Draco heard the door of the hospital wing swing open and shut again, heard hushed whispers exchanged between Madam Pomfrey and the unidentified visitor, then heard footsteps coming towards him.
They paused outside of the sheets dangling around his bed, and Draco knew suddenly that they belonged to Willow. He could just catch a whiff of the scent that always surrounded her; she smelled like a mixture of roses and jasmine that reminded Draco of the tea that his mother always used to drink before bed.
The aching thought of his mother brought him back to his senses, as Willow's presence had momentarily made him very un-Draco-like, with his soft eyes and dreamy expression, and he had just snapped his eyes shut when Willow pulled back the dressings and stepped inside.
He attempted to regulate his breathing, make it seem as if he really was asleep. He wondered whether he usually snored or not, something of which he was never sure, but, as he was uncertain whether he could even successfully pull off a fake snore, decided to not and hoped that his slumber seemed realistic enough.
"Draco?" he heard Willow's soft voice say, and his resolve practically broke. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, and waited with a frantically beating heart. There were a couple silent moments in which he briefly considered furthering his newfound talent in acting and pretending to wake up. He was just wondering how best to look pleasantly surprised to see Willow there upon his "awakening", when she sighed.
He heard the telltale sign of her feet shuffling closer, and struggled to maintain his regular breathing as she leaned over him. He had no way of knowing what she was doing, and pursed his lips together in wait. Before he knew what was happening, her hand was on his forehead, sweeping away the hair that always managed to fall there.
There were no longer any doubts that the same thing had happened the last time she thought he was asleep. He felt his skin burn and wished she would just leave and make things easier for the both of them. After what seemed like hours of her fingers lingering on his face, she finally pulled away and left.
Only when he was sure that the dressings had been closed behind her did Draco open his eyes again. His throat burned and his skin prickled, both symptoms of his ailment, but it didn't seem to be because of the illness at all.
It wasn't that he didn't want to speak to Willow. In fact, he ached to hear her voice and to hold her hand again. But the only thought that kept swimming through his head was what stupid Longbottom had said to him. If someone had told him a few years earlier that Neville could make him feel like a pile of dragon dung, he would have laughed.
But he wasn't laughing anymore. Neville's words rang true, no matter how difficult it was for Draco to admit to himself. Willow was fantastic; sweet, caring, sympathetic. Draco had always been the complete opposite; cold, rude, perhaps the most insensitive prat to ever roam the halls of Hogwarts.
He regretted being that way. He had been an immature child who strived to impress his father by whatever means it took, which meant that he craved power and therefore had become nothing more than a bully in order to get what he wanted. Harry Potter's refusal to accept Draco's friendship had stung on a deeper level than Draco was willing to admit, and he took out that hurt on Harry and all his friends for years.
He had thought that making fun of others would make him popular. He was somewhat right, as the other Slytherins had looked up to him like some kind of god, but it was a lonely kind of popularity. He had had followers, but not very many true friends. It tended to work that way when people feared and admired you at the same time.
Potter, on the other hand, had hundreds of people willing to die for him. They admired him and liked him at the same time. Draco had many times wondered how his life would have been if he had started off at Hogwarts differently, but by the time he had been struck with remorse, it was too late to turn back.
He had tried to redeem himself. When the Snatchers had brought Harry and the others to the Malfoy Manor, for example, Draco had known beyond all doubt that it was indeed Harry, Ron, and Hermione that he was looking at. He lied, said he wasn't sure, to give them more time to spare themselves.
His attempts, however, were not enough. Students still feared him, and the admiration some of them originally felt was gone. He couldn't take back the way he had been before. He wished he could; he would have been nicer to Neville, for one. Perhaps then the boy wouldn't have felt the need to tell him he wasn't good enough for Willow.
And even if he had, it wouldn't be true.
But Neville did tell him, and it was true. How could a girl as innocent and goodhearted as Willow be with Draco?
Draco, who had flung the word "Mudblood" around as if it was simply a pleasantry as opposed to one of the most vile words in the entire Wizarding language. Draco, who had gotten the gamekeeper's hippogriff sentenced to execution just because said hippogriff had attacked him and bruised his pride. Draco, who had almost killed innocent people in his desperate attempts to fulfill his Death Eater duty; his stomach still swooped when he thought about how Katie Bell and Ron Weasley's lives had almost ended because of his own stupidity.
He was different now. He felt no need to be cruel, to taunt or tease, except when provoked, like Neville had done to him. He had learned what the most important things in life really were when his parents had risked their lives for him and then ended up in jail; being an arse wouldn't help with any of his problems. But his past was inerasable, and, as far as he knew, Willow didn't even know the worst of it. Would she even still like him if she knew all the things he had done? Would she believe him if he said that he was a changed person?
His instincts told him no. His conscience told him that he should pull away, leave her free to save herself before things went too far. He didn't want her to receive the same hateful looks in the corridors, just because she was involved with him.
