Chapter 2

Hermione had never been popular. As a young child she didn't have friends, however hard she tried she just couldn't get people to like her. So, instead of friends she spent time with her books. The books didn't judge her, and the books were full of faraway places that she would one day visit. Places where she might find friends, places where she might belong.

Then one day she came home from primary school to find Professor Flitwick sat on her parent's sofa drinking peppermint tea. That day she found out she was a witch, and the reason she had no friends, the reason she didn't fit in, was suddenly clear. She didn't fit in because this was not the world she was meant to fit into. She was a witch, and she would go to Hogwarts, and she would make loads of friends. But first, she needed books; if she was going to be a witch she would need to read all the books teaching her how to be one.

On her first day at Hogwarts everything seemed to be going to plan. Her research was paying off, and although it was only her second time seeing magic (the first being when she went to pick up her books at Diagon alley) she felt she held her own. Then she was sorted into Gryffindor, as were four other girls, and she would be spending the next seven years sharing a dorm room with her. It would be like having a readymade group of friends.

Except, she hadn't read the right things, because when she had tried to start a conversation about wrist movements in transfiguration they gave her an empty smile, nodded politely and then started to talk about their favourite wizard bands. Hermione had no idea about popular wizarding culture, she tried to ask about their opinions on centaur rights but the girls shrugged and talked about a band called the half centaurs. She tried to tell herself that she would make a better impression the next day, but as she lay with her curtains closed round her bed she overheard a whispered conversation between Lavender Brown and Parvarti.

"She's a weird one."

"She's a muggle born isn't she? Maybe she just doesn't know how to ..like talk normal."

"They don't all have hair like that do they?"

"Well, they don't have hair straightening potions."

"But did she have to ask about politics? Like, that's the type of thing my parents talk about, how boring. I hope she doesn't always act like that, I mean, can you imagine having to talk about that stuff every night."

"Maybe the sorting hat got it wrong, maybe she's meant to be in Ravenclaw."

"Maybe we can get them to resort her if we ask. Anyways, what do you think of the bys, Harry Potter is quite cute isn't he?"

On the morning of Lavenders funeral, this was the memory that would not leave her alone. There, at the first funeral she had been to since she was five, stood at the back of the crowd in the graveyard full of Griffindors past and present, she couldn't stop her thoughts going back to that night. Six years sharing a room with Lavender Brown, and the two memories that stood out in her mind were the insult she felt she had been dealt the first night in the wizarding world, and Fenrir bent over her body, his hungry rasping animalistic sounds. Hermione had shot him with a jinx and he had flown through the air, she had only caught a brief glimpse of the girl that had been beneath him, but those glassy eyes now stared at her every night. She had tried to think of a positive moment that had been spent with Lavender, a moment when she had not looked at her with exasperation or irritation. But all that came to her was those two nights. Lavender Brown's biggest effect on her life, had been her death.

Hermione looked up at Ron. He looked as if his eyes were about to brim over, Hermione had never understood that relationship, Ron had found the girl annoying for the most part, but she guessed you couldn't spend three months with your tongue down some bodies throat without feeling some affection towards them. She reached over to take Ron's hand, but he had shrugged it off and shot her an annoyed look. The girl who had come between them in sixth year was coming between them again in her death.

Lavender's parents were a couple in their mid sixties. They stood next to the grave thanking everybody for being there, they had two other children in their thirties, Lavender had been a surprise, but one that they had been totally besotted with from day one. She had been their angel, their joy. Afterwards they had sought out Ron, him having been Lavender's first boyfriend, they had wanted to hear stories, wanted some memories of their daughter to hold onto. Ron had frozen; he had gapped at them wordlessly.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Hermione said. "Lavender was a lovely girl."

"She talked about you too Hermione dear, she said that you were the cleverest girl in the school. She told us that you helped her with her charms homework." Mrs Brown looked at her with a desperate expression, her eyes red from three days of crying.

Hermione tried to remember a time when she had helped Lavender with her homework, she had a vague idea that she might have done at one point, she had looked over everybody in Gryffindor's homework at one point, but she couldn't actually recall the incident her parents were talking about.

"She was brilliant at divination."

"And she had such respect for you Harry." Mr Brown said smiling kindly.

"She was a lovely girl." Harry said, parroting Hermione's own words.

They were rescued at that point by Neville. The young man had changed in the year since they had seen him, he held himself with a new confidence. He didn't hesitate in reaching out his hand to shake Mr. Brown's. He didn't flinch from their grief, instead he told them about Lavender joining Dumbledore's army. He told them that she had stood up for what she believed in, she had fought bravely, and she had been a motherly figure to the younger students over the hard year past, and yet she had still found moments to have fun, and be a teenager. He portrayed a girl much braver and deeper than Hermione had known, yet she didn't know if it was to comfort her parents or because it was true.

