When I was young, I was so full of fear,
I hid behind anger, held back the tears,
It was me against the world, I was sure that I'd win;
But the world fought back, punished me for my sins,
I felt so alone, so insecure, I blamed you instead, made sure I was heard.
They tried to warn me of my evil ways, but I couldn't hear what they had to say:
I was wrong; self destruction's got me again; I was wrong.
- I Was Wrong, Social Distortion
The lord evidently doesn't deem my situation worthy enough to help me.
Neither a hurricane nor assassin has come to put me out of my misery as I sit down at my rival's dinner table.
"Hi," Hermione says meekly to no one, staring down at her empty plate on the table, unable to regard me or her friends. In fact, nobody seems to be able to look anybody else in the eye once I've been settled.
The only sound following her is the happy infantile chuckle of Teddy, who slaps his high chair in anticipation of food. Or maybe he has already developed a sick sense of humour and enjoys watching tension-filled painful silence.
George and his (admittedly) cute blonde girlfriend are at the other end of the table (Andromeda occupies the head where I'm sitting), gazing at each other as if they want to say something out loud.
Hermione is brave enough to continue. "Um, so how are Bill and Fleur? I guess they're too busy with baby preparations to visit?"
Mrs. Weasley clears her throat quietly, deciding she must be a good host. "Yes, actually Fleur and Bill are packing to go to see Fleur's parents in Lyon in a few days. They're doing well, dear, last I saw. They just want to visit before she gets too big to Apparate safely, you know."
Hermione turns a bit white at the mention of Lyon, having just been to the country with me, the elephant in the room, a few short days ago. Fucking France.
"That's a good idea….so, no complications or anything? They're getting along fine?"
God, Granger is grasping at straws. There are only so many questions you can ask about babies without going into gross unnecessary detail.
"Yes, just fine," Mrs. Weasley answers too earnestly.
And then….nothing. There's nothing else to say, and everyone is too nervous to speak up for fear of getting people upset.
Somebody coughs, and you can hear uncomfortable shifting in seats. It feels as if a century has passed until somebody finally speaks up.
"Okay, I guess I'm going to have to be the one to say it. Are we just going to sit here awkwardly all night, exchanging the same pleasantries over and over, or are we actually going to you know, break the ice?" This comes from George. Everyone's head flickers to him as if he just screamed an obscenity. He looks more or less bored, rather than angry.
"Break the ice, dear?" his mother asks confused.
"Look, I'm just going to put it out there, but we all saw Hermione and dear Draco over here kissing in The Prophet," Mrs. Weasley groans. "And when I saw that, my initial reaction was that April Fool's had come early, but then it would've been my birthday and I hadn't received any cards or cake which would be rather rude on all your parts, hmm?" His attempt at humour falls flat, but he doesn't let it bother him as he continues. "What I'm trying to say is Hermione has always been mightily perceptive, and I seriously doubt unless she's been bludgered in the head that she would even be here with Malfoy. Considering what he's said to us, it matters to her that we somehow accept him . Assuming you want to be accepted, eh Malfoy?"
He leans in on his elbows, enjoying himself now the spotlight is on him. "That was the intent," I reply carefully, figuring silence is weakness.
"Well good, because it's going to take some hard work. That's the reason everyone is here, right? To receive an apology? Anyone, no? No response? Too stubborn? Okay, since nobody else is asking for one, why don't you start?"
"Start…asking for an apology?" I clarify, confused.
"No, no," he chuckles. "Why don't you explain yourself? Start with why you're after our champion Muggle-Born. Frankly, if she sees something in you, that's all her business, but since we already know her good qualities, I'd like to hear why you're only noticing them now."
I look to Hermione wanly, who just shrugs, and adopts a mangled expression.
"Hmm, why are you so afraid? I don't think I've ever seen you with your mouth closed for more than 5 minutes."
"Now George," his mother warns him, darting a look at my reaction and then back to her son.
"I'm afraid…because everyone in this room is judging me on my every action. No doubt, my two classmates sitting across from me ," I point to Potter and Weasel, "are silently berating me for not being more courteous by greeting the table as I sat down here."
Potter furrows his brow, and Weasel snarls at me. Guess I'm right.
"True, but you do deserve the scutiny, you know." George's girlfriend looks slightly amused.
"I do." He raises his eyebrows. "I came here expecting to make numerous apologies, and have them be treated with sincerity that I suspect nobody would trust."
"You could try us," Ginny says, leaning out from beside Hermione, so I can see that she's staring at me with interest.
