chattering teeth and blue lips.

“Fuck!” His savior cursed and sank to his knees beside him, unfastening his own cloak and winding it about his House mate. “We need to go to Pompfrey. Get up, Draco.”

Draco struggled to his feet and felt strong arms catch him when he stumbled.

“Shit! You’ve done it this time,” Blaise rambled as he walked the shivering, dripping, pale blonde across the lawn and up the steps.

By the time they reached the Wing, he all but carried his semi-conscious friend inside. Now, Madam Pomfrey was hard to surprise, having come across plenty of strange scenarios in her long career, but seeing Malfoy for the second time that week was enough to shock anyone. The whole school knew what a drama queen Malfoy was, but no one, not even Malfoy, would willingly land himself in the hospital wing.

“Oh, not you again!” Pompfrey greeted, lending Zabini a hand. Draco found himself whisked behind a curtain and magically draped in the uncomfortably thin, but dry gown again. He still couldn’t stop chattering even after Pompfrey spelled his hair dry and made him down a testily hot pepper up potion. “Another one then,” she tutted, handing him a larger mug of the red potion and casting stronger warming spells.

Ten minutes later, Draco lay still on the bed, his shivering gone and cheeks flushed with fever.

It’s just one thing after another, he wearily thought as the ward doors crashed open and his Head of House floated in, looking grimmer than ever. Zabini followed on his heels and Draco thought he saw him sigh in relief when their eyes briefly met.

“What is the meaning of this, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus Snape asked as he loomed over his bed.

Draco shrugged. “I…fell in the lake,” he lied and was of course caught. Malfoy charms were not enough to fool Snape’s sharp intellect.

“With your clothes off?” He raised a languid eyebrow and turned to Zabini who still hadn’t removed his gaze from the Slytherin on the bed. “I believe you’ve done enough, Mr. Zabini. You may leave.”

Blaise nodded and with one last glance, stalked out the room. Draco watched him go, wondering why it had to be Blaise of all people who caught him trying to kill himself. He couldn’t dwell on his recent embarrassment for long however as Pompfrey bustled over and made him drink a nasty brew for his fever. All the while, Snape glowered at him like an overgrown bat and resumed his curt questions as soon as he was the least bit comfortable again.

“Will you care to explain?” he smoothly coerced.

Draco found the slight tone of impatience in his voice disturbing. If he was such a waste of time and a hassle, why bother pretending to care?

With a sigh, he straightened a bit and began. “I was practicing spells for Charms when my textbook fell in the water-I guess I was sitting too close to the edge. So I took off my clothes, um, partially, and waded in after the book. I didn’t think it would be so cold, but when I dived in, the water knocked the breath out of me and, well I almost drowned until Blai-uh-Zabini…found me.”

He dropped his gaze and studied the pattern on his gown while Snape scrutinized him with distrustful eyes. It was a good lie. His textbook had been thrown in the lake two days ago by vengeful Gryffindors and if Snape wished to examine it for proof, he could still trace the residue from the murky water that the cleaning spell Draco cast hadn’t managed to eradicate.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Snape cast his verdict. “Detention-with me at ten as soon as you recover from your…tomfoolery.” And with a stern look that made Draco erase whatever thoughts he had been having about unfairness, Snape removed himself from the room with a sweep of his flowing robes.

Great, groaned Draco as he sank further into the cushions, weariness creeping over him like a long missed companion. Now I’ve lost the one person I thought I could trust.

Was there no one who would help him simply for who he was and not whom he had become?

**

Hermione found the meeting room in a chaos when she came back from her break. The meeting room, a wide circular, cozy little place that was located down a hidden corridor behind an armored knight, was the place granted to the Prefects and Heads to use to conduct business.

Fridays were scheduled meetings and usually it was then that they planned out coming events, discussed issues, and handed out the new schedules. Today however, the Prefects gathered had only one topic on their mind and they assaulted Hermione as soon as she entered the door.

“He’s not here again, is he?” Parvati Patil, whom Hermione had appointed as her Vice President, frowned.

“He wasn’t here last Friday either,” added a Ravenclaw boy. “Honestly, if he’s not up to it, why doesn’t he just resign?” And heads nodded in all direction, although the Slytherins kept their opinions to themselves. They may not trust their Head Boy, but they placed even less trust in those from other Houses.

