Chapter 3: Guilt

Hermione felt bad. She kept telling herself she shouldn't, but she did.

It was Malfoy, why should she feel bad? He had made her life miserable every chance he got for years. How many times had he made her drop her things? How many attempts to get them expelled? How many times had he called her a Mudblood?

But had he done any of those things today?

Hermione groaned. He hadn't. In fact he had really been nothing but civil. She replayed the interaction in her mind again and again. He greeted her, answered her questions, and in a backhanded Malfoy prickish kind of way he had even given her a compliment. He expected her to be doing something intellectual, essentially telling her she was smart. Hell, in Malfoy terms that was practically a marriage proposal. He hadn't sneered and made fun of her choices as he would have before. She analyzed that statement every which way to catch even a hint of malice, but there was none to be found. And she attacked him anyway. She could not shake the look on his face when she mentioned his "friends." It was real honest to goodness hurt, with a hint of something else. Shame? It almost looked that way. Sweet Merlin she felt bad.

She let out another groan, flinging herself on the loveseat. What was she thinking? From everything that Harry had said, and what she had witnessed with her own eyes, Malfoy was not a willing Death Eater. Prejudiced prat, sure, but not a Death Eater. According to what Harry had told her Voldemort threatened to kill his entire family unless he obeyed. And from what she had read in the Daily Prophet his mother was now dead because she had helped the light and his father was in Azkaban. So his worst fear had essentially come true.

Hermione groaned again, flinging her face a bit too aggressively into the throw pillow. She felt absolutely horrid. She had just attacked a man who had lost everything because he thought she was too smart to work at a bookstore.

Malfoy likely didn't even care, she told herself. He probably barely noticed the venom spewing from her mouth. That kind of talk was probably considered polite dinner conversation at the Manor.

The Manor.

Pushing aside the involuntary shudder that came with that thought, she sprang up and began pacing. Of all the times for her friends to be gone, she thought bitterly. She could really use them reminding her of what a smarmy bastard that little blonde ferret really was. But Harry and Ron were gone for at least a month doing some Auror training, and Ginny had flexed her new rights as an Auror's wife and gone with. They were not allowed to contact anyone while on base, so she was left along to wallow in guilt.

Hermione sat down again, cursing her overdeveloped sense of compassion. Shaking herself, she resolutely decided that he had it coming from years of torment.

And then she pictured his face full of shame and sadness.

Groaning yet again. She flopped backwards into the loveseat.

Yep, she felt bad.

Draco burst through the door of his home and promptly dropped into the nearest armchair. He wasn't exactly expecting a warm embrace, but a little less hate would have been nice. Still, it could have been worse. She could have punched him again. Really, he deserved that and more.

As much as he did deserve it, he was never fully immune to it. There was a reason he rarely left the country house. For a couple weeks he didn't, still recovering from his own emotional and physical wounds. Then he decided that maybe he should venture out, maybe swallow some pride and attempt to make a few things right. He knew that there was a lot of rebuilding going on in and around Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. So off he went despite his nerves. Both places had made it very clear very quickly that he was not welcome. He had tried to endure it and keep helping at first, but his mere presence usually caused such an uproar that it did more damage than good. On the rare occasion that people were silent upon his arrival, they were so distrustful of him that he never got to do much of anyway. All he seemed to do was cause more pain for people, which is the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish. So after a few attempts, he just stopped trying. And with Mother dead and his scum of the earth father locked away, he just kept to himself. He never really had friends, just Lucious approved cronies, and they had all either fled or been killed. So he was left to his own devices, with only his nightmares to keep him company.

The worst thing about his encounter with the bushy haired witch was that it left him feeling almost worse than he had before. Not from the insults, not that it was the most pleasant experience of his life, but he was used to that. It was because the little window of information he actually obtained didn't seem all that great. He had very much been aware of the haunted expression on her face as she stroked the word hidden beneath the sleeve of her robe. She was also rather defensive about her job at Flourish and Blotts, although he supposed that could also be explained away by the fact that it was brought up by her least favorite person.

At that thought he sighed. It was too bad really. Hermione was the only person in school that was clever enough to keep up with him in a battle of wits. And despite his best efforts, she always beat him in lessons. He had had to learn to settle for a close second. If he hadn't followed along with his father's ideals and tried to emulate that detestable man and make him proud, they might have actually been friends. Maybe more.

Well, he thought shaking his head, I guess better late than never to pull my head out of my arse.

His mind began to drift once again to the cursed wound on her arm. It was supposed to be incurable, carved there for life. Aside from the fact that it was very dark mafic, he really knew nothing about the spell. He had, however, heard of advancements in potions for certain disfigurements caused by dark magic. One benefit of war, he supposed, was a redoubled effort to cure some of the atrocities left behind. Perhaps he should do a little research of his own. Potions had always been his best subject.

Draco stood up, stretching. He wandered into the library, telling himself he could really use some sort of distraction anyway. He had already read most of the book in there, but he was hoping there were a few more scholarly titles he had missed.

After searching the entire collection twice, which didn't take long as the books here were rather limited and mostly for show, he realized that nothing here would do him much good. Briefly he contemplated going to the extensive library in the Manor. Shuddering involuntarily, he decided to save that as a last resort.

A smile crossed his handsome face. It looks like another trip to the bookstore was in order.