"I could. One thing though," I pause, gathering the nerve to speak my mind. "I don't feel I deserve being put in the same room as my aunt, who I've never met before, when neither of my parents are here with me. Any apology I could give her wouldn't really mean anything, because this is the one fault in my relationships that isn't mine."
I slowly look up at my Aunt Andromeda with repentant eyes for the first time, whose own are filled with sadness.
"You've never met?..." Mrs. Weasley looks horrified that she made this horrid arrangement. George looks momentarily stunned, perhaps shamed he brought it up.
"No, we've never met, Molly. That's why I didn't want to come initially."
"But – why didn't you – oh, Merlin's beard!" Mr. Weasley puts a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder, glaring at me as if this is somehow my fault.
"Relax, dear. Truth be told, I was curious to see what he was like. I wasn't sure if I'd ever get to meet Draco. It's been more than 20 years since I've spoken to Narcissa and Lucius. They kept away from Ted and I, as did Bellatrix and Rodolphus. I regret that my parents were so guarded about their blood purity."
"Same here," I reply morosely, with a dark laugh in my voice. Potter scoffs at me audibly; I glower at him.
"I've never blamed you for it. Anyone with Lucius Malfoy in their life could be easily persuaded if they got to witness his 'nice' side, as Narcissa surely did" she sniffs. "But with Ted gone…..Sirius, Remus and Nymphadora, I confess I'd have liked tie have some kind of family to talk to. It would be good for Teddy, too."
She looks adoringly at her grandson and I feel a jolt of sympathy for this woman. I admit I never gave her a second thought really, my father always told me to stay away from her and her family, so I did.
"I don't believe he would be a good influence on Ted, Dromeda," the Weasel spits out, facing me along with Potter.
"Now Ron, that's a horrible thing to say," My aunt replies, looking troubled.
"Yeah, but it's true," Potter says, defending his friend. "Even if you don't blame him for having horrible parents, look at his record. Not very redeeming, is it?"
"Why don't we start eating, hmm? Arthur, you can start passing out the roast!" Mrs. Weasley cries shrilly, trying to stifle the oncoming battle of words. She lifts the plate up and almost tosses into her husband's lap, and then grabs potatoes, doling a clunky spoonful onto her plate, before hastily shoving them to Potter.
Potter rolls his eyes, and shakes his head while doing what his host says.
"Oh Mum, you always interrupt progress. We need to let the anger out. Malfoy, what's your counter argument?" George asks while popping a slice of roast into his mouth.
"I don't understand what you mean," I reply, as calmly as possible.
"George, I really don't think –"
"Think what, Mum? It's a good approach? I'm letting the man speak! Now, Malfoy, Ron thinks you're a bad influence, and given your past, that would be true. So what makes you a good influence presently? What makes you a lovely person to hang around?"
"Nothing!" Weasel shouts, banging his fists on the table.
"Stop it for a moment little brother," George says, unmoved by the anger, pointing from him lazily to me.
"Uh" You know what, if I want this to go anywhere real, time for honesty. "Buggered if I know."
George laughs, Weasel growls, and Hermione tilts her head back and sighs.
"Look, I can answer that, okay?" Hermione interjects. "It's not fair to just have us come here and bombard him with interrogation."
"Yes it is, it's what you agreed to, isn't it?" Potter reminds her.
"No, we agreed that you would give him a chance, which George seems to be the only person acquiescing to."
"Hey!"
"And Ginny too," Hermione adds exasperated.
"Ginny?" Weasel asks, staring daggers at his sister, who merely rolls her eyes.
"Somebody had to be an adult," she responds. "Given Mum and Dad have gone mute."
"Ginny," Mr. Weasley scolds in a low voice.
"What!"
"You know that this isn't our matter to settle, dear. It's yours. We have no authority over Hermione, but we have our reservations about her guest. And since I don't particularly wish to get angry tonight, we've merely provided a place for it to happen between you lot."
"And for that, we thank you," Hermione nods to Mr. Weasley, in which he nods uncertainly back.
"Okay, well fine then, tell me why I should give the idiot a clean slate, go on," Potter replies, evidently angered by his girlfriend's actions. He juts his hand out at us to speak, then crosses his arms.
"You don't have to give him a clean slate. I would never ask you to do that. I would like you to try and get along because I like him."
"Yes, but, why?" Potter asks, agitated.
"There're lots of reasons. But the ones you should be concerned about aren't ones I'd name first. Mainly you should try to forgive because he's finished with being involved in an environment hell-bent on keeping the gene pool and society 'clean'. He's shown remorse for his past actions, and even though I can't forgive him for some things, he explained then to me and apologized, which he would've never done before last year."