Hermione dumped her heavy bag and arm full of books in the nearest chair before facing them. “You can’t just resign from being a Head Boy or a Prefect,” she reminded them, “And if he weren’t qualified, Dumbledore would never have appointed him in the first place-“

“Oh, we all know how qualified he is!” spat Ernie McMillan. “Letting Death Eaters in and playing with the Dark Lord really qualifies him to lead us! Why the hell should we listen to him anyways? He’s just a obnoxious prat whose used to getting his way and he’s as rude as ever. You’d think the war would have taught him a thing or two but I don’t-“

“Shut your trap, McMillan,” Zabini suddenly cut in, fixing him with a glare that could kill.

For a moment, Ernie didn’t know what to say and everyone gaped at Zabini-no one had defended Malfoy after all- but before Ernie could recover, Hermione stepped in.

“Look, I know he hasn’t been very…responsible, but he isn’t slacking. He finished his charts last week and the reason he didn’t attend was because he was in the hospital.”

“Then why isn’t he here today?” Parvati noted and Hermione shrugged.

She glanced at her watch: he was fifteen minutes late. Worriedly she bit her lip. What if he was in pain again and couldn’t move?

“Maybe I should go look-“ she began,  but Zabini interrupted.

“He’s in the Hospital Wing.“

“Again?” Ernie cried.

“Yes, McMillan, again, and before you ask me whether I’m lying, let me tell you I escorted him there myself. He’s down with fever and will probably have to stay the night.” The last bit was directed at Hermione with narrowed eyes. She knew he suspected she knew something.

“Well,” Hermione cleared her throat. “Now that we know why he isn’t here, let’s get on, shall we?” She was a busy girl after all.

**

Hermione watched the others clear out the meeting room an hour later and wasn’t surprised when Zabini suddenly confronted her, his eyes intense in their hazel depths.

“Did you know about this?” he all but snarled.

Hermione started. She’d supposed he would question her, but not in such a direct way and certainly not with such vehemence.

“Know about what?” she cautiously asked, looking puzzled.

He stared at her for the longest time before sighing. “I guess you wouldn’t…Draco isn’t very easy to read after all. Still, I think you should know.”

“Know what-“

“Draco tried to kill himself,” he blurted as though afraid the words would get stuck in his throat otherwise.

Hermione sputtered, “Wh-what?!”

“Sh! You can’t tell anyone-he obviously wouldn’t like it and his name’s tainted as it is. We don’t want to give anyone more ammunition than necessary to pelt at him when he’s clearly…not himself.” He’d thought of a few words: delicate, vulnerable, troubled…but they were so unbecoming of the Draco Malfoy he had always known that he couldn’t bring himself to utter them.

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look suspicious. She reasoned Zabini was telling the truth because he had defended Malfoy, hadn’t he? But she couldn’t put anything past a sniveling Slytherin.

“And why do you want to help him so suddenly?” she asked. “You’ve been doing a pretty good job ignoring him since term started. I can’t imagine why you’d care whether he killed himself or not.”

Zabini paled visibly at that, but hid his discomfort well. With tight lips he replied, “I was only doing what was expected of me-“

“And I suppose leaving a friend hanging is alright with you?” she chided, hands on hips.

“Don’t make me explain Slytherin politics to you-you wouldn’t understand. Draco knows-he understands-and I know he didn’t expect anything less-“

“So you let him down? You thought it was alright to turn your back on him because he couldn’t expect more? Isn’t that just sad? You call yourself his friend yet you refuse to help him! Don’t you think your little act has forced him to such desperate measures?”

“Are you saying it’s my fault he’s in there?” Zabini spat.

Hermione did a double take as Zabini took a step towards her, his eyes blazing with unconcealed anger.

“No…I’m not saying it’s your fault alone, but I know all this isolation must have contributed to…whatever happened. What exactly did happen?”

Zabini hesitated, but realizing Hermione was probably the only one who could best help Draco since she was living with him after all, he relented. “I was strolling across the lawn when I saw him crouching by the lake. I’ve seen him down there often, so I didn’t think anything of it until he started removing his clothes. Then he waded in the water and stood statue still. Before I knew what he was doing however, he plunged in and when he didn’t surface for a time, I dove after him.”

