A/N: I know I haven't updated in a really, really long time. So, here is my list of excuses:
1) I wanted this chapter to be perfect, so it was edited a lot. A LOT. I'm sick of reading it now, and I'm sure my beta is, too.
2) Had my 21st birthday, and got a Kindle. I've been reading it pretty much non-stop during my freetime.
3) My grandpa died - cancer. All things considered, I wasn't really in the mood to write/edit a story about a girl dying from a deadly disease.
4) School, school, school.
Anyway, I hope the chapter was at least somewhat worth the wait. Enjoy.
As his time tending to Hermione progressed, Draco became less and less committed to wearing his healer's robes. They were hideous, after all, and she was his only patient. He hardly ever saw Astley these days and wearing the robe was no longer important to him. He had begun to wear casual robes, and even a few muggle items he had picked up over the years. He did think he looked rather attractive in blue jeans.
He was carrying a food tray to Hermione. He knew she wouldn't finish most of it, but he had to try. She had been shunning food for around three weeks now, and the weight loss was starting to show.
He was pleased to see that she smiled when he entered the room. They had definitely been growing more comfortable around each other. She even seemed to enjoy it when he came to check on her – and he didn't dread it himself. In fact, he found himself looking forward to going to her room, found himself making excuses to eat his meals with her. He had himself almost convinced that it was because she was the only female he knew who could keep up with him in conversation; he could almost ignore his physical attraction to her.
As he pushed the door closed with his hips, her eyes seemed to scan him up and down. He smirked, knowing that she was enjoying the sight of him in his blue jeans and his (quite-flattering, he thought) black shirt. Her gaze seemed to stop, however, before reaching the shirt—at a point about halfway up his body.
Draco was surprised; she seemed to be staring right at his crotch. His smirk grew, and he repositioned himself for better viewing. As he began to wonder what she could be imagining, he noticed that her facial expression was not one of a lust-filled woman. Her eyes were narrowed, the corners of her mouth turned down, eyebrows lowered. Realization tore through him. She had never been staring at his crotch, but at a certain skull-shaped mark permanently inked into his forearm.
Fuck, he thought to himself. Shouldn't have worn a short-sleeve.
Hermione couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the mark. Draco didn't know exactly what to do, so he decided to pretend like he didn't notice and bring her the tray. Her eyes tracked his arm as he moved closer to her. "I've got your lunch," he said, annoyed that her eyes were still focused on his arm. He shoved the tray in front of her face, interrupting her line of sight.
Hermione jumped back a bit as the tray was shoved at her. She looked up at Draco, and when she did, she was jarred temporarily from her angry thoughts. His eyes – they looked so politely confused, not evil – and she found herself thinking about how kind he'd been to her the past few weeks. She remembered laughing with him, and crying in front of him, and how he hadn't treated her like she was a piece of dirt. But there was the Dark Mark. She couldn't ignore it. Him being nice to her now didn't make everything he'd done in the past okay. The Dark Mark was a reminder of all the bad things that had happened in her life – and Draco having it made her want to hate him.
She tried to rationalize with herself. She tried to tell herself that Draco was sorry for the things he'd done. But one thought ate at her – one question that could not be logically answered. Why has he never apologized? It was as though he didn't think he needed to – as though he thought he hadn't done anything wrong.
They had been getting along really, really great. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. It was probably just Draco doing his job. There was no way she could just forget the things he'd done in the past. Harry and Ron would never approve. Especially if Draco didn't feel that he needed to apologize.
Draco, not being privy to Hermione's inner thoughts, was growing more and more confused as he watched her expression go from angry, to thoughtful, to sad, and back to angry, all the while gazing at his face. He simply stood there, awkwardly, waiting for her to say something.
"I'm not hungry," she said, setting the tray on her bedside table a little roughly, so that a bit of applesauce sloshed over the side of its container. Her eyes flew back to his arm, her trademark glare on her face, and Draco was desperately wondering what she was thinking. To try and get some sort of reaction out of her, he nonchalantly clasped his hands behind his back, hiding his arm from view. She didn't even seem to notice, and continued to stare at the place his arm had once occupied, forehead furrowed, seemingly lost in thought.
