I walked into the library quietly, returning Madame Pince's small smile of welcome (she was nice to anyone who respected books, librarians were odd that way) and walked to one of my favorite spots in the library. A little padded window seat that overlooked a grassy field. You could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, and the expanse of the beautiful blue sky, with the rising peaks of mountains in the distance. It was a beautiful scene. The seat was narrower than most, which was why most people avoided it, but it was the perfect size for my unfortunately very petite frame. The seat was also avoided because it was in the dust-covered and unused household and homemaking charms and spells section. Not popular. This made the spot perfect for uninterrupted thought.
Sitting on the bench, I dropped my still slightly damp bag on the floor, and sat sideways, pulling my feet up on the bench and leaning against the side wall.
So much had happened in the last few hours that my head was still spinning. Half of me was shouting at my brain that I was stupid and that helping Malfoy was not only helping the enemy, but also betraying my friends.
The other half was rationalizing that what I did was logical in my kind nature. I was a compassionate person. Perhaps that was my hamartia. It would probably lead to my downfall, my shouting half said.
But deep down, I knew I had done the right thing. Draco Malfoy may have been a rotten stinker of a child, and a plain bully growing up, but after meeting his father, I kind of understood why. We as people are quite subject to our upbringings. And Malfoy being bad is as inevitable as Ron being good. It's how they were brought up and influenced by their families. I had never met Mrs. Malfoy, but I was willing to bet she was not the happy motherly figure Mrs. Weasley was. Even my own upbringing influenced who I am. I love books and knowledge and learning, that was how my parents brought me up. They had similar loves for academics and raised me like so. We were always going to the library or reading, my house was always quiet. And so that's how I am. I shuddered to think of what kind of home Malfoy came from if he was so mean.
But as much as our childhood shapes us, we can rise above it and be our own people. It's hard but doable. Harry, despite his neglected and lonely childhood, turned out quite the hero. Even Eminem, the muggle rapper, for god sakes, rose above a terrible upbringing and homelife to make something of himself and give his kids a better home! What if they were never given the chance? And are we really going to condemn Malfoy to a cruel fate, for being a product of his upbringing? Yes, he didn't turn to the good path, but defying your family is hard. Can we blame Ron for staying on the good path and not defying his family?
My head was spinning in circles. So much of my perceived notions had shifted, I hadn't even realized. Everything seems so black and white until it's not. Up to this point, we had been good and Malfoy and the Death Eaters had been bad. But now, seeing that Malfoy was not completely gleeful being evil? It shocked me.
The library lanterns flickered to life, and I realized with a start that it was almost time for dinner. I was tempted to skip and continue pondering all the moral dilemmas presented to me, but I didn't want to worry Ron and Harry. Plus I was starved.
Getting up from my lovely perch, I grabbed my bag and headed to the Great Hall, dinner would be just starting when I reached there. I merged with the other students entering the hall and spotted Harry and Ron, a free spot in front of them.
I sat in my spot and greeted my friends, who were chowing down like there was no tomorrow, Ron in a particular frenzy of food.
Casting him a despairing glance, I carefully served myself some lasagna (yum) and mashed potatoes.
"So boys," I said, slicing my food, "how was Quidditch practice?"
As they regaled their amusing antics from practice, I glanced up and to the left, quickly and discreetly searching for Malfoy. I spotted him, and took in his appearance. I noted that while he still didn't look all that put together, he wasn't sitting and staring at some point in the distance. He was eating a bit and chatting quietly with a Slytherin next to him. I smiled inwardly. His skin was still pale, but not to the point of mimicking a bleeding anemic's. His hair looked to have a bit more shine to it too. He still had massive bags under his eyes and was a bit too thin to be normal, but I was glad he appeared to be doing a bit better, maybe a bit less stressed.
I rejoined the boys' conversation and was soon smiling and laughing along with them. I missed the glance the sickly blonde gave in my direction, as well as the slight smile that morphed his features for a pittance of time.
After dinner, I joined the boys in our common room for a few games of chess (Ron won all the games he played, I won against Harry), and then headed to my dormitory, which I shared with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. We mostly got along, but they were a bit too chatty and gossipy for my taste and I was a bit too studious for theirs.
Climbing into bed, I once again puzzled over my moral dilemma, falling into a deep but troubled sleep.
