A/N: Thanks again to my reviewers! I appreciate that you take the time to review the chapters I write, and I appreciate the encouragement.
I guess, since no one complained, that we're all happy with Blaise… so, I guess that I will add SLASH to the warnings for this fic.
Another Chance
Chapter Seven
Hermione blinked awake and became aware of two things simultaneously: Malfoy was asleep on top of her, and Blaise was standing in the doorway of his room, looking at them.
She shot him a quelling look, but that seemed to be his undoing and he doubled over with silent laughter, closing his door a second later as it became too much for him. She could hear his laughter, faintly, on the other side of the door.
The rooms really didn't have any sort of privacy charms, she thought, and made a mental note to fix that when she got an opportunity.
Blaise out of the way, she looked down at the platinum head snuggled against her breasts. Malfoy had shifted in his sleep, so that one of his legs was thrown over the both of hers. She could also feel his morning erection pressing against her leg and she flushed, forced to accept the fact that she had slept all night on a couch with Draco Malfoy.
She felt him start to move and braced herself for what was sure to be a verbal attack of enormous magnitude. As subtly as she could she cast a cleansing charm on both herself and Draco – if he was going to yell at her, at least it would be with minty breath.
Sure, enough, an instant later Malfoy was awake and springing away from her. Hermione squashed her instinct to smile at the slightly horrified expression on his face. His hair was in complete disarray and his clothing was rumpled. He looked very young, and very lost. Slowly he turned to face her, and Hermione took in his red-rimmed eyes and fought against her urge to hold him against her again. He reminded her so much of Harry, when he had lost Sirius. She sighed. Children should not have to bury their parents so young. She blinked back sudden tears when she thought of her own parents. Now was not the time for self pity. In ten minutes, after Malfoy had called her every foul thing he could think of - that was the time for self pity.
She arched an eyebrow at him and waited for the explosion.
"Did you clean my teeth?" He asked, face a mixture of confusion and amusement.
"Um yes. I didn't want to be yelled at by someone with atrocious morning breath."
"I do not have atrocious morning breath," Malfoy muttered angrily.
"I didn't know that and I wasn't willing to take any chances."
He huffed, still obviously put out by her assumption. There was a moment of tense silence, and then he reached out to her and took one of her hands in his.
"Granger, I appreciate last night."
She blinked, convinced that she had entered an alternate universe.
"Granger?"
"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to work out how that was an insult. It's taking me a minute."
He scowled at her.
"It wasn't. I, damnit Granger, thank you. Alright? Thank you for last night – thank you for that night two weeks ago. Thank you. Happy now?" He was starting to work himself up.
"Um, yeah, you're welcome. I – Malfoy, I want to be your friend. So, I'm here… if you need anything."
He caught her eye and seemed to be searching for something in her expression – some sight of deceit or duplicity, but, finding none, he nodded and leaned back against the couch.
"Well, look who's finally awake."
They both turned to glare at Blaise.
"Perhaps you should head back to your own room, Draco, and get changed before we head down to breakfast. It's just after dawn, everyone should still be asleep."
Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him and Blaise smirked.
"I won't have you seen leaving my rooms at this hour, I've my reputation to consider, after all."
Malfoy snorted and levered himself up. He looked down at Hermione again and she looked away, unable to bear the sincere expression on his face.
"I'll see you at breakfast, then," he said and left.
"Well… that was interesting."
Hermione turned on him instantly.
"His father just died! I was trying to comfort him! Honestly, Blaise, is everything a joke to you?" She stood up and stalked across the room to glare up at him. "There's nothing interesting about it. When's the last time Draco was hugged by his own mother even? Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to…to let me help? His father was a monster, and he might claim to be glad he's dead – but Lucius was still his father. It still hurts! Can't you save your snide remarks for just one day?"
Blaise looked at her condescendingly.
"Are you finished?"
She crossed her arms.
"Yes."