She nodded, looking very grave. “Why are you intent on helping him?” he suddenly asked. “After all he’s put you through, you can’t possibly-“

“He’s changed,” she simply replied. “And I think after the war, he’s paid in plenty. Everyone deserves a second chance, even Dra-Malfoy.”

Zabini blinked, then a slow smile crept up his lips. “After a time, he wouldn’t mind if you call him that, you know. He’s always been a bit jealous of your close knit House.”

Hermione dropped her eyes and hurriedly gathered her things. “Well, if we’re done chatting, I really need to get to work.” And she made to leave, but suddenly faced him again, “Oh, and if you do decided to swing by and see him, tell him he needn’t worry about the Charts or his duties for the week till he’s better. I’ll manage somehow.”

And with a grateful nod, Zabini saw her off, incredulous that someone could so easily overlook past grudges and help a long time nemesis. Maybe he really has changed, he thought, And maybe it’s time I became more of a friend.

Chapter Eight

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival."
- C. S. Lewis

I wish she’d given me a pain potion, Draco thought as he came around from a fever-induced sleep. He still felt tired all over and he couldn’t help but sigh wistfully when the dimly lit ceiling came into view.

Slowly, he made to turn to look out the nearby window when his eyes fell on the lonesome figure sitting in the bedside chair. His emerald eyes watched him with an emotion Draco couldn’t recognize. Was it pity? Sorrow? Regret?

“Blaise…What are you doing here?” he asked, not even bothering to sit up. He didn’t fancy trembling in pain in front of this boy.

Blaise bit his bottom lip, wondering what to say. How does one apologize to a friend he has so easily abandoned?

When he remained silent, Draco took it upon himself to interpret his presence. “Come to see if I’m alive or dead?” he asked, a thin smile gracing his pale lips. “Well, I survived…unfortunately-“

“Don’t say that,” Blaise cut in.

Draco blinked. “What?”

“Don’t say you’d have rather died Draco-how could you?”

Draco frowned. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” he challenged and watched Blaise squirm in the uncomfortable chair. “I didn’t think so-“

“Because there are still people who want you around-who care-“

“Like who? My mother?” And he chuckled mirthlessly. “She doesn’t care about me! She left me already, didn’t she? Ran away like the coward she is instead of facing the masses.” He turned away when bitter tears suddenly pricked his eyes, hoping Blaise didn’t see them spring up.

But Blaise didn’t need to see them to know. He could see Draco’s throat working up and down as he tried to calm down and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself that he had pushed Draco so far away that now he had to hide his true feelings in his presence.

“Draco,” he softly called, “I care.”

He heard Draco’s breath hitch, saw his fingers fist the blanket tightly, as though holding on for dear life. Now’s as good a time as any, Blaise thought as he took a deep breath and shoved aside his pride.

“I know I’ve been a jerk to you and I won’t bother making any excuses,” he began, “But-god Draco! To take your life?! What were you thinking? You could’ve drowned and no one would have known!”

Draco snorted through his tears. “So you’re here to lecture me, is that it?” he choked, letting the tears run freely.

“No! I’m here to apologize-“

“Well, you’re doing a lousy job of it…”

Blaise suddenly gave a frustrated sigh and grabbed Draco’s trembling shoulders, forcing him to face him. He ignored the tears that wrung his heart and the look of pained surprise that flitted across Draco’s pale features.

“I’m here to apologize,” he firmly repeated, “And you’re going to hear me out without your sarcastic inputs.”

He waited and when Draco slowly nodded, he relaxed his hold, not willingly to let go just yet.

“Look, I know-I know the way I’ve ignored you is unforgivable…I shouldn’t have turned my back on you when you needed me the most. The war’s behind us now and I know better than anyone how much you were forced to play your part. I know you never meant to let the Death Eaters in and I know you never wanted to kill anyone…I’ve been a jerk and a bastard and a terrible friend but…well I hope that I can do better if you’ll let me.”

Draco’s grey eyes were wide with surprise-the tears frozen in his glistening orbs. Aware that he still held Draco, Blaise let go of his shoulders and Draco slumped back onto the pillows, shocked. For minutes he remained silent and Blaise politely let him abide his time.

