Hello! Some of you might remember me from Imperia, and instead of making excuses the way many do (though they're usually true/reasonable) I'll just shrug in apology. (Also, truthfully, my faithful computer of a few years died [truly died] and I lost the work and outlines and ideas I put into that story though I hope to recontinue it eventually :P)
So, this one: Strangely enough, I was suddenly inspired and in two different sittings a couple of weeks apart, my fingers just decided to flow and write this. It was a great relief to have written again, as this is one of my favorite hobbies, despite my difficulties with it at times.
This one is a bit less happy, though I hope you all still enjoy it... ;)
She was so tired.
Even with the weightless charm she religiously applied to her jam-packed bag, Hermione could still feel the weight of everything she had left to do and the weight that not sleeping because you were staying up to study religiously burdening her.
The truth of the matter was that Hermione had always struggled to go to sleep before midnight or one in the morning, where the rhythm of the world was silent and soft, a time purely hers in a world purely hers.
Though she nagged others to go to bed earlier constantly, she was almost never able to herself, despite having everything set out and color-coded in her planner for her assignments.
She pushed a strand of hair out of her face, another constant reminder that she needed to take the time to learn a few hair charms or send a letter to ask Mum for more scrunchies or hair clips.
To be honest, Hermione always seemed so tidy, when really everything was chaos in her head and she needed the extra time to organize everything out and get her brain to wake up enough to do what she needed to accomplish.
It was a Friday, and a Hogsmeade weekend, and against her better consciousness, she decided to do her more prominent homework on Sunday.
The water felt warm on her skin, and Hermione held in a moan as some of her sore back muscles released.
It was extremely easy to collapse into her bed and fall asleep, deep enough to not hear her roommates arrive and then double-face to go to dinner.
When Hermione woke up with an insatiable hunger and the overwhelming need to pee, a Tempus charm revealed that it was eight in the morning, meaning she'd slept a total of fourteen hours.
She groaned. It was all too easy to fall into this routine when she was at home, where her parents woke her up before leaving for work at eight, and then she fell back asleep until ten or sometimes even noon with no one the wiser as long as she was dressed in case one or both of her parents came back for lunch.
Hermione pulled her soft silky robe on over her pyjamas and stuck her wand in her pocket as she braided her decidedly annoying hair and decided to sneak down to the kitchens.
Given it being the weekend, it was unlikely that many were up at this hour, and she didn't want to get dressed if she could just crawl back into bed afterwards.
As a prefect, it was easy to avoid any common routes to be caught, and Hermione was tickling the green pear sooner than she expected.
"Hot cocoa, please." She pleaded, practically falling into a seat with a groan, not caring that her robe had opened or that she was far from her methodical self.
At least until she realized she wasn't the only human among the bustling elves.
"Well will you look at that. Hermione Granger endorsing 'slave labor'. Who would've thought?"
Hermione's jaw tightened, and she wrapped her hands around her mug before directing her glare to the platinum blonde boy nestling his own mug opposite her farther down the table.
"I'll have you know that I have accepted their way of life provided that they get a fair wage. They wouldn't let me eat otherwise." She started off clearly but muttered the last part, the exhausted part of her just hoping Malfoy would be somehow baited so she could snap at him.
"I took you for the prude type with the lacy granny nightgowns." She glanced down at her cotton night shorts and tank top with a shrug before noticing his own plaid drawstring pants and grey t-shirt under a silken green robe.
"I took you for the type to sleep naked in his silk sheets, honestly." A blush flushed his cheeks just slightly with pink in an alluring way, unlike the violent splash of magenta that adorned Ron's cheeks when he-
She hadn't drank enough cocoa yet.
"Given your typically disgusting morning pep, I would've assumed you'd be raring to go."
"To assume makes an ass out of you and me." He looked up at her in surprise, and she realized quite accidentally that he'd slid closer, only about a seat or two away from her spot now.
"Muggle saying?" She sneered.