"Good, because now you get to listen to me. Draco is my best friend – my only friend, for that matter. So I, far more than you could ever dream, understand what he is going through. I spent summers in that house – I know what a foul bastard Lucius was. I know how he treated Draco and Narcissa. And I know, despite all that, that Draco worshipped the man. I know all of that Granger. I've been there. You had a moment of pity and decided to offer your… body to him. Well, bully for you. It was one night, and by this time tomorrow, I'm sure you will be back with your idiot Gryffindor friends, because you're just so wonderful and kind that you'll forgive them the moment Weasley works up the courage to apologize. And then… then it's going to be just Draco and me. Again. So forgive me if I'm not falling all over myself to congratulate you on being the humanitarian of the year. I know you, and I know your kind. You feel bad for him – but you don't actually care about him."
He turned to go back into his room but then stopped himself and stepped towards her.
"And another thing. I'll make snide remarks if I damn well want to. I'm a Slytherin, and so is Draco. We don't wear our damn hearts on our sleeves like you. We can't go around sniveling in the corridors or hugging random strangers. We can't be weak like you. So leave it be. You don't understand, and you have no hope of ever understanding."
Hermione stood there in complete shock as he slammed the door in her face.
Well, she had anticipated getting yelled at this morning – she had just been wrong about who would do the yelling, it seemed.
She drew in a deep breath and knocked on his door.
"What?" He opened it and looked down at her, obviously on the verge of losing control of his emotions.
"Blaise, I'm sorry."
"Oh, you're sorry. Well, that makes it all better. Glad that's behind us."
"I wasn't trying to come between you and Draco, last night."
She could see that her shot hit home, because he stood up straighter and his glare intensified.
"I know he's your best friend. I know that I'm… nothing, really. But I do care about him – I really do. I don't know him very well, but I can tell that he's had a really difficult life, and a really hard time recently. And he's… he doesn't deserve that, no one does."
"So he's just another one of your projects? Going to rescue him from himself?"
"No, Draco's made it quite clear that I can bugger off before he will let me 'fix him.'"
"Then what? Feeling lonely now that Weasley's off to greener pastures and your friends have abandoned you. You can't really think to replace them with Draco."
She raised her chin, having had enough of his attempts to hurt her – especially now that they actually were hurting her.
"Draco could never replace Ron or Harry, and I'm not trying to replace them with anyone. They are my best friends, and… damn it, Blaise I'm only trying to be a good person!"
"He doesn't need a good person around, Granger. What do you think is going to happen when Weasley and Potter want you back? Think they're going to open their arms to Draco Malfoy as well? Grow up."
"The war is over! He's not our enemy! I can be friends with whoever I want to!" She stamped her foot, furious to be having this argument again – with Blaise now – and being met with just as much anger and incomprehension as if it was Ron or Harry.
Blaise seemed to be amused by her display and she fought her urge to slap him. Instead, she drew in deep, calming breaths and counted to ten.
"Blaise, I want to help him. I want to be his friend. I want to be your friend. I don't have any ulterior motives – and I'm not just going to throw the two of you away if Ron and Harry want me back. You… you have to realize that I've had more intelligent conversations over the last two weeks with you two than I had all my other years here combined. I know that I'm open and honest… and annoying and interfering. But the two of you are arrogant, self-serving, and way too uptight. So… there. You aren't perfect either."
There was a tense moment of silence between them, and she was sure he was going to slam the door in her face again. But then he smirked and lifted a hand to his heart.
"Why, Miss Granger, I think I've just fallen in love."
She rolled her eyes at him but couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.
"Well, now that we've got that sorted – you should clean yourself up. You look like you spent your night in the arms of, well, Draco Malfoy."
She glared at him and retreated to her own bedroom, relieved that they seemed to be back on good terms. She closed her door and leaned against it heavily.
It had been a busy weekend, she decided, and she wondered just how life could possibly get more complicated.