He traced Draco’s drawn features, noting how pale he looked and how the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have bruised more since the start of term. He’s lost weight, he noted. He felt guilty for contributing to Draco’s troubles and swore that, even if Draco refused to forgive him, he would still help all he could.

“This-“ Draco at last croaked, meeting his eyes, “-I never expected this…You-why?” and his lips trembled, the traitorous tears rising once again to his rosy eyes, “-why do you still…I mean, after all I’ve done, it should be me apologizing.” He hastily wiped his eyes although the tears continued to flow. “Your mother was arrested because of-of Father, wasn’t she? Sentenced to Azkaban?”

Blaise nodded. Lucious had ratted her out during his trial and although she could have escaped uncaught, she now faced seven years in Azkaban.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, his lips barely moving. He looked suddenly young and lost-like he had after the war when he stood among the rubble and devastation, even then isolated and shunned.

“It’s not your fault,” Blaise replied, “She played a part in that monster’s plans, however small, and she deserved to be punished just as your father did. I don’t blame you, Draco.”

So he says, Draco thought, desperately wanting to believe but ruthlessly crushing the tiny spark of hope. He had had enough of lies and manipulations to last a lifetime.

“Draco,” Blaise demanded his attention, “I know it can never be the same, but I’m tired of pretending. Honestly, I’ve tried ignoring you and I’ve tried to do what’s expected of me, but I can’t-I know I never hated you now and I don’t think I ever will. We are both victims of the war, Draco, and you’re as innocent as I am, perhaps even more so…”

They sat in silence then, too stunned to reveal any further. For how long he traced Draco’s pale, listless form Blaise didn’t know, but dinner rolled around by the time he met Draco’s grey moons again.

“Thanks,” Draco whispered. “I’m glad that you don’t hate me-“ and he tried to give him a smile, but it came off as a pained grimace instead. “I think I’ll sleep now. I’m tired…”

Blaise nodded and quickly got up, eager to give him peace. He could see the exhaustion threatening to overtake him even as he spoke.

 “Alright. I’ll swing by with the assignments and help you catch up tomorrow,” he supplied as Draco’s eyes closed and he gave a small nod.

Relieved that the meeting had gone so well, Blaise left the Wing feeling as though a great burden had been lifted off his heart. He only hoped that he could be the friend Draco needed amidst this troubling storm.

**

Hermione sighed and set down her quill. It was five minutes past midnight. Rolling up her half done essay, which wasn’t due for another week, she deposited it neatly in her desk drawer before lazily stretching. She was tired, but there was so much to do…

She looked around her room: apart from the usual necessities, Hermione had managed to make this place her own in the coming weeks. The small pile of thick books, old and dusty, on her side drawer and the empty basket that had belonged to Crookshanks spoke purely of her. Crookshanks…

She would miss him. That cat, abnormal as he was, had been very close to her, but after the war, he had just disappeared one morning. Ron told her not to worry, although at first she thought his indifference stemmed from the fact that he had hated her cat all along.

But knowing Crookshanks, Hermione had learned to expect the unexpected. He was part Keazle, after all, and highly intelligent. Perhaps he had his own quest to finish. Hermione smiled at the thought, but she longed to have her fur ball back in her arms nevertheless.

“You have a visitor, dear,” called a portrait right outside her door.

Hermione started. A visitor? At this hour?

Picking up her wand by instinct, she drifted downstairs and cautiously approached the door. It opened with a little creak when she turned the knob. Blaise Zabini stood shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.

“Well? Let me in before somebody sees!” he hissed and she stepped aside to allow him through.

“What are you doing here?” she asked once the door had once again swung shut.

“I need to talk to you,” and before she could protest, he added, “It’s about Draco.”

For a minute, Hermione debated whether or not it was worth her while to listen-what did she care anyways? But then, she was far too deep in this Malfoy mess to back out now. So she reminded herself as they sank into the cold cushions.

“I talked to him,” Zabini began, glancing around the lush living room and taking in the admiring green. “We made a truce.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she said, wondering why he was telling her of all people.

“I hope so,” he replied and chewed his lip, looking both nervous and worried. “I’ve never been a great friend, I’m too selfish, and Draco…Draco’s too distant. He keeps everything to himself-doesn’t let on a single thing. Even his emotions are controlled and despite all these years, I still can’t read him.”