"Obviously."
He sneered back. "Let sleeping dogs lie in the kitchens, Granger. I have no plans to stop coming in here when I wish to, and would prefer to not have to deal with your exhausting personality this early."
"Look who's talking. You say I'M exhau- Did you just use a muggle phrase?" The realization caused her to cut off her own retort, something uncommon and exceedingly rare when she was in a mood like this one.
Malfoy shrugged with a smirk, not answering and turning his attention to his plate as the elves set omelettes in front of them.
She scowled, deciding to ignore him instead of draining her already lackluster supply of energy in attempting to form a retort.
"Misters Malfoy is late. Clock says nine o'clock." An elf said, tugging on Malfoy's sleeve a while later. Hermione was expecting him to rudely shake the creature off, but surprisingly he said:
"Very well, thank you Tipsy." With that said, he stood and made his way towards the exit, passing Hermione's side of the table without even a glance in her direction. Rude.
"Was Misters Malfoy satisfied with food?" Tipsy called after him worriedly, another two elves next to her already starting to clear his innocuous place.
"Of course, excellent as always Tipsy." Her head swirled in his direction only to catch the retreating shine of his hair as he emerged in the still mostly dark castle.
Hermione pulled more cocoa from her mug, lips curved upwards in an unconscious smile.
-oOo-
He wasn't here. She'd pulled another extra long sleep from the following Friday, and then spent ten minutes this morning making herself slightly more presentable and worrying herself over whether to come or not and if Malfoy would be here again.
He probably didn't want to share breakfast with a mudblood anyways, even if he'd been slightly off when she'd last seen him.
-oOo-
Dark circles garnished his eyes, and his back was hunched over when she slipped into the kitchens again another two weeks later.
His eyes halfheartedly darted in her direction, though they returned to his mug quickly.
His hair was mussed and sticking up in all directions quite cutely, contrasted only by the deathly look on his face.
She made it a point to ignore him, especially since he was a prat who likely had nothing good to say. It was hard to restrain a retort, but Hermione knew she owed him nothing and he didn't owe her his company.
"You should wear your hair like that more often. You look less like a homeless or insane person when you do." She hadn't noticed his glance at her, though he must have to have noticed her hair in a braid she'd pinned up behind her head.
"And what do you care if I look homeless? Mudbloods are scum to you anyhow."
His hands came up to rub his face in a decidedly human familiarity, something she hadn't really expected. "I don't, just like I don't care if a muggleborn decides that calling herself a mudblood to antagonize others is practical. Especially in a self-proclaimed cease-fire area."
Hermione scowled, but said nothing in return though she easily could have. It wasn't worth it.
He sat farther away, just like their first encounter. He mumbled something to one of the elves, and she rolled her eyes at his obvious attempt to hide whatever it was he was asking for from her.
As if she was nosy enough to care. Though even Ron had called her nosy more than once...
She didn't like thinking about the faults of her friends. It was hard enough to get them as it was without depressing herself with their less than ideal habits and less than kind words.
At least Malfoy had always been honest about being a prat, though she was sure he had other words to describe the same trait.
She let her head fall into her hands, barely suppressing the sigh on her lips.
She tried so hard to feel included, worked so hard to be the mother of their triad, just so they would remember they needed her, but they always ended up playing Wizard's Chess or some other game for two without her regardless. Sure, Ron and Harry had been friends first, but that didn't make it any easier for her.
They never asked her about herself either. Being best friends usually meant being really close and telling your friends about things going on in your lives, but even though she knew tons about Ron, and tidbits since Harry didn't like talking about his home-life with his nasty relatives, neither of them ever bothered to ask her about hers.
If they had, they'd have known that her parents fought all the time, and then made up as if nothing had ever happened.
They'd know that her mum and dad didn't really bother to write her much anymore, and though she'd felt loved when she was younger, it never was the same anymore when she came home.