And then she remembered: Ron. He had been curiously absent from the Great Hall on Sunday during mealtimes, and Hermione had the feeling that today was going to be very, very difficult to be around him. If he followed his usual pattern of stubborn idiocy, she was willing to bet that he would be hanging all over Lavender Brown – making it clear that he had other options, better options.
So Hermione took care when she dressed that morning, making sure her school uniform was clean and well pressed, and made an extra effort with her hair, charming into a semblance of order and leaving her hair, now softly curling, loose. She added lip gloss and judged herself sufficiently put together to face down her new ex-boyfriend and whatever he could throw in her direction.
Blaise was waiting for her in their common room and gave her a once over before chuckling.
"War, is it?"
She gave a haughty shake of her head.
"I just felt like looking presentable today."
"Right. You felt like showing Ron Weasley he's a stupid prat and he's missing out on being with one of the prettiest girls in school."
Hermione flushed at the compliment.
"I'm no Lavender Brown."
"True. Merlin, the amount of turquoise eye shadow that girl uses is criminal." Blaise gave a theatrical shudder. "Shall we?" He held out his arm and she allowed him to escort her.
"Blaise, are all Slytherins as bipolar as you and Malfoy?"
"Of course. As first years, they charm our pillows. We sleep one way, and the pillow compliments us and tells us how lovely we are; we turn over and the pillow tells us what utter, pathetic failures we are. It's quite hard to get used to, of course, but by fourth year most of us are able to sleep through the night, and accept the fact that we will never, ever be happy."
She shook her head, wondering how it was possible for him to maintain such levity. Remembering the argument they had just had, though, she realized that it was Blaise's way of protecting himself. Just as Malfoy used insults and his generally foul temperament to get rid of people and guard himself, so Blaise used his humor to put a distance between himself and others. It was sad, when she thought about it, but she knew that she had done something similar. As a first year, amidst the taunts from all houses about her looks and her heritage, Hermione had drowned herself in school work and had used her studies as an excuse for not being close to anyone. Even now, when she wanted to avoid Harry or Ron, or felt upset with them or herself she escaped to the library. She supposed that everyone had these ways of protecting themselves.
"Would you like me to sweep you off your feet and kiss you in front of everyone?" Blaise offered and Hermione glanced over at her usual table, not in the least surprised to catch Ron and Lavender already fused together by their lips. She straightened her shoulders and held her head high.
"No thank you, I've my reputation to consider, after all. Besides, I'm not about to go getting on Professor Viridian's bad side."
He sent her a quelling look and guided them over to their usual table.
"Little chance of that," he confessed. "I think he's probably going to murder me in detention tonight."
Hermione shook her head.
"I told you it was dangerous."
"Hence the appeal. Morning Eleanor, Stephan."
The two Ravenclaws nodded in acknowledgement of the greeting, but instead of sitting at their table they walked on to sit with a few seventh year Hufflepuffs.
Hermione exchanged a confused look with Blaise, and then caught sight of Draco entering the hall. A hush fell over the students, and Hermione wondered just how fast bad news traveled.
Draco ignored everyone and walked over to their table, taking the open seat beside Hermione, across from Blaise. The hall was still silent.
"Maybe you should roll around on the floor and curse fate for a while," Blaise suggested, then, more thoughtfully, "it's what I would do."
Draco glared at him.
"Good thing I'm not a melodramatic poofer, then," he said this with a blank expression, but even Hermione knew he wasn't actually trying to insult Blaise.
"Why IS everyone staring?" She asked.
Draco arched an eyebrow at her and gestured at himself.
It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't dressed as he ought to be. He was still wearing his school uniform, but his tie, instead of being green and silver, was black, as was his normally gray vest.
"Oh. Are you allowed to do that?"
Blaise sent her a look of complete exasperation.
"Are you seriously questing the rules NOW?"
"Not allowed, exactly. But tolerated."
"I've never noticed anyone dressed like that."