He thought maybe talking would break her stupor. "You need to eat, Granger. You're losing weight. I can see it in your face. I know you don't feel hungry, but –"
"Why did you do it?" she interrupted him, as if she wasn't even aware he'd been talking. "Do what?" he asked, hoping this conversation wasn't going where he thought it was.
She glared up at him then, as if the answer to his question should be completely obvious. "Become a death eater," she said, spitting the words out so that they would be in her mouth for as little time as was possible. She was obviously disgusted with the whole idea of death eaters, and the fact that Draco had been one, that she could scarcely stand it. She couldn't fathom how he could be arrogant enough to parade around her, waving his dark mark in the air. How could he do that, when it symbolized Voldemort's attempted extermination of the muggle-borns – and there she was, a muggle-born? Did he really think she would be okay with it?
Draco stared at her, slowly raising one eyebrow. He wondered if she was honestly asking him this. He had always thought the answer to her question had been fairly obvious. She crossed her arms tightly, waiting for a response.
"They were going to kill my parents," Draco said slowly, dangerously calm, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold in his growing frustration. "I didn't have much choice."
Hermione let out a derisive laugh. "So the first time you ever considered being a death eater was when Voldemort threatened your parents?"
Draco flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name, and his shoulders stiffened at her accusations. His face flushed with anger. "I didn't take it seriously until then, no."
Hermione was stunned at the idiocy of his response. It took her a few seconds of opening and closing her mouth in indignation before she could come up with something to say. "You certainly played the part," she snapped, unable to control her anger. So we've been getting along for the past three weeks. That doesn't erase past wrongs. "Hating me just because I'm muggle-born. Torturing me, insulting me, humiliating me. And you never even cared, did you? It never even bothered you that you made my life at school miserable."
Draco stood there, clenching his fists, completely unable to say anything, because really, what could he say? That she had deserved it?
"You still don't care." continued Hermione, gripping her sheets tightly. "Here I am, on my deathbed, and you still don't have it in you to apologize. You flash that mark at me like some sort of trophy –"
"What am I supposed to do, cut off my arm?" Draco snarled through gritted teeth. "I don't want this mark. It's just like Potter's stupid scar; I can't get rid of it." Draco was almost exploding with anger, and yet he couldn't find any words with which to defend himself. This made him even more angry, because he didn't like knowing that he had done something wrong. And he was angry that he had exposed the mark so carelessly, that he had caused a fight when they had been getting along so well.
"It is NOTHING like Harry's scar!" Hermione cried, obviously enraged at the comparison. "You got that mark by choice! Harry never wanted his." She paused, her breaths rapid and furious. "You deserve that mark, Malfoy. You deserve to always be reminded of how evil you are."
"Evil?" Draco said, shocked almost to the point of laughter. "I hardly think calling you a beaver once or twice qualifies as being evil."
"No, you're right. That just makes you an asshole. What makes you evil is the fact that you joined the death eaters, tried to kill Dumbledore, and almost got Ron and Katie Bell killed. And you sat by and watched while Bellatrix tortured me." The last memory seemed to be the hardest on Hermione, and he flinched when he noticed that tears had sprung to her eyes. "Just sat there, while I screamed and cried, begging for her to stop. While I felt like I'd die from the pain." Her voice began to break. "You probably even enjoyed it.".
Hermione had certainly done a good job of hitting all of Draco's buttons. She had, in less than a minute, reminded him of all the things he was most ashamed of. His horrible treatment of her in school, almost killing Ron and Katie, his part in Dumbledore's death, and though he tried not to think about it, sitting by and watching while Hermione was tortured.
It had almost made him sick at the time. Even when he had hated her, he could hardly bear to watch Bellatrix torment her.
And now the memory had overcome Hermione, and she was crying, her head in her hands.
"Granger, I…" Draco began, not knowing what he was going to say. He hated knowing that he was the cause of her tears. He wondered how many times in the past she had cried because of him.
"What was I supposed to do?" It was the only way he had made himself feel better about it over the years: reassuring himself that there was nothing he could've done to help her without getting himself killed in the process. The memory still sickened him. The fact that his own aunt, the same woman who had taught him legillimency, had tortured a teenager, and would have done the same to Draco had he interfered, made him feel like throwing up.