"And that's it?"
"No – no, of course not," she replies hotly, her face glowing pink.
"I can't wrap my head around even that, though, Hermione. He looked down on you for years because of what his parents said, looked down on all of the great people sitting at this table, and you expect me to believe that by coincidence he decides to pursue you after his family was deemed as prejudiced by the public? What would be a smart, tactical way of looking good again?"
That's why he's so goddamn suspicious. Not just because it's me, but because of something I'd (laughably) probably be told to do, and have done.
"Listen, Potter. I think we both know that even though my father made bad decisions, he and my family never wanted to belong in what happened last year," I say, defending myself.
"No, of course not, your dad was just a coward like you, who went on that side in the first place just in case things went bad. He didn't care about what side he supported, about their aims, so long as the one in charge at the time made him look good and powerful."
So it's going to be like this?
Hm, normally I'd yell at Potter for insulting my father like that, but he's hit a harsh truth, hasn't he?
"You're absolutely right," I say, looking directly in my opposers eyes, whose demeanour, to my gratification, waivers.
"Excuse me?"
At this admission of a fault from my enemy, somehow I find my voice, determined to prove to these people I'm not a fucking dunce anymore.
"You heard me correctly. I agreed with you. Up until recently, I was indeed my father's son, trying to grovel and charm my way in with the 'worthy people'. I'm pretty sure if it's not an inherited trait to do this, it's something instilled in every single person in my family tree. I realized just before coming to school this year, that I'm extremely lucky not to have been locked up. Why not show some appreciation for it? Change my ways a bit?"
The Weasel scoffs like Potter, and decides to join in.
"Since when have you ever been grateful? You're the rich snob that nobody actually likes, that puts himself above everyone else, that takes a verbal stab at anybody he had the chance to. Just because you strayed into the morally grey and want to come into the good doesn't mean you can. I'll always remember you as the pretentious prick that insulted me and my family. That had a vendetta against my best friend. That admitted freely that you hoped the girl sitting next to you would die from staring at a basilisk."
Fucking bastard. How does he know that?
"Is that true?" Hermione asks, stunned, staring at me in a new light. Or darkness.
"I was 12. I was completely convinced that Muggles were like literal lepers, and anyone with less than half-blood wasn't worth my time," I say strained, trying not to strangle the boy across from me. Who made this seating arrangement?
"So? You made the same kind of comments up until 3 years ago."
"Yes, because I had nothing else to insult her for," I say as if this is obvious; it should be.
"But why insult her at all! How can you say you're not prejudiced, when it could be an act?"
"I insulted her because she was your friend! Do you honestly think I would go so far as to kiss her and come here if I was completely prejudiced?" I reply to the idiot. "It might surprise you to know that though my family likes to hide it, there wasn't always a time when the Malfoy's hated Muggles, Muggle-borns and people who associated with either of them. It's just an act so nobody steps a toe out of line."
Mr. Weasley grunts. "I find that a little hard to believe, Draco. I've met plenty of Malfoy's in my lifetime, and none have treated myself or any of the people I associate with very nicely because we aren't rich or high-up. I haven't heard anything good about anybody in your family, in fact."
Mrs. Weasley looks anguished that her husband has decided to speak, but doesn't intervene. I'm a bit non-plussed but I won't back down now.
"Well, no, you wouldn't have would you? They were still scumbag's; they still hung out with the elite folk and people who could offer them something. But up until the Statute of Secrecy, they loved going to the parlours of those rich Muggle's during the Enlightenment. The first Lucius Malfoy almost married Queen Elizabeth I, and frankly, if that had happened, maybe you'd all like me a little better with a little less pure blood."
"How do you know all that?" Hermione asks, forgetting the basilisk, infinitely intrigued at this history lesson.
"Who cares?" Weasel mutters.
"I read?" I admit, shrugging, ignoring the idiot. "I have a giant collection of diaries stashed away in my house in a vault. The Ministry wouldn't have taken them away during an investigation because they aren't dark objects, are they? My father told me not to look at them when I was younger, and I didn't hold any interest then. But I read them all this past year when I realised they were written by people Iwas related to. My family's been very good at keeping secrets, even from me, but when I confronted my mother she fessed up."
"Well if they loved Muggle's so much, why be against them now?" Potter is regretfully captivated too, apparently.