"Because you hang out with a lot of purebloods?"
Hermione frowned at him, but considered the truth in this. There really weren't many purebloods in Gryffindor – and Ron and Ginny hadn't been in school when their brother died. They had worn black for a month or so, she remembered.
"How long? Do you wear black?" She hoped her questions were keeping his mind occupied and his attention away from the literally hundreds of eyes still focused on him. At last, after several minutes, the hall had regained its usual level of noise.
"My mother will wear black until she dies."
"Or remarries," Blaise pointed out.
"Yes, or remarries. I should wear it for three months."
Obviously he had no intentions of doing so, and Hermione wondered if that was a good or bad decision. She really didn't feel remorse over Lucius' death – he was a terrible man and without him the world was certainly a better place. But she wouldn't wish death on anyone.
A moment later the room was filled with owls delivering mail.
Draco received two letters – one from a very officious looking falcon and the other from a school owl. Blaise and Hermione each received The Daily Prophet, and they both quickly shoved the paper into their bags after little more than a cursory glance. It appeared that nothing had occurred over the weekend in the entire world except the murder of Lucius Malfoy.
They exchanged scowls and turned back to Draco.
He had one envelope open and was tipping it over. Hermione craned her neck and saw something fall out onto his palm.
Draco closed his hand tightly around the object and his face looked conflicted.
He opened his palm and Hermione could see what appeared to be a signet ring, bearing the Malfoy crest, as well as several carats worth of emeralds and diamonds. It was impressive, to say the least.
Draco was still staring at the ring, seeming to be torn between wanting to put it on and throw it across the room. He scratched absently at his face, and Hermione noticed a small scar along his jaw.
"Well, it isn't going to go away just because you want it to," Blaise said, his voice almost serious.
Draco nodded and after another moment he put the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. Hermione felt a rush of wind and stared in amazement as a pure, gold glow emanated from the ring and surrounded Draco. A moment later it dissipated, leaving Draco looking slightly ruffled and… very healthy looking.
Hermione bit down on the questions that sprung to her mind. There was so much about the wizarding world that she didn't know and couldn't find in books – whatever bit of arcane magic had just occurred was yet another demonstration of her continued ignorance.
Draco opened the second letter, his face turning from bored to angry in a matter of seconds. By the time he put the letter down he was practically shaking with rage.
"What –" Blaise cut her off with a look.
"It's a death threat," Draco said after a moment spent getting himself under control. "From my father's murderer. Apparently, I'm next."
This was greeted with a moment of stunned silence.
"Well, you should probably tuck in, then. Pumpkin juice?" Blaise held out the pitcher and, after a moment, Draco accepted it from him.
"Here's to idiots who think they can mess with Draco Malfoy," Blaise said, and raised his glass.
Lips twisted into a sneer, Draco followed suit. Both boys looked at Hermione.
"Honestly." She raised her own glass and touched it to theirs. Together, they tipped back the juice. Hermione choked on hers.
"Blaise, that isn't pumpkin juice!"
"You're damn right it's not. Draco's father was just murdered and now someone's out to get him. He clearly needs something a bit stronger."
"But – " She thought of all the rules they were breaking, all of the ways this could go horribly wrong and they could be caught. Blaise's look was challenging and even Draco seemed expectant.
She rolled her eyes.
"At least charm it to look like Pumpkin juice. Honestly, even a first year could tell this was fire-whiskey."
"That's my girl," Blaise toasted her with his next glass and Hermione found herself taking another sip as well.
She wondered if there had ever been an instance in Hogwarts history when the Head Boy and Head Girl, along with a Prefect, had gotten drunk over breakfast. She wondered if she could still take the NEWTS after being expelled.
Draco found it considerably easier to focus on his classes that day than he had expected.
Potions required his constant and complete attention – Boy Wonder was just as likely to off himself as be useful, and so Draco once again worked virtually by himself to complete their assignment. He sincerely hoped that Prince was doing something to Potter's grade in the class. Though, at the rate things were going, Potter was going to need a miracle to pass NEWTs.