“What do you want me to do then?” she asked, getting right to point.

He regarded her silently for a minute, taking in her bushy hair and tired, but alert eyes. “I just…want you to be there, since you’re living with him and all. He most likely won’t come to me after all that’s happened and I’m not sure if it’s for the best but…”

“You’re saying he needs someone new?”

He nodded, glad that she was sharp enough to catch on fast. “I’ve known him far too long and you’re right, he has changed. He apologized to me…twice. The Draco I knew would rather die and besides, he seemed sincere.”

Hermione folded her arms and half closed her eyes, the smug look clearly taunting him: I told you so.

“Anyways,” Blaise cleared his throat, “Thanks, for being there for him when I couldn’t.” And he held out his hand, his gaze steady, but Hermione detected the slight trepidation in his emerald eyes.

Slowly she extended her own hand and clasped his. He gave her a brief shake, a crooked smile gracing his dark features.

“Truce then,” he smirked and got up to leave.

Hermione saw him out the door, unconsciously waving back when he did. Still blinking in confusion, she made her way back to bed and slid under the covers.

What in the world just happened? she wondered as her brain shut down and unwanted sleep claimed her.

**

Two whole days later Madam Pompfrey gave Draco the green to go. She just simply told him he was fine the second morning he awoke and begged him not to return again. As if Draco enjoyed her company…

When two first years barged in, one covered in green boils no doubt the product of Professor Sprout, and the other doing all she could to comfort her friend without coming in her vicinity, Draco took the opportunity to test his limbs.

While Pompfrey’s back was turned, he pushed himself up and immediately regretted lying prone for two whole days. His whole back and thighs were killing him! But it was, he reasoned, nothing he couldn’t handle, not after those frightening spasms that rendered him immobile.

Still, he debated whether or not to tell Pompfrey. Surely she could end his agony?

“Mr. Malfoy, you’re clothes are on the chair. Kindly dress yourself and leave,” Pompfrey interrupted his thoughts.

He looked sourly at her turned back a moment before gritting his teeth and slipping into his own robes. They had been cleaned and smelled faintly of lime and citrus.

When Pompfrey had treated the girl and sent her on her happy way, Draco hesitantly called her.

“Now what seems to be the problem?” she asked, surprised since he was not one to linger.

“I…” he looked away when her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Of course, a hesitant Malfoy was never a good sign. He closed his eyes briefly, hating to meet the distrust that shone in hers. “Nothing-I just-nothing!”

And gathering his bag, he took her leave as fast as his stiff limbs allowed. It was a long journey back to the dorms.

**

Hermione had not left the dorms the whole day. Harry and Ron had Quidditch and, since it was a Saturday, the library didn’t open till the afternoon. After finishing her breakfast and gathering her weekend post, she exited back to the dorms where, for a lack of better things to do, she started on her homework.

Four hours later, Hermione was satisfied with her progress. She had not only finished her Transfigurations essay, revised and finalized, but now she was two whole chapters ahead in Advanced Potions.

She was just debating whether to get ahead on her D.A.D.A essay or read ahead for Transfigurations when the portrait door swung open and her roommate stumbled in. He was disheveled, an adjective that rarely suited the Slytherin. She had always thought he was a bit of a narcissist, judging from his immaculate appearance.

But now his haphazardly worn shirt, the tie loose and the nape open, the black cloak slung carelessly over his arm instead of being fastened so that his pin shone, made her gape in surprise. His hair too stuck out every which way and he dragged his bag behind him, as though the sheer weight of a few measly textbooks was enough to bring him to knees. But then she remembered where he had been this whole time, and guilt rose in her.

“Granger,” he met her eyes and gave her a nod.

She nodded back and watched him make his way to the stairs.

“I’m glad you’re back!” she blurted.

He merely grunted and mumbled some remark she couldn’t distinguish. Hermione smiled after him. He was acting like an overgrown child!

Shaking her head, she went back to her studies and lost herself to the ticking time. Minutes flew by. So absorbed was she that she didn’t hear him come up until he cleared his throat behind her.

“Oh! Malfoy, you scared me!” she started.

He gave her a sheepish grin and she noticed his hair was wet. Taking a seat across from her, he glanced at the papers strewn about, the open textbooks, and two broken quills. Hermione felt incredibly messy and her cheeks colored when she realized he had seen the ink stain on her skirt. But he didn’t comment, instead asking,

“Are you, um, busy?”