"Because the Ministry of Magic had just been formed, and actually, a lot of us aristocrats vehemently opposed the Statute implementation. Obviously when it was imposed though, and we were not supposed to associate with Muggles to reveal our magic ability, my family did a 180 and pretended like they supported the decision all along. I found an old newspaper clipping of someone shaking the hand of the Minister when they passed it, at the rally explaining the situation, smiling like the fakers they were."
"Oh." The Gryffindor seeker has nothing to say.
"Yep. Sounds like my family, huh?" Hermione passes me the potatoes tentatively, and I scoop a hearty amount onto my plate to be polite, glad I finally have a word in.
"Okay, thank you for the unnecessary explanation about your ancestors, what has that got to with you?" Weasel asks me, unmoved by my speech.
"It has everything to do with me. I realized only recently how vital it is in understanding the fact that I have no clue who I want to be, and have no excuse for what I've done in the past." I swallow heavily, finding it hard to continue with so many people here. "As I explained to Hermione, when you're put in Slytherin you get an automatic bad-reputation as someone untrustworthy. On top of that, coming from a family like mine, if you do anything to dishonour your name, it's a thing that must be remedied immediately. Why do you think my father was so vengeful about things that happened to me at Hogwarts? Why I got so goddamn angry? Because it's all about appearances, and I was never able to appear well. I did awful stuff to all of you out of jealousy and petty unwarranted hatred. I didn't even really follow my father's direction, he wanted me to be friends with Potter for Merlin's sake! We hate each other. I still did enough to try and gain his respect, which I somehow wanted so badly, and never did. My mother is no saint, but she's separating from Lucius, she's very different. She's marrying another Wizard, still high society, but I've found to be a good person unconcerned with what people think." I notice at this, Andromeda shifts in her seat, very confused, if not awed. "And I'm…, I'm not a good person. I want to change. I need help trying to do so. Which is why I think you'll agree, I would be drawn to someone like Hermione, who couldn't be truly unkind if she tried to be."
"Draco," Hermione breathes, disbelieving I admitted every insecurity I hold, and flattered.
"Amazing," George says, whose head is tilted onto his bent elbow resting on the table.
"What's amazing?" Ginny questions.
"You really surprised me, Malfoy. I came here with the intent of being able to joke about your uncomfortable fake apologies after you left Hermione disappointed, but I actually sort of believe you. Doesn't mean I like you, but, good you're not lying."
"Well I don't believe him," Weasel adds. "At least not about why he likes Hermione. You've done so much to her in the past. Even if you're repentant, and you do feel bad about what you did, everybody hates you. It would still make sense for you to pursue her and make people like you more, then drop her once you're finished with her. And if you hurt her, I swear I'll-" he can barely finish, he's splutteringly livid.
I sigh. "But why would I do that? I'm not that daft, Weasley, come on. Hermione isn't stupid enough to be able to see through any façade I would have. And in any case, people would bring her down to my level by dating me far more than judge me a bit more favourable. I'm lucky she even gave me the time of day."
"Well what about the paper! How the hell did that even transpire, if it wasn't you?"
"Yes, I'd like to know about that too," Andromeda adds. "It has a blurb about Narcissa at the end, and I wasn't sure if that was the truth or not. That she would leave Lucius."
"She is, she's marrying a man named Jean-Pierre Du Pont, and he was from a rich family in France, working as an investor I believe, in Paris. Brace yourselves, it's a long story."
"Joy," Weasel says sarcastically.
"When I got home from winter break you see…." I explain to the table, ignoring the buffoon, with carefully selected details about what's happened in the past crazy week. About finding out about my mother's affair and deal with the Du Pont's, then meeting Granger's parents, admitting my attraction after meeting McGonagall and visiting the Parkinson's, going to Cerisier, and then the whole Marie and Gaston paper fiasco falling out.
"And so we left the Parkinson's feeling victorious, and I feeling I had some kind of closure from Pansy and all the people that are like her. Then I came to see Hermione today feeling awful, but luckily she forgave me, and you've given me a shining opportunity….so here we are presently." I finish the long explanation, feeling winded slightly at talking so much.
"Well, damn," George's girlfriend says, blonde head incredulous.
"What, Verity?" George asks, clutching her hand over the tablecloth. Verity, that's her name.
"That seems like way too much to invent, there, Ron. If he's willing to stand up to his snooty acquaintances, and his mother too, I don't think he's just playing a card or an act. That's waaaay too much to go through," she says nodding earnestly. I like this girl.
