A/N: Just a little one shot for fun. As usual, might possibly turn into a longer story buuuuut we'll see I guess. I would love to hear your thoughts on this (: Got a few more ideas up my sleeve either for one shots or for one big story... idk But while I decide, if you have any requests or one shot challenges for the mean time... (; lol Enjoy!
I was still fuming over that last letter from my father, the one telling me to meet him in secret to discuss the next time in the "dark lord's plan". A year ago I would have been thrilled at the notice, my father calling me to see him, him looking for my help in such important matters, being something... But it got old. I saw it then for what it all was. Idiocy. Following some heartless, emotionless... freak over his heartless and emotionless ideas. Hate the muggles, hate the mudbloods, kill them and anyone who stands in my way, take over the wizarding world. It was child's play.
My angry pacing hadn't subsided, it had been hours now since I'd stormed out of the common room, wand clutched angrily in my hand and letter left as a pile of ash on the desk. Heatedly, I turned around to the wall, and struck out hard with my palm, slapping the old wall hard enough to numb my arm up past my elbow, locking the muscles in place as the pain shot up. Taking a shaky breath, I leaned my head against the cold stone, trying to calm myself. It was then that I heard footsteps.
I moved to put away my wand, but realized I had an unusual lack of pockets. I wasn't wearing my robes, and my wand was too long to remain safe in the pockets of my jeans. If I bent even slightly the delicate wood would surely snap. Wand still in my hand, I peeked around the corner to see what was stirring, the fast paced heavy footsteps ran towards the five steps of stairs that lead to this hall, and then stopped abruptly.
Still searching around the corner, hidden in shadows, my eyes were drawn to the girl now cowered over on the steps, face in her hands and body resting tensely against the wall. Brown frizzy hair a tantalizing curly frame around the girl's small curled body. That could only be one person.
Taking a breath, I stepped out into the light, into the hall in front of the steps, making myself known. Or so I thought. The girl didn't notice. If she did, she showed no signs of it. She remained where she had been for the short time, hunched over herself, shoulders shaking slightly, hair and hands hiding her face... How very unusual. I took a step forward, looking for the two boys she always had near her. I could use someone to take out my frustrations on. But the boys were nowhere to be seen.
Curious. I took another step forward, feet brushing silently over the grey floors. I was now close enough to hear muffled gasps, she breathed as if she were trying to keep herself from crying. It was at that point that my earlier predicament had vanished from my mind as I walked faster, although more hesitantly than before, towards the weeping girl.
"Granger," I said simply, my voice wasn't harsh or cold as it usually was when I saw her and her little Gryffenfreak friends, but it remained without the slightest trace of emotion.
Her head whipped up to see me, shock evident in her wide, puffy eyes. She looked rough. Eyes and cheeks red, lips trembling, hair a mess... tear stains marked up her face and made tiny pieces of hair stick to her cheeks and forehead. It was a pitiful sight. My stomach turned as I stared at her. The shock turning slowly to anger as she watched me, huffing up and sitting straight, she looked like she was certainly not in the mood to see me.
I didn't give her time to speak. Instead I closed the distance and crouched in front of her. She was on the third step, feet pressed into the second. I was on the floor. I stared into her eyes, keeping her eyes on mine when I spoke again. "What's wrong?" I asked, voice still empty.
Her features contorted into that of confusion, lividness still lingering behind her teary brown eyes. "What do you want?" She demanded, voice harsh, cracking in her distress.
"Tell me," I demanded right back.
She looked like she wanted to fight, yell and scream at me, tell me what a useless bastard I was, but just as quickly as she tried, she crumpled right back over into a weeping mess. Sobbing and shaking.
I was stunned. Sitting there in the hall in front of a girl known to be my "enemy", when really her and I had had very few problems aside from my hatred of her two best friends. And to be honest, that hatred was misplaced and I knew it. Of course, I had learned a great dislike for Potter and Weasely over the years, our feud only growing as time went on. Originally though, I had only hated the Weasely's because of my father, who I'd come to respect very little. My feud with Potter stemmed from the same place, only from an opposite happening. He had sided with the pale, freckled, red headed boy whom I was taught to despise, and that had been a message to my younger self that Potter as well, was not a worthy time waster of a Malfoy. Hermione had only hated me for as long as she'd been around my peer to peer conflict, challenging the boys while they challenged me. She'd hit me once, in my third year, and that had set in what seemed like stone, that the two of us could never get along. Still, we had never really spoken directly.