He spared a glance over his shoulder at Blaise and Granger. Once again they were working companionably, even managing to hold a conversation about Runes while they worked. He tried to imagine he and Potter doing the same and couldn't contain a snort of amusement at that thought.
Potter looked at him oddly.
"You really are a cold bastard, aren't you?" He muttered.
Draco gave him a look of complete scorn.
"Here you are, laughing and your father isn't even dead twenty four hours. Don't you care that he was murdered?" Potter looked at him with such loathing that Draco wondered, not for the first time, how Potter was NOT a dark wizard.
"How do you know that I didn't have him murdered, Potter? I got my inheritance back, after all."
Potter's eyes widened and he spun around to the desk behind them.
"You chose this monster over Ron? Are you completely mental?"
Hermione looked up, confused and a little irritated. Blaise's expression mirrored her own, and Draco took the opportunity to push aside the mutilated daisy roots that Potter had prepared and started on a new batch.
"Harry, what are you talking about?"
"You! And Malfoy. I've got eyes Hermione. Ever since Narcissa come to the house you've been soft on him. And you spend more time with him than – than you do in the library."
Granger looked genuinely angry now, but Draco was too caught up in what he had said. His mother had visited Granger – and Potter?
"If you really have eyes then maybe you should start using them to pay attention! Honestly, Harry, Malfoy's been making ALL of the Potions in this class, and that's the only reason you're passing. His father just died – and you're still treating him like – like he's the enemy. Things have changed." All of this was said in a vicious whisper, but they had nevertheless drawn the attention of most of the class, Professor Prince included.
"Miss Granger, I thought I made it clear that you were not to assist Mr. Potter on any of his work in this classroom."
"I'm sorry, Professor." Granger's eyes were still locked on Potter, and she looked ready to kill.
"Detention, both of you."
"Me?" Blaise looked irritated.
"Not you, Mr. Zabini. I understand that you have a prior obligation anyway. No, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter will join me tonight, beginning at seven, until I see fit."
Prince swept off and Granger turned away from them without a word. Eventually Potter turned back to their potion. He noticed the pile of daisy's Draco had pushed off the table and onto his lap.
"What the hell?" Potter brushed them off and glared at Draco, but the blonde just continued to complete their assignment.
The class finished without incident, and Draco, along with Blaise and Granger, headed off to a rather somber lunch and then to History of Magic.
In the middle of the lecture, which Binns happened to be repeating verbatim from last year, Draco pulled out the letter he had received at breakfast and read it again.
Malfoy,
I trust that by now you have word of your father's murder. I doubt that you were given all of the details. His body was drained of blood, and of magic. In the end, he was nothing more than a Squib. All of his pureblood idiocy did him no good.
I hope you are enjoying your final year. Hogwarts must seem a trifle dull now that you have had your fortunes reversed.
Watch your back. Now that I am done with your father I will finish the job and end the Malfoy line. I do hope you will be more a challenge than he was. At least don't beg, as he did. Pathetic man.
The note, of course, was unsigned. Draco ran a finger over the folded parchment and traced the words. The ink was a rich violet in color, and the handwriting bore the traces of a dictation charm. Blaise could have written the note and Draco would not be able to recognize the handwriting with such a charm in place.
He was grateful that his mother had not been threatened outright. It seemed that whoever had killed Lucius bore a grudge against the Malfoy title. Even so, he made a mental note to write her that evening and suggest she leave the country for a while, after the funeral. Now that their fortune was restored, she had the money to do so.
When classes were released for the day he headed down to the Quidditch pitch for practice.
He was nearly an hour early, and was unsuprised to find the locker room empty. He therefore changed at a leisurely pace, enjoying the moments alone. He put his belongings in a locker and warded it. At last he grabbed his broom and took to the sky.