Mum changed her bedroom whenever she had free time to go off on a whim, and Dad wanted to pretend she was at a school for gifted children and not a magic school.
They took less and less time off of work when she was there, and she felt more and more alone as she wondered if it was her fault that Mum and Dad didn't seem to love her anymore.
Sometimes they would talk about having a second child since she was starting to get older and so were they, but then one of them would lean in and mention the Magic, and then their eyes would dart her way, and the conversation would be benched to be broached later, likely when she left for the library or something.
She tried so hard to be interested in muggle things when she went home, but it was so lonely. So lonely to feel guilty whenever she had wanted to tell Mum a funny story about Harry and Ron only for her face to tighten a smidge when Hermione got to the inevitably magical part of the story.
Her parents had originally loved her magic. Then they hated it for taking her away from them. Then they hated her for being gone and magical.
Assuming your parents still loved you wasn't the same as having them plant a soft kiss on your head, or giving you a hug and saying so.
God, she just wanted to feel okay again.
It was so tiring to have to pretend to be so happy and committed, but if she didn't Ron and Harry would forget her, and she'd sink into the woodwork. If she stopped pretending, she'd likely give in to the crippling desire to get into a warm bed and never crawl out again.
Godric, even her expressions were magified, weren't they?
She didn't even fit in the Magical community either, as no one really thought the way she did, or understood or bothered to invite her to join them either.
Malfoy let his head hit the table, and one of her fingers moved from where it covered her eye to let her glance at him hitting his head into the table a second time, and then a third before his fingers gripped a mug and sent it shattering against a wall, making her jolt.
Dobby trotted over, laying a cautious hand on Malfoy's exposed arm.
"Young Master Draco, throwing mugs is bad, it is."
"Go away Dobby, you chose Potter over me anyhow. It doesn't matter."
"Young Master Draco, your father loves you very much he does, he's just bad at showing Young Master."
"Parents who love their children don't sell them to Lord Voldemort as child slaves." The words chilled her, and she could feel the mug slipping from her fingers as she quickly set it on the table, causing an unusually loud clunk.
Malfoy's grey eyes peered at her a moment in a gap created between his head and his arm before he smacked his head downwards again.
"Go on Granger, tell me how over-privileged I am, and then go prattle on to Potter that I'm a Death Eater like he thought all along. Prat."
She hummed a sound in her throat, unable to really find anything to say that he wouldn't lash out about. She was getting better at not just blurting out the things she thought were obvious, though it was still hard at times not to do it.
Hermione didn't hate Malfoy the way her boys did, merely relished the moment he'd wake up and realize the pile of shite he was. It didn't seem so satisfying to see him so misguided and upset now though.
"Did you ask to be a Death Eater?" The words slipped from her before she could take them back, surprising her as she thought she had her apparently annoying tendency to ask questions under control.
He laughed, though it sounded slightly manic, and bitter. "I relished the moment, Granger. Relished the branding of this horrid mark upon my arm that marked me as a cow to the slaughter. I tied myself to a madman willingly Granger, all because my father failed to kill some teenagers."
"You are your own being, you make your own choices." She stated matter of factly, her eyebrows furrowing as she realized that this was unkind, and likely to be misinterpreted by the boy down the way.
His grey eyes were wide as they stared at her, his disheveled hair doing nothing to detract from his mad look as she stared back.
"I spent my life believing that blood purity mattered, that I was better, that the ground I walked on was blessed by my presence because of the man that sold me to the slaughter before I could catch on.
"I have to watch people die Granger, because I was too stupid to see what I was getting myself into earlier!" He grit his teeth, eyes darting away from her to some spot on the table in front of his instead.
"You had plenty of opportunities to open your eyes earlier Malfoy. You chose not to."
His eyes shimmered as he violently pushed back from the table and stormed off.
It wasn't until she saw a shell-shocked Harry covered in blood later, slightly hysterical that he almost killed someone, did she realize that it was Malfoy.