I respected her though, she was a nice, smart, loyal girl that was devoted to her friends through all the dangerous adventures she had been dragged on, not allowing her friend to fight the world alone. She was something to look up to, whether I would admit that aloud or not. She was the friend I wished I'd always had, and always wished I could be. She was strong. I clearly wasn't, since I was still walking a step behind my father, doing the dirty work of a man I feared as much as thought slime.
I slide up onto the step below her, feet touching the ground, and waited for her to catch her breath. When she did, after quite a few minutes, she looked at me again, anger trying to regrow.
"Care to talk?" I asked her. The question seemed to blur behind her eyes.
"What do you want?" She asked desperately, too many emotions buzzing in her mind for her to handle. She seemed so tired.
I only watched her, not responding.
"Hermione!" A voice behind me shouted, I stood up quickly, searching the higher floor for the person I dreaded seeing. "Hermione, there you are-" the voice cut off when he saw me.
"Potter," I sneered.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" The kid asked me, hair tossed around his head and glasses slightly crooked. He's been partying by the looks of it.
I walked up the stairs and bumped him on my way by, putting as much hostile distance between the two of us as I could. I was not in the mood to put up with the blows from the boy my father was trying to help kill. Stress folded into me every time I saw him. Guilt for not being able to help, or at least not be a part of the whole war.
I stopped again when I heard them speaking. It would appear that Ron had done her wrong... I didn't know what it was he had done, but I knew, for some reason, that I was not happy about it. Rage swept me up again as I marched into where the Gryffendors were screaming and dancing and drinking. I don't know what it was, but the knowledge that this one had hurt Granger... it blinded me with emotion that seemed to become solid in my veins. I was seeing red.
Some people noticed my presence and stopped their dancing to stare, wide eyed at me as I walked through the room in search for my prey. Others seemed not to until I lifted the hand that still held the wand, and let red light explode from the ends. Magic crackled and spun around the room, throwing Weasley and the girl on top of him into the far wall. Suddenly everything turned into a riot. People were running at me, fist clenched, wands drawn...
I was saved though when the door burst open loudly and a professor stomped in, shouting. I didn't see who it was; I was too busy making my escape. This was not the time to get expelled, though I was sure I'd hear about it later.
I didn't teach him a lesson, I knew that much. But I had a whole three months until summer to make him pay for whatever it was he'd done. Harry ran passed me towards the commotion in the room, growling at me and cursing as he did, words that I didn't hear. I was too busy listening to the loud chaos in my mind.
Hermione was still in the hall where I'd left her, standing now and shaking herself off.
"Where are you off to?" I asked when she turned and was suddenly facing me, shocked again at my presence. I should wear a cowbell or something I supposed.
"The- the fuss you probably s..started," she ground out, trying to be stern over her still shaking voice.
"Why don't I walk you pack to Gryffendor," I suggested instead, stepping in front of her. "The teacher's are taking care of them, best to not get involved and in trouble. It's finished anyway."
I couldn't explain my actions, I was on autopilot. All the anger and disaster inside of me vanished again while I spoke to her. I had stepped in front of her, blocking her way again.
She watched me carefully, contemplating what I said. She knew I was right, of course I was right. That didn't mean that she wanted to listen to me though.
"Here," I said, pulling the hair out of her face and pushing it behind her shoulders. She watched me still, tense and full of doubt, confused even more at my actions than I was. She didn't respond nor react as I waited for an answer.
"I guess you're right," she admitted weakly, turning to walk away.
I stepped up beside her before she could leave though, and offered her my arm.
"I can find it myself, thanks."
I nodded and walked beside her, much to her obvious chagrin.
"Leave me alone, Malfoy." Exhausted annoyance clear in her voice.
"Just let me," was my response. Not much of an explanation...
She sighed and allowed me to walk beside her, refusing my arm again once more, before accepting it on my final offer. She was tired like people often were after a mad bout of crying. I was glad she'd accepted my gesture.
We didn't run into a single person on the silent walk back to the tower, everyone either partying or moping around in their common rooms. She turned to face me when we arrived, not smiling or saying a word, making eye contact only briefly, before mumbling her password and escaping through the portrait.
I didn't know how I'd continue to keep that one safe, if I couldn't even protect her from the "good" wizards. A painful headache was brewing as I made my way back to the dungeons, knowing I had to write back to my father. I'd meet him tomorrow.