"Fine, maybe he doesn't, but I won't say that for sure, because Verity, you have no idea what you're dealing with, with him." Gee, thanks. "But if you don't have an ulterior motive Malfoy, then why do you like her! Answer what George asked you. And besides because she's pretty and kind," Weasel adds, hoping Hermione will be swayed at his subtle compliment. But she's staring intently at me, instead, causing me to feel hot around the collar.
I'm hoping somebody will tell Weasel that he's out of line for asking me, but I guess I need to squirm under the magnifying glass, because all eyes are still on me.
"Lots of reasons…" I cough, embarrassed. "She's smart and determined, and she doesn't let anybody know if they get under her skin or take anybody's crap, which bothered me quite a bit when I wanted to get a rise out of her," I laugh nervously. "I think to people who don't know her, she's really intimidating, and I was really envious of her."
"You were?" She asks. When I look at her to reassure her, I feel myself getting lost in her beautiful gaze, and I almost forget where I am. I can't tear myself away as I continue speaking, forgetting my nerves.
"Yeah, of course. Every teacher raved about your intelligence, and because you weren't in Slytherin and a Muggle-Born, it only infuriated me more plus elevated your threat level. Slughorn even accepted you into his little club and rejected me, which was ironic to me until I snapped out of my blood-related indoctrinated idiocy. I realized after working with you for a few hours how wrong I was about you. The very fact you allowed me into your home should've clued me in. You're forgiving and understanding, you listened to me when nobody else would have and I would've deserved it. After everything I've said or done, you've offered to do things for me with nothing In return, because you actually care. You're selfless, and to me that's an admission of trust, because you would do the same for your friends. I find your quirks endearing, like how crazy you get over something so trivial as an essay question, or how heated you are when you argue, when with anybody else, it would probably irritate the hell out of me. The truth is, I can't put a finger or describe why I like you so much, because I don't know. There's just something about you. You make me want to be a better person, and I only can hope I get to discover more than I already do so I can one day tell you precisely why, because I know how much you love concrete facts."
I glance around the table, feeling good at my satisfactory response, because Ginny can't help but give a chuckle, along with Fred and Andromeda. When I turn back to Hermione though, her mouth is hanging daintily open, her eyes oddly sad-looking.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny asks, putting a hand on her shoulder as she notices how still her friend is.
"That was one of nicest things anybody has ever said about me," she replies clearly, in a low voice.
Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable. "Well, I wouldn't go that far, I mean –"
"No, it was, Draco." She slopes her body, inclining it closer to me, and grabs my hand under the table. Then she leans in and grants me a chaste peck on the lips.
My lips are burning as she pulls away, and I wish I could've returned the passionate gesture. But that was the worst lapse of common sense that she probably ever had, because the Weasel looks so enraged that he can't physically make any action. His knuckles are white from squeezing them shut. Potter is giving Hermione a stare that reads 'Seriously?', while everyone else is tense, wide eyed.
Weasley stands up dramatically, pushing his chair out and leaving it there, while stomping into the house, slamming the back door.
"Dammit, Hermione." Potter chews out, getting up to go follow him. Ginny darts a look at her boyfriend, and decides she needs to join them.
Next, everyone turns to my lady. "I think maybe I should try to go talk to him, too," she says with a palm to her forehead, looking at me with question in her expression.
"By all means," I reply, unsure if it's a good idea, but I don't know the kid, maybe he just needs a few coaxing words.
"Okay, hopefully we'll be right back."
As soon as she leaves, I feel the tension dissolve somehow. The company I'm left with don't seem particularly judgemental, outside of Mr. Weasley. But it's still immensely awkward.
"Well, now that the drama has left." George heartily uses his wand to summon all the different varieties of food onto his plate. Mr. Weasley does the same with more grace, probably starving and unhappy that he had to come home from work to this.
We sit without speaking for a few minutes, just the munching in the background.
"Ya know, I don't know how you'll ever get through to him," Verity says, apparently not having a taste for silence or food.
"What do you mean, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks, only nervously taking sips of her wine.
"All summer and fall long, Ron wouldn't shut up about Hermione whenever I was over. About how he didn't know what to do or say, and Ginny was so tired of listening to him. "
"Yes, well, he went and mucked that up, didn't he?" she says quietly. "Poor Ron, he always gets so riled up over that girl."
"He's probably berating himself now internally, you know how inferior he always feels compared to Harry and everyone else, when usually he shouldn't. In this case, though," she raises her eyebrows as if the point is already evident. Huh?
"I don't mean to pry, but why would he be berating himself in this case?" I ask.