She did better on calming Harry down this time, though he still eventually wrenched away from her grasp to rant and panic and make new plans to investigate.
It was at five in the morning that she realized the kitchen felt empty without him. Even though she'd only shared the space with him a couple of times, there'd been something reassuring about the pale-haired boy sitting a few lengths away.
But he was gone.
It was a stupid idea to go check up on him, but she did it anyways.
It wasn't hard for her to sneak into the Hospital Wing anymore, considering how many times Harry or Ron had ended up in there. How much time she'd spent there when the Polyjuice went wrong, or she got petrified.
Neither Harry nor Ron would support this adventure of hers. Though it did frustrate her how they did whatever they wanted without her approval and yet expected her to wait for theirs.
It was quiet, the usual hum of the place silent in the early not yet light.
She easily slipped to the right curtain, experienced enough to know that such a dangerous injury as Malfoy's would be closer to Madam Pomfrey's office.
His eyes were closed, white bandages stark against his pale chest.
He had always been pale, but he looked so much more pale than usual, deathly bags under his eyes proclaiming how close to death he'd really come.
A black line curved over the bandage on one of his arms, and she jolted with the realization that the innocuous little thick line was the Dark Mark.
She didn't know how long he'd been watching her from under his lashes, as she caught sight of his slow blink as her eyes found their way back to his face.
"Hello Granger." His voice was soft, surprised. "Didn't expect to see you, especially since you know about this." His fingers trembled as they gestured to the Dark Mark. Then his face closed off, darkened. "Or are you here to confirm the disappointing news for Potter that I survived."
"It was an accident-"
"War isn't an accident. Using a curse you'd never used before on someone you hate isn't an accident." His eyes glared at the Mark, glared at the implications it placed on his frail self.
"I told him the same things. But Harry isn't very good at judging his choices until after he's made them." She said softly, taking a step closer despite herself.
"That's the only reason he's lived this long anyways. Any other mopey pothead would've keeled ages ago." She frowned at him, disappointed in a way she couldn't recognize.
"I understand." Were the words that came out instead.
He seemed to understand the shift in their conversation. "How could you? I'm a coward who doesn't have the courage to stand by his own choices."
"No, you're a misguided boy who had his head so buried in the sand that it took tragedy to open your eyes to the world again. And while you made the wrong choices, they aren't entirely your fault. Things rarely are in the world. Always a mix of grey rather than black and white."
He snorted. "Never thought someone so decidedly black and white like you would ever dare admit to seeing the grey."
She smiled sadly. "Because my head was in the sand too. People always prefer delusions to reality, because reality is cruel, and reality hurts. Having someone to blindly follow always makes it better until you wake up and realize that while you marched, your perfect little world melted through your fingers like the sand you hid in."
His face held a rosy glow only through the beginning rays of light to puncture through the window behind him into the wing. "Poetic. . ." He sighed a sigh that denoted an age, an age farther than his own. "...I'm so tired, Granger."
She could practically taste the words on her own lips, too afraid saying them would allow her to give in, give up, when she really didn't have that choice. She never did, and she likely never would.
"Me too Malfoy, me too."
So, part of the story behind this one is the idea that Hermione isn't as cut and simple as she's somewhat typically portrayed. A deeper and sort of non-canon look into her motivations (and non-motivations).
This was actually part of the idea for a story I had about a socially awkward (and sometimes sorta lazy, but not that way, don't get pitchforks!) Hermione that wasn't too far off character, but deeper because it'd be her view instead of Harry's. This story would, of course, be a dramione, and I was thinking of having a certain wizard be Hermione's birth father in this one, which would of course cause a lot of ripples and changes.
Tell me what you think, and if you'd be interested in reading another such story (I have no doubts something similar probably exists, lol XD) and of course, tell me if you liked this one! :P
(Sorry if I sound weird, life's being weird right now, and I'm trying to figure out if I should turn these lemons into lemon bars or fish stick garnish...)