“No, not really,” she cautiously answered, “Just reading ahead I suppose. Why?”

He sighed and, to her great surprise, sank next to her on the floor. Propping open the textbook in his hand, he pointed to a passage.

“I don’t understand how to do this,” he said. “Think you can help me?”

She gaped at him, not even bothering to hide her surprise and he frowned.

“What?”

“You’re asking my help?”

He raised a thin eyebrow. “Seeing as you’re the only one in all of my classes who wouldn’t bite my head off, yeah, I suppose I am.”

She shook her head, as though to clear it and took his textbook from him. He waited, watching her scan the passage with quick eyes, her lips moving soundlessly as she skimmed the page.

“Oh, we did this the week you were in the hospital,” she remarked, at last looking up and meeting his eyes.

He noticed their chocolate depths and wished he had some right now. Draco so loved chocolate…

“Malfoy?”

He blinked. “Uh, yeah…So, can you explain it to me?”

She nodded warily and he read the questions swimming in her eyes, but he didn’t want to explain his lack of concentration. These days, he was lucky if he didn’t fall asleep over his lesson. So he pulled up his knees and listened as she went through the chapter.

He found he liked the sound of her voice, soft and soothing-and just a little bit smug. He could fall asleep to it. And he noticed the way her eyes lit up like glittering Christmas lights when the ideas came together in a neat, logical knot.

He blinked slowly, sleepily, letting her mesmerizing chatter drown him in its velvet depths. He was just about to give a particularly loud yawn when Hermione abruptly stopped, her eyes trained on him like a vicious cat’s.

“Oh, am I boring you?” she scowled and he quickly stifled his yawn.

“What? No!”

“Well you sure are yawning a lot for someone who’s wide awake!”

He ran a hand through his dry hair and averted her eyes. “Sor-“  He bit his tongue before the apology slipped out.

For a moment there, you were almost nice Draco! he thought with alarm.

“It’s not you,” he explained. “I’m just…tired.”

And he watched the angry lines smooth on her features almost instantly. She nodded in understanding.

“You did just get out. What did Pompfrey say? Did you tell her?”

He bit his lip. “No…I tried to, but she wouldn’t understand.”

“You won’t know until you try-“

“Granger you weren’t there! You don’t-oh never mind.” And he made to take the book back from her, but she quickly held it out of his reach.

“Never mind what?” she pressed. “Tell me.”

He didn’t reply at once and she could tell he was debating hard, but, the battle finally won, he sighed, defeated.

“You don’t know what it’s like when someone looks at you with-with distrust and…hatred. She gave me that look even before I could explain myself-they all do. What could be wrong with me, really. I only got what I deserved. They all think that and…well, I’m starting to think they’re right.”

He spoke with his head bowed, but Hermione didn’t miss the bitterness in his voice. For some strange reason, it made her heart ache. She longed to hear that overconfident drawl again.

“They all don’t think that way Malfoy,” she softly replied. “I don’t think that way.”

He chuckled-a mirthless laugh. “What is with you and Blaise?” he asked, meeting her eyes, his own marred with sorrow. “Why do you want to help me?”

She stared into his grey depths, so stormy and swirling with pain. She wanted to banish the loneliness that lingered there. For the first time, she saw not a ruthless boy, but a young man weighed down by responsibilities and a past well beyond his years.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, tracing the faint, blue flecks of his irises. “But I want to help you…if you’ll let me.”

Draco swallowed as silence settled between them like a blanket of mist on a cold, frosty morning. He gazed into her dark eyes nervously, as she drowned in his cool depths, unabashed. Her steady eyes made him uncomfortable, as though she could see to the very depths of his depraved soul, leaving him utterly naked to her scrutiny.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he shook his gaze, panting as though he’d run a hard race. She started, as though awakened from a dream and he saw her cheeks tinged a rosy hue when he dared look up.

“Thanks, for your help,” he said, taking the book back absently and getting up to leave.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” she hurriedly replied and turned her back to him, her hands clenching the hem of her skirt tightly.

He looked down at her for a moment, wondering why he was breathing so hard, before turning heel and fleeing up the stairs to his sanctuary.