The feel of the wind whipping against his face nearly took his breath away. It was sure there was a storm brewing. Draco looked up at the troubled sky and wondered, briefly, how high he would need to fly in order to reach the clouds. The lightning that even now started to dance across the horizon in a beautiful, deadly pattern.
Draco turned away from the storm and dove towards the pitch, his broom hurtling along at an impossible speed, the ground rushing up, until the last second, when he pulled up and leveled off, so close to the ground that his knees brushed the grass.
Soon the Slytherin team had assembled on the sidelines, waiting for Draco to ask them to take to the sky. He had picked such a young team for a number of reasons, not the least of which being the fact that this young, they were all still afraid of him and still willing to do just as he told them to. They were also a talented group, and he was grateful for that more than their obedience.
He landed and looked over them.
"All of you flew well in try-outs, but you could do better. Tonight we will concentrate on sprinting and turns. Mount your brooms."
He spent the next hour and a half putting them through their paces, and by the end all of them were sweating and looking exhausted. He let them have the locker room to themselves – he understood the need for team camaraderie, and he knew that his presence, even among these Slytherins, was still unwelcome.
It wasn't until nearly six-thirty that he made it to the great hall for dinner, and by that point many students had already come and gone. Granger and Blaise were both still shoveling food into their mouths and he smirked, vastly amused that the Head Boy and Girl each had to serve detention tonight while he… while he started to make a list of possible enemies of his family that had access to Azkaban.
He sighed and sat down beside Granger.
She looked up at him, concern etched on her face, and he was reminded of Potter's slip that morning. He decided to wait to question her on it, however, in light of the fact that she looked ready to burst with questions of her own.
"Yes?" He said after a moment of her staring at him hopefully.
"The ring. What does it do?"
He rolled his eyes. Of course she was interested in the ring.
Draco held his hand out and found himself momentarily struck by the sight of it on his hand. All of his life Lucius had worn the ring, and it looked more than a little out of place now on his own hand. It had shrunk to fit his own finger and had bonded instantly.
"Family heirloom."
"Oh, is that what the diamond M means? I had wondered."
He arched an eyebrow at her.
"Was that sarcasm?" He turned to Blaise. "Have you been teaching her sarcasm? I thought we agreed to leave off on that until she learnt subtlety."
Blaise smirked and Granger scowled.
"This ring has been passed down in my family for… seven hundred years now. It indicates my family, as you already pointed out, and my status."
"As?"
"As Lord Malfoy. This ring will get me through the wards on any of the family properties. It also has a… small amount of ancient, protective magic. Additionally, it shows off how filthy rich I am."
She rolled her eyes and seemed about to ask more questions but stopped herself. He wondered if she was trying to be sensitive to his recent loss, or if she really was trying to show restraint.
"Well, have you narrowed down who might want to kill you yet?" Blaise asked.
Draco snorted a laugh and took a sip from his goblet – completely unsurprised to find that it was, yet again, fire whiskey. Blaise really was intent on keeping him mildly drunk all day, it seemed. Draco saw no reason to go against his friend's wishes, so he took another sip before setting the goblet back on the table.
"I have," he announced. "I think it's Megan Jones. Revenge, I'm sure, for breaking her heart."
Blaise nodded sagely.
"She DOES seem the type to murder a potential father in law," he agreed.
Granger looked ready to take them to task, but a glance at her watch forestalled her.
"I've got to go," she said.
"Take another drink, for courage," Blaise recommended, tipping his own goblet back and draining it. He coughed, but otherwise looked remarkably intact for having just downed enough whiskey to knock out a lesser man.
Granger shot him a scathing look and left without touching her goblet again.
"Wish me luck," Blaise said.
"You'll need more than luck," Draco said, amused to see Blaise drain Granger's goblet as well. Blaise really wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, it seemed.
"Merlin, why did I have to open my mouth?" Blaise muttered to himself and then left.