There would be another funeral tomorrow, and the day after, every day for weeks to come, fifty on their side had lost their lives and they had done so to protect Hogwarts. Harry had made a promise to attend each and every one's funeral, even those for whom he did not know. Hermione had suggested that it was too much, but he had insisted, so she had said she would go with him.

She was relieved when she got back to the castle and told the boys that she was going to go to the library. They hadn't questioned it, going to the library was the most natural thing for her. It was a place where she could find peace and quiet. But as she headed towards her haven she passed a painting of a healer in white and her mind drifted to Malfoy.

It had been three days since she had sat by Draco's bedside. Three days since his eyes had flickered open, he had said her name, and he had given a soft smile as he passed back into unconsciousness. She had not gone back, she was confident that he was alive. There had been a lot happening within the last few days. The castle had been empty of its younger students and yet at the same time full with the families of the injured and lost. Hermione had barely had time to eat, let alone visit the hospital wing.

But, that wasn't the only reason that she had not gone. She was still questioning why he had done it, but she felt like her mind, her own private library with all it knowledge, the place within herself she could always find sanctuary, had had enough, it didn't want any more knowledge in it. It didn't want to take in another thing, it didn't want to answer another question, it just wanted to rest, there was no room for thoughts and feelings, there was just exhaustion.

But, she knew rest would not come, not when the question was still unanswered, even when she did not want the answer.

Madame Pomfrey was sat at her desk by the door. She looked up and gave a tired welcoming smile as she walked in.

"Miss Granger, I hope you're well."

"Yes, just coming for a visit if that's alright."

"Of course, and who may I ask are you visiting?"

Hermione looked around her, the hospital wing was less full than it had been three days ago, when Madame Pomfrey had been rushing between the wing and the classes that were being used for the overfill of the injured. Now most of the injured had been moved, the worst cases having been moved to Saint Mungos, the most stable having been moved to the empty dorms where they could rest up with minimal supervision.

"Malfoy." Hermione said.

A flicker passed over Madame Pomfrey's tired face. But she soon hid it.

"I'm sure it'll be nice for him to have a visitor. But I must tell you Miss Granger that he is still not recovered from his injuries. It was not just the blood loss, his mind has been affected. I have no doubt that it will heal, but... he was a master at the curses, he had the most powerful cruciatus curse ever known. If Draco had not passed out due to the blood loss then he would have been driven permanently insane."

Hermione nodded. She had seen what the cruciatus curse could do in the form of Neville's parents.

"Is he conscious?"

"He passes in and out of consciousness, and he is aware of where he is, he is a little confused as to what has happened but I believe he is starting to understand." Madame Pomfrey had stood up as she was talking and she was leading Hermione past the curtained off beds, she knew most of the people who would be behind them. Madame Pomfrey didn't stop till the last bed on the left. She reached out and drew the curtains back.

"Mr Malfoy, I have a visitor for you."

Draco was lying in the bed; he was looking behind Madame Pomfrey, directly at Hermione. She felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He looked better than he had, not as pale. And the blood had been washed from his hair. She could see the bandages wrapped over one of his shoulders, and a thick pad was on his neck.

"Any trouble just call me over. "Madame Pomfrey said quietly as she turned to leave. Hermione hesitated, half behind the curtain, for a moment she just stared at the boy, looking so small in the bed. Then his eyes flickered away from her and the spell was broken. She stepped inside the curtains and drew them closed again. She looked at the chair besides the bed, but decided to stand. Standing would show that she didn't expect to stay for long.

She looked at Draco. He looked back. For a while neither of them spoke. Hermione knew that she had come here for a reason, but she didn't know how to ask. She didn't know what she would hear in return.

"Why Draco?"

Draco gave a quiet hoarse laugh. It was a laugh of self resentment, nothing humorous about it.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. "

"What do you mean? What would you want it to change?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, you're still one of the good guys, one of the hero's. And me, I'm still a villain."

Draco had closed his eyes whilst saying this, and for a moment Hermione wondered if Madame Pomfrey was wrong, and that Draco really had lost his mind. He didn't talk to her like this, as far as she was aware he didn't talk like this full stop. She didn't quite know how to respond. But he was talking, and she had to keep him talking if she ever wanted an answer.

"Well, I think it has changed something. I'm sat here. There are people in this ward, friends of mine, people who fought with the hero's, and yet, I'm sat here. I'm sat here hoping you'll get well."

