Hermione stared down at her fried eggs and prodded them with the end of her fork distractedly. She didn't get very much sleep last night, owing to the fact that she had been having terrible, anxious dreams about failing her NEWTs. She'd tried to get her head back under control, but she just wasn't her usual perky self today. Hermione only became aware of somebody attempting to call her name when she was prodded in the side of her arm by Ron, who had taken a short-lived pause of his usual frantic eating to check on his friend.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Ron asked, his brow slightly furrowed.
Hermione attempted a small smile. After all, she was only tired, she'd get over this. No use making her friends worried, or far worse, making her teachers think she was weak or somehow anything less than a perfect student. She gave a sigh and shook herself mentally.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Ron. Don't worry about me, just feeling a bit under the weather today," Hermione said. She looked back down at her uneaten eggs. Better to shake off this gloomy attitude and carry on. After all, she was a Gryffindor, and a good student to boot.
Hermione resolved to get some work done all day, it being a Sunday. The minds of other students were drifting off towards ideas of having a good game of Quidditch, or otherwise enjoying some time in the sun outside before the cold quickly caught up with them in this April weather. But she had always had "odd" priorities in comparison to other Hogwarts students. Work first, and everything after. Leisure was at the bottom of her list.
Hermione stood up and exited the bustling hall after saying goodbye to Ron and Harry, and set off towards her reliable haven, the Hogwarts library. She passed hardly any students as she strolled down the long corridors, beams of sunlight entering through overlooked windows, as the sound of her footsteps echoed on the stone floor. After five years at Hogwarts, Hermione didn't appreciate the intricacy of the castle like she once had, as a buck-toothed, eager first-year. Her mind was a million miles away from the castle, on the subject of her Arithmancy, of her plans for Christmas, of Ron... But suddenly, she stopped in her tracks and the echoing footsteps with her, to be replaced with a just audible sound. Was it... crying? A small part of Hermione flared, as the important prefect with a responsibility to aid students, but also as an empathetic extended hand. She continued to walk, looking around now at the corridor she'd unintentionally found herself in. There was a handsome door she recognized, as all Hogwarts bathrooms were fashioned with the same style of door, regardless of gender specifications. But this was a boys restroom.
Another (admittedly annoying) part of Hermione insisted that she not break a school rule by entering, regardless of the situation, while her curiosity dug away at her. Open the door, she thought. Somebody may be hurt, and it'd be your fault if you didn't take this incident seriously. She compromised by pressing an ear to the cold wooden door. The sobbing continued, low and choked, but it was slowing now. Hermione made up her mind, and she grasped the brass ring doorhandle and opened the door towards her. Unconsciously, Hermione found herself being as quiet as possible, closing the door behind her and slowly walking on the stone restroom floor. On her left was the restroom wall, and on her right, the sides of bathroom stalls, blocking her view of the sinks. The sobbing continued, and Hermione stepped out from behind the shielding of the bathroom stalls to see a slender, tall frame hunched over a sink, both hands grasping either side. It took Hermione several seconds to register whose sleek and combed platinum blonde hair that was.
"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, taking another step forward and stopping, tentative.
Almost instantly the sobbing stopped and Draco Malfoy jumped back from the sink and was half turned towards the witch. He was clearly caught off guard, as well as she. At first, his face registered as simply fearful and surprised until he resumed an impression of his normal sneering attitude. But Hermione could tell he was not altogether able to put on an effective front.
"What are you doing, Mudblood?" Malfoy spat, though mostly lacking his typical pompous and superior tone. Hermione had become desensitized to hearing Malfoy refer to her as a "Mudblood", so his insult meant hardly anything to her. She merely continued to be concerned and mildly confused.
"I heard... crying," Hermione said cautiously. She was still eyeing him speculatively. His face seemed to slightly relax, but it wasn't comforting to her. He simply looked... distraught. He turned away slightly.
"You thought wrong, Granger," Malfoy said monotonously. He turned away again, and hastily wiped his face on the side of his sleeve. Malfoy did not turn around as he spoke again. "You need to go. You shouldn't have been here in the first place."
Hermione was conflicted. Should she go? Malfoy was right, she shouldn't be in here. And in any other circumstance, Hermione was so sure she would've not cared if he'd been crying. But something in his face was different. She'd seen him in the corridors since the start of the new term... he simply looked ill. Harry and Ron had made jabs about him, and they'd obviously thought Malfoy deserved whatever was making him look so gaunt, but standing now in front of Malfoy, Hermione couldn't help but feel pity and worry. What was wrong? Taking another hesitant step forward, she spoke.
"You're quite sure I can't help? I know we're not friends, but-" Hermione started, but Malfoy turned.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! You're the last person who could help me, Granger! Don't you understand?! Do you think you can actually help me to get over whatever you think this is? You can't!" His face contorted in anguish and emotion. She'd never seen him this... human. He turned his face away from her once again, head bowed over the sink, his knuckles white with the force with which he gripped the ceramic. He convulsed in silent sobs, and she stepped toward him, resolute. Hermione didn't care what he'd done. Something inside her was telling her he needed somebody, at least. When she was less than a foot behind him, she surprised even herself.
Hermione wrapped her robed arms around Malfoy's midriff and leaned into him. The best hug she could give him, and an appropriate expression of her need to help Malfoy. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then Malfoy turned around. Despite being a deal taller than she, he hugged her tightly, his face buried in her shoulder, his sobbing subsiding slowly as she closed her own eyes and gripped him in return. After a long moment, Malfoy lifted his head to speak, still grasping around Hermione's frame.
"Granger, why does it have to be like this?"
Hermione understood his intent and continued to hold him.
"It doesn't have to be, Draco. You have people who care about you. I don't care how many times you call me a Mudblood, because I know it's not you anymore. I'm here," Hermione said gently.
They stood in the middle of the dimly-lit boys restroom for what might have been a minute or an hour, the calmest either had felt in a long time.