Draco watched him leave and then turned back to his meal, curious to notice that Stephan and Eleanor were sitting with the Hufflepuffs again – had Granger offended Eleanor so much that they had decided to wash their hands of them?
He frowned, considering just how irritating Granger could be. Except she wasn't, not really. When she wasn't trying to show off in class she was practically tolerable. And much quieter. In fact, he was almost tempted to take her up on her offer of friendship.
That was something his father wouldn't have stood for. Friends with the Mudblood. A year ago it would have been impossible, but the war had shown him a lot of things. Chief among them the fact that he had been wrong, dead wrong, about her. Being from the Muggle world certainly didn't hold her back, and she was more powerful than almost all of the pureblood witches he could think of. Blood meant nothing, he had learned, and it had been a difficult lesson. Yet another aspect of his father's bigotry that he had shed. If nothing else, Granger's mere existence proved what an idiot Voldemort had been. A half-blood intent on purging the world of weaklings… he had been brought down by such weaklings, and Draco had seen Granger personally take on Death Eaters during the mass retreat following Voldemort's death. She was incredible, and much, much more powerful than he had thought.
He shook his head and forced thoughts of Granger away. He was positive she was just going through some phase, and would no doubt be back at Potter and Weasley's side within the week. Until then, however, he appreciated her company.
And her body. Waking up this morning had been… interesting. She had certainly grown up, and the feel of her pressed against him had been more than merely comforting. He could admit to himself that he found her attractive, but the self-enlightenment did him little good. Granger was clearly the long-term, picket-fence kind of girl. And even though Draco had just become the last of his line, he had no intentions of settling down with anyone anytime soon. Especially anyone as irritating and bossy as Granger. No matter how good she smelled, or how perfectly warm she was.
"Malfoy."
He looked up to see Ginny Weasley standing in front of him. The girl looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but where she was, and he couldn't help but let her stew for a bit before he finally acknowledged her.
"Weasley." He looked and noticed that her brother, and most of her house, were absent from the hall.
"My condolences on your father's passing."
This Weasley had more reason than most to celebrate his father's death, and he wondered why she was bothering with the pretense. He arched an eyebrow at her and waited.
She sighed and sat down.
"He was evil, your father, but I'm still sorry for YOU."
Draco also doubted the veracity of this statement, but he inclined his head, acknowledging her words.
She rolled her eyes and sat down, taking the seat Blaise had previously occupied.
"Something wrong with your table?" He asked.
"Look, Malfoy, I'm not going to pretend I understand, but… well, they were never going to work out anyway. So… just don't hurt her."
"What are you talking about? Is there some sort of disease spreading through the Gryffindor house? Have you all gone mental?"
"I'm talking about Hermione! About her breaking up with Ron – for you!"
Draco didn't bother to hide his amusement at the idea of that.
"You do realize that Granger and I can't have more than five minutes of pleasant conversation before we start insulting each other. And that I still can't stand her. Or her friends."
Weasley blushed, catching his slight against her and Potter.
"But – Harry said –"
"Potter clearly lost what little sense he had when Voldemort died. I have no interest in Granger. Not to mention that she broke up with your brother because he's a prat."
Ginny frowned.
"He isn't. Not entirely. They just… really didn't suit each other."
He agreed with that, but kept it to himself. He wondered when she would leave him alone and considered just getting up to leave her there.
"I'm not interested," he said when it was clear she was ready to keep talking.
She scowled at him.
"You do realize that Harry's not going to talk to her, so long as she keeps this up."
"I'm not her keeper, Weasley. And I've told her to bugger off – she just doesn't listen."
"Must be that irresistible Malfoy charm," Ginny muttered sarcastically.
"Must be," he agreed and then stood. "Thank you for the… warning."
And he left her there, ready to spend the rest of the night in the library, away from irritating Gryffindors and everyone else, for that matter.
Prince put them to work scrubbing cauldrons, without magic, and Harry started to feel downright nostalgic by the tenth cauldron covered in green sludge.