It was ironic that just a short while before, he had been angry that she wouldn't tell anyone that they were friends, and now he hoped she wouldn't tell anyone else. He was thinking of her instead of himself, and it was difficult. He wanted her in his life almost as badly as he wanted his parents back.
He wasn't sure if he could convince himself to stay away from her.
Willow had thought she had seen Draco's eyes flutter closed when she walked in, as if he was only pretending to sleep to avoid her, but she told herself she was being paranoid.
She had watched him for a few moments, debating whether or not to wake him up. She wanted to talk to him, as the moments in which she was with him were her favorite moments of every day, but she put him before herself. He was ill and needed sleep.
Still, she couldn't help but have noticed that his hair had fallen onto his forehead again. The urge was too strong, and she again brushed away the stray tendrils. She marveled at their silkiness before turning to leave, filled with disappointment and rising worry that Neville had, in fact, done something regrettable.
Madam Pomfrey had pointed to the bed right besides Draco's when Willow had asked which one belonged to Neville, and she stood outside the dressings, pressing her ear to the sheets to listen for the telltale signs of sleep. She didn't hear any deep breathing, and called quietly:
"Neville, are you awake?"
"Yeah, come in," his voice called back, and she pulled the dressings apart, slipping inside and letting the sheets fall behind her.
Neville was seated upright on his bed, tossing a clear plastic ball up in the air and looking bored. He failed to catch it when he looked up to see Willow, and it dropped to the floor with a clattering noise. Willow looked nervously in the general direction of Draco's bed, though she couldn't see him, and hoped the ruckus hadn't woken him up.
"What is this?" she asked, picking the ball up and handing it back to Neville.
"A Remembrall. It glows red when I've forgotten something, but I reckon there's not much to forget when you're trapped in the hospital wing," he chuckled, though he looked slightly bitter about his predicament.
"How are you feeling?" Willow asked, her instinct to take care of others kicking in, and she sat in the empty chair next to Neville's bed.
"I feel fine. My throat hurts a bit, but I thought that was just a cold or something. Spattergroit, who would have thought, huh?" he grinned, and Willow smiled.
"Doesn't happen every day," she agreed.
"I hope I get out soon. I hate hospitals," Neville sighed, "And the thought of all the work I'm going to have to make up is terrible,"
"I'm sure the teachers will cut you some slack," Willow said reassuringly.
"Right, yeah, that'd be nice," Neville nodded, and there were a couple moments of awkward silence. Neville stared at the Remembrall in his hand, and Willow debated whether or not she should ask about Draco. Her curiosity was overbearing, but she felt bad pestering Neville when he was incapacitated.
"Listen…" she began, choosing to ask anyway, and Neville blinked up at her, "Did you-er, have you spoken with Draco lately?" she asked.
"Oh," Neville responded, looking a bit abashed, "Yeah, I had a word with him,"
"What exactly did you say?" Willow asked nervously, her heart sinking at the fact that Neville suddenly refused to look her in the eye.
"I…I don't really remember, actually, it wasn't anything important-" he stammered.
"But if you've forgotten, then why isn't your Remembrall turning red?" Willow inquired quietly, cutting off his rambling, and Neville looked down at the clear ball he was still holding before finally glancing up at her.
"So maybe we got in a bit of an argument," Neville admitted, grimacing.
"An argument about what?" Willow asked with a wince, dreading the answer.
"Well, about you," Neville sighed.
"What did you say?" Willow pressed, her anxiety level rising considerably.
"I, well, uh, I might have told him that he wasn't, er, good enough for you," Neville mumbled.
"Why would you do that?" Willow practically yelped, her fears confirmed, and Neville's face hardened. He took a deep breath and began to rant, his words quickening as he went along as if he was gathering steam.
"You haven't known him as long as I have, Willow. He might seem perfectly nice to you now, but he's awful. Some of the things he's said and done, you don't even want to know about. I used to dread being near him because of the things he would say to me. I know that you and I aren't exactly close, but I know you well enough to know that you're a good person, and, Willow, Malfoy's the opposite.
"I don't believe that he's changed completely. Maybe he doesn't bully anyone anymore, but I reckon he's still just as rotten on the inside. The things he's done are things that change you forever. I reckon he's a lot like his aunt Bellatrix, and she-well, she was as evil as they come.
"Even you disliked him at first because he was rude to you, remember? I swear, I wasn't planning on telling him off. But I saw him when I was here with Luna, and I just felt this surge of…of, I dunno, determination and it just happened. I just didn't want to let him hurt you,"
Neville finished, looking simultaneously nervous and proud of himself. He stared at Willow, waiting for her to respond.
She blinked at him a couple times, bewildered and completely unsure what to say.
Half of her wanted to yell at him. She wanted to tell him that Draco had changed, that he was sweet and friendly and that Neville didn't know what he was talking about. She wanted to tell him to apologize to Draco for the things that he said and admit that Draco wasn't the person Neville thought he was. She wanted to protect Draco, stick up for him, shield him from anything hurtful.