He gave a moan of acknowledgement, still not looking at her.

"Tell me Draco. You shouted 'not her', was it me you were shouting about? It seemed to be me, I was the one that Voldermort was about to attack. And you jumped in front of me when he tried to hit me with the cruciatus curse, it hit you instead. Draco, why did you do it? I want to know."

"I doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now. Does it? It's all over. He is dead isn't he?" His voice took on a hysterical sound. "Everybody is saying he's dead. But is he? They said that last time, but he came back. Did you see the body?"

"Voldermort?"

Draco nodded.

"Yes, he is dead. I saw the body. And he won't come back this time."

"Are my parents in Azkadan?"

"No. They got away. Nobody is looking for them, yet, too many people are injured."

Draco opened his eyes.

"They left me here."

Hermione was struck by the broken note of his voice. He sounded like a small boy. She saw his eyes water and she wanted to look away. She nodded.

"I am a blood traitor now. I've been a blood traitor all along. I never wanted to be a death eater. I thought being a Malfoy made me special, but he didn't see us a special, he only cared about what we could give him."

"Your mother did not want to leave you, she was distraught. I think she believed you were dead. But your father dragged her away when they saw that Harry was alive."

He shook his head. He winced with pain, his hand going towards his neck. Hermione was shocked to see that a red spot had started to form on the bandage, his neck wound still bleeding.

"I'll get Madame Pomfrey."

He shook his head.

Hermione watched as his eyes drifted closed, and for a moment he seemed to pass out of consciousness again. Then he woke with a start and looked around panicked.

She was ready to say goodbye. She really should have just left him at that point, and ask Madame Pomfrey to check on him. He was obviously struggling, but she had spent a year struggling, and it had hardened something inside of her. She tried one last time.

"Why did you do it?"

He settled onto the pillows, once again closing his eyes as if the talking was exhausting him. Hermione didn't expect him to answer, but he did.

"I was always watching the three of you. From first year, my father thought that Potter might be a powerful dark wizard, the next Voldermort. Bloody Harry Potter, and his fame, the boy who everybody liked, and why? He was a baby when Voldermort died, the first time, and he came back, so he didn't even do it right. The boy who lived, and his two friends. Do you know who I had? Crabbe and Goyle, and they only hang around with me because they're too stupid to come up with ideas of their own. Crabbe and Goyle, they're loyal in their way though. But it's not the same. They're friends because their fathers told them it would be good to get in with the Malfoys. Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I haven't always known. I was always jealous of him. Harry Potter, he doesn't have wealth, he doesn't have pure blood, his parent's were nobodies, the most important thing they ever did was dying. He's not a powerful wizard, I get better than him in every class. Did you know that? And he didn't have to be anybody, he wasn't born into a family legacy, he didn't have any responsibilities."

He did. Hermione thought, but she kept quiet. As she was listening to the bitter stream of consciousness coming from the boy his voice getting drowsier. She wasn't sure if he even realized that she was there anymore.

" I hated him for his popularity and his friends. Then In third year I started hating him for other reasons. After you hit me, I started watching you. I told myself I hated you, I was obsessed, I couldn't stop watching you. "

"You hate me."

" I try to hate you, I try so hard. "

His voice was barely a whisper now.

"I'm a blood traitor."

And he was gone, his chest raising and falling in the gentle whispers of sleep, so unlike the pain of his words.

She stood up and quietly left. She told Madame Pomfrey about the bleeding before she left. She gave a weak smile.

"He's wounds are very difficult to heal, but they will heal eventually."

As she walked up to her dorm room she thought about Malfoy's confession.

She had always known that Malfoy was jealous of Harry. It had always been obvious. And she guessed that it was obvious that he was obsessed with him too. So, what had she learnt really?

She did however feel sorry for him, and more so for his mother. She had seen the look of desperation on her face as Lucius had physically dragged her away. Harry had filled Hermione in on what had happened in the forest, how Draco's mother had lied to try and save her son. She deified Voldermort only to see her own son throw himself in front of a curse.

But it was her own parents she had to concentrate on now; with the war over she was starting to wonder when she could go back to them. She would wait a few more weeks, just to be sure that the left over death eaters were going to be to busy hiding to be attacking muggles. She had to wait, but right now, what she was desperate for was to be some bodies child again, not a soldier, not a tool in some prophecy, not even a witch. She just wanted to go back to being her parent's daughter.

Thank you for all your reviews of the first Chapter, I hope you enjoy this one. The next chapter should be up by the end of the week.