Hermione had started working on the far end of cauldrons, keeping her distance and ignoring him. Prince, meanwhile, sat at the front of the room and appeared to be grading essays.
Harry could think of any number of things he would rather be doing, but it did not escape his notice that this was the longest he had spent with Hermione since they had returned to school. It seemed that almost as soon as they got off the train, she was hanging about with Malfoy and Zabini. He knew that Narcissa's speech had gotten to her – he knew she had a soft spot for lost causes – but he felt this went beyond that. She had practically abandoned them for the Slytherins, and she seemed to be taking it completely in stride that Ron had gotten back together with Lavender. Ginny didn't bother to hide her disgust over this, and even Harry was irritated that he couldn't have the sense – or taste – to wait a bit before jumping into bed with his stand-by.
He simply didn't understand why Hermione insisted on taking Malfoy's side, or how she could seem so… content to be spending time with him.
It was almost as if the last seven years hadn't happened, as if she hadn't been held prisoner in Malfoy's house and tortured by his aunt. As if he hadn't insulted her from the first day. As if he didn't still treat her like dirt.
It was after ten before Prince left them alone to retrieve another stack of essays, and Harry took his chance to speak to her.
"Hermione, what is going on?"
"We're cleaning cauldrons, in detention," she said without looking up.
"What is your problem?" He demanded.
She looked up now, throwing her rag down and putting her hands on her hips and doing her best to look completely furious.
"My problem is you, Harry! You got me into this with your… insults in class and I don't really want to talk to you!"
"I thought we were friends. I thought we were best friends."
"And I thought you were a decent enough person to give someone a second chance."
"What are you – Malfoy?! You really expect me to just forget everything that's EVER happened?"
"I expected you to grow up. I expected you to be the bigger person. Can't you see that he's changed? I mean – look at us, we're practically friends, and you know that wouldn't have been possible before. He's actually… not that bad once you get used to him."
"Oh, well in that case, let me just get a lobotomy and I'll come sit with you at breakfast tomorrow."
She scowled at him.
"I really don't understand you, Harry. Why can't you move on? I thought you wanted to put the past behind you?"
"Hermione – you want me to be friends with a guy who's been nothing but an arse since the day I met him."
"You don't have to be his friend. I just, Harry, he's been as much a victim as you have."
"What? You mean Voldemort came back from the dead and murdered his Dad? Wow, maybe we are just alike. I should probably go and give him a hug."
"Harry! You are impossible to reason with."
"Guess without you around I've just gone and become my own person."
She glared at him and even from the distance they stood apart he could tell that her breathing was uneven.
"He grew up not knowing any better, and he's learned. He's changed. He's not a good person, but he isn't evil anymore. He's better. I promise."
"I didn't realize you could actually clean cauldrons without magic just by talking," Prince said, coming back into the room and catching the last of their argument.
"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said and went back to work immediately. Harry shook his head, disgusted with how easily she gave in and just… followed orders.
She was being completely stupid, trying to befriend Malfoy. He just knew that one day soon, the bastard was going to do something to hurt her – and then she would come running back, and be forced to admit that she was wrong.
He comforted himself with this thought as they continued to scrub the cauldrons.
It didn't take away the sting of realizing that she really had abandoned him for the Slytherin, though. Through all the years of their friendship, Hermione had been the steady one who looked out for him, who believed in him, and who stood by him when even Ron turned away. Why was she being so stupid about this? Why couldn't she believe him now – he just KNEW that Malfoy would hurt her.
And as much as he couldn't wait to say I told you so, he really, really didn't want her to be hurt.
When the detention ended he left immediately, not interested in rehashing the argument with Hermione again – not when it was so clear she wouldn't budge. He reasoned that she knew where he was, when she wanted to seek him out and admit that she had been wrong. Until then, he washed his hands of the whole thing.
So, anyone want to know how Blaise's detention went?