The other half realized that that was exactly what Neville was trying to do; he wanted to protect her. It warmed her heart, especially since she hadn't considered Neville one of her closest friends, that he would go to that amount of trouble for her. No one had ever done anything of the sort for her before. Neville clearly felt nothing but pure hatred for Draco, and she couldn't help but think that Draco genuinely was awful in the past.
"Thank you for looking out for me, Neville," she said finally, her voice quiet. Neville blinked, surprised, but smiled gratefully.
"You're welcome," he said brightly.
"Whether or not I want to be friends with Draco, however, is up to me," she added, and Neville's smile faltered.
"Right," he said unsurely.
"I believe you when you say he was a, er, bully before, but I also believe that he has changed, Neville," Willow said softly.
"Right," Neville repeated, bitterly this time, "That's why when I told him Luna and I were dating, he laughed and called us Loony and Largebottom,"
"Did he?" Willow blinked, feeling a surge of uncertainty, and Neville nodded grimly.
"I respect that it's your decision to make, but I just hope you make the right one," he sighed, "Maybe you're right, and he has changed. Maybe you'll prove me wrong," he shrugged, leaning back against his pillows.
"Maybe," Willow agreed. She felt confused; she trusted Neville, but trusted Draco as well. She was almost completely convinced that Draco was different now, until Neville told her that he had made fun of him and Luna. That kind of taunting sounded exactly like the type of person the Gryffindors had said Draco used to be.
In Draco's defense, Neville had provoked him with his words, but it still wasn't a reasonable excuse for the rudeness of calling someone. If what Neville had said was true, which Willow had little doubt it was, then Draco had acted exactly like an immature bully, which was what she had truly hoped he wasn't.
"You look like you're tired. I'll let you sleep," she said finally, standing up.
"Oh, alright then. Goodnight," Neville answered uncertainly, a bit taken aback by Willow's sudden desire to leave.
"Goodnight," she repeated, shooting him one last confused look before leaving. She stood outside his sheets and stared at the ones surrounding Draco's bed. She placed one foot forward, but the other stayed locked in place as she hesitated. On impulse, she continued and swept aside the dressings around Draco again.
Her eyes dropped to the chair next to his pillow, but she opted to stay standing. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Draco, who was still sleeping, her mind whirling.
Pleasant memories of Draco filled her brain: when he smiled at her joke for the first time in the Potions classroom, when he told her he wanted to be her friend, when he was staring at her in the corridor, when he told her that no one else had managed to make him laugh as much as she did, when he held her hand and called her "incredible".
All those thoughts made her heart soar, but it sank back into her stomach when the nice memories were replaced with much worse ones: when he had acted cold and unfeeling when they first met, when he showed up late to the library and didn't even bother to apologize, when he caught her looking at his arm and told her to leave him alone, when he was angry with her for not telling her friends about him and threatened to hex her.
She had no idea what to think. Draco seemed sweet and kind now, but the other side of him was still present somewhere. She hated the fact that he was capable of being so unpleasant, and couldn't help but think that that side of him would come out again if they continued to spend time with each other. It was only a matter of time before she did something to anger him again.
But then again, everyone had a bad side. Even she had snapped once, that time in the library where she had been cold and rude to Draco. Neville had seemed a bit ashamed of his argument with Draco, which led Willow to believe that he was withholding parts that made him look bad.
And Draco had plenty of reason to be unhappy. He was a former Death Eater, a title that would follow him for the rest of his life, the majority of Hogwarts students seemed to refuse to look at him, whether out of fear or dislike she wasn't sure, and he had lost the two most important people in his life.
On the other hand, she had reasons to be upset in the past as well, and she had never acted the way he had. She switched schools all the time and was alone more often than not. She lasted months in foreign countries with absolutely no friends, and was sometimes taunted because she was different than everyone else. Never, however, had she been rude to anyone who did talk to her or try to help her.
Everything was so confusing. Part of her told her to run and never look behind her, to forget about Draco no matter how difficult it would be, so she could protect herself from being hurt. It would also hurt her to leave him behind, but she would move on eventually, and it would be for the better.
But she kept thinking about how electrifying it felt to hold his hand and how unbelievably happy she was when she was with him. She had gone to so much trouble to earn his friendship, and for what? Just to throw it all away?
There was also the fact that he seemed to need her. Really need her. She was the reason he had changed from the unfeeling person he was in the beginning of the year. She had to think of him, as well, not just of herself. Abandoning him would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her, if not more.
She couldn't stop being his friend. She told herself it was because she was putting his needs before her own, but, really, she needed him, too.
Looking at Draco tenderly, she sighed deeply. He shifted slightly, and, for a moment, she thought he might wake.
When he didn't move again, she turned on her heel and left.
A/N: To Kate, since you're a guest and I can't PM you, my explanation as to why nobody can know about the spattergroit was that the Headmaster doesn't want to cause a panic. My reasoning was that Hogwarts had obviously been through a lot and there were a lot of instances in which parents freaked out and wanted to bring their kids home, and nobody wanted that to happen again. Hopefully that makes some sense, ha!
Please review! :)