She didn't respond, just went right on crying.
"Look, Granger, I'm sorry. For everything. Alright? Is that what you wanted? I fucking hate myself for all the things I did. I'm sorry I made your life so miserable." Draco sat down in the desk chair, and put his head in his hands. "I know I fucked up. It's too late to change what I did. But I'm trying to cure you to make up for it. So that I can forget my guilt and move on with my life. I figured that would be apology enough."
She still didn't respond.
He looked up at her. She was still crying into her hands.
To his disgust, Draco felt his own eyes cloud over with tears. He blinked rapidly, refusing to let them spill. He stood up and started to leave the room, not expecting any reply from Hermione. But right before he reached the door, he heard her speak muffled words.
"I'm sorry I slapped you in third year." Her face was still in her hands, and Draco wondered to himself if she had actually spoken.
"I deserved it," he said slowly, walking back into the middle of the room. She looked up at him, her face soaked in tears. "I'm sorry I called you a mudblood." He wanted to explain to her how his father had ground the ideals into his head when he was young and impressionable.
"I always figured that was your father's influence," she said, as though reading his thoughts, while wiping tears from her face. Draco nodded slowly, confirming her thought. Her voice still gravelly from crying, she said, "I'm sorry I said you bought your way onto the quidditch team."
Draco chuckled quietly. "Why? I did buy my way in."
Hermione laughed softly in return, though it was a little forced. "Yeah, but Harry told me that you're actually pretty good."
Draco could hardly keep his jaw from hitting the floor. "Potter said I was good?" She nodded, and Draco suddenly felt much better about his quidditch skills. He really didn't like that he cared. "I'm sorry I made your teeth grow huge."
"It turned out to be a good thing," she said, flashing her teeth at him. "I had Madam Pomfrey shrink them down to size for me." Draco was surprised that he had never noticed; her teeth were much smaller than they had been in their early years at school, where he had taunted her for them. Not like she ever had a reason to smile at me, he thought to himself. "I'm sorry I called you a ferret." she continued.
He grinned at the old insult. "I'm sorry I insulted your hair."
"I'm sorry I insulted your hair."
"How could you insult my hair?" he asked, utterly surprised.
"Oh, please. You always wore it slicked back with gel in school. It looked ridiculous. It looks much better now." As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Hermione's face turned bright red, and she covered her mouth with her hand, even though it was too late to contain the words. He laughed, but it wasn't the same laugh she had always heard back at Hogwarts. It was a genuine, happy laugh, not a malicious one.
"Your hair looks much better now, as well," he said, flashing a grin. She immediately began tucking it behind her ears, looking awkward. It was so close to flirting that even he felt uncomfortable. He, who had never before felt awkward or unconfident around women. He worried that he may have taken the conversation too far, but she seemed to recover, and stuck out a hand to him.
"I think we can both agree that we're sorry," she said, waiting with her arm in the air.
"Agreed," he said, shaking her hand. It was voluntary physical contact. Something he had never thought he and Hermione would share. Her hand was slightly sweaty, as if she was nervous, and looking in her eyes he could tell that she was. Maybe she thought he wouldn't willingly touch her, or that he would be disgusted when he did. In an attempt to reassure her, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and her face registered shock for a brief moment before she pulled her hand away. Both of them expected the other to wipe their hand off on something, though neither did.
"And we forgive each other," she added after a pause.
"Of course," he agreed. He had the feeling she was only apologizing for the stupid little things she had done to him in order to make him feel better about his own apology.
At these words, she smiled, a full, genuine smile, fully exposing her shrunken teeth. She had never smiled like this at him before. He never would have thought that apologizing to her would elicit such a response. There was a short silence. Draco scratched the back of his neck.
"Well, I'm going to take a nap now. So I'll see you, Mal- D.. Draco." She said his name slowly, stumbling over it, as if it were a foreign language. He was shocked into speechlessness for a few seconds, and it was Hermione's turn to worry that she'd gone too far.
"Yeah." Draco turned towards the door to hide the pink hue that was rapidly rising in his cheeks. He glanced back to close the conversation. "See you, Hermione." Her name flowed flawlessly from his lips, and her smile increased as she settled down beneath her blankets. Draco left the room feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.