Verity sighs. George looks suddenly grim.
"Because Ron is horrible with words," he says simply, pointing his fork at me. "You just told the girl he loved all the things he should have a long time ago. The one thing he's always been afraid of is talking. He can't make the first move, and Hermione needs somebody who can answer to her. He saw what response he would've received had he not been such an idiot."
"Oh," Deep down I'm very elated, but I mask it by looking sorry for the boy. I'll admit I get a sense of pleasure, knowing I'm more favourable to Hermione than dear Ronald.
"Ron had his chance, I really wished he'd get a move on, if she has. I know she's important to him, and all of us, but there are so many other wonderful girls waiting for him. Aren't there?" She asks worriedly to Mr. Weasley.
"Of course there are, love. Who wouldn't want a shot with him? He's kind, loyal, he massively helped in the take down of Lord Voldemort for Merlin's sake!" He turns to me, very proud yet frowning, almost using it as a comparison to me. I can't help but feel amused for some reason, because I know my father would've never been so happy about something I've done.
"Weasley is our King," I mutter under my breath, chuckling to myself.
"What?"
"Uh," I clear my throat. "Nothing."
"Do you think they're fighting?" Verity asks George.
"Dunno. Ron's pretty overdramatic, I think it's better to leave him alone."
"I think that's rubbish. If you leave him to his own devices, he's just going to stew over and over. Draco, you have to go up there like a man and apologize face to face, to all of them, for whatever discrepancy you're accused of." This, surprisingly, comes from Andromeda, who is currently feeding Teddy some squash purée.
George looks at her disbelievingly, she obviously not being the type to regularly speak up so boldly.
"Well…I don't think he'd believe me, though," I counter.
"I wouldn't," Mr Weasley says.
"Well, you've got to try haven't you?" Andromeda says, shaking her head at Mr. Weasley ."Make him see whatever it is you see as a reason to try and forgive you." She's looking at me, and I realize she really hopes that there is some good in me, maybe because I'm her sister's son, maybe because she wants Weasley to be wrong about me.
A mad idea pops into my head suddenly. I shake it away, but it sticks in the back of my skull.
I don't know if it would work. Would I have the nerve to do it? It's not just Hermione I have on the line here, it's the one opportunity to really show the only people who really matter, my biggest offenders, why I did what I did, and why I am who I am today.
The only person anyone will believe outside these walls is Potter. His word will always triumph over mine. Maybe if I can somehow get him to hear me out (god forbid) he can sway the Weasel.
"I think you're right. Excuse me." I push myself away from the table and walk back inside, listening for sounds of speech. I stop at the wonky staircase, and look up to see the light on in one of the cracks of the doors.
I can't believe I'm going to apologize to Weasley.
Nott will never let me hear the end of it if he finds out. In fact…If anyone sees me buddy buddy with the Potter crew, they'll think I've gone soft.
Damn.
But, motivations in mind, an hour of snogging and clean slate, I gather my nerves and amble slowly up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible, listening.
I tiptoe to the door, which turns out to be slightly ajar.
"Ron, I never wanted to hurt you, but I told you how I felt up front at the start of this year, and you just…why are you still holding on?"
I freeze against the wall, very glad I did not barge in this moment. Certainly I would've been swallowed and spitted out by Hermione and Potter for interrupting the Sad Love Life of Ron Weasley.
"I dunno! Because I like you? I mean, I love you…"
"And I love you too, Ron." My heart drops into my stomach for a split second. "But not romantically. We're just not that compatible, as I said, we're way better friends than we ever were as a couple."
Oh, Thank Merlin.
"B-but…."
"Look, I'm not saying I'm ruling you out forever, who knows what's going to happen from now til, til graduation, say? Right now, you need to realise that you're being irrational and clingy. I don't want to date you. I'm seeing…well you know who, and I know that there are plenty of girls who want you. If we see other people, it'll give us both a clear vision of what we want. We haven't had proper relationships, have we?"
I can hear little breaths from Weasley, evidently upset "I don't want you to date him," he says quietly, in perhaps the most sane voice all night.
"I know you don't trust him. I don't yet, either." Oh. Ouch.
"Then why are you-?"
"Because that's what you do when you date! You find out how the other person is, don't you? Look Ron, you were right when you said I'm far too calculated. I need to just…jump in sometimes."
"Okay, that's great but why couldn't that have been with me? Or with anyone else besides Malfoy?" he cries in an anguished tone.
"I don't know, Ron. Things are unexpected in life, aren't they? I just want you to let me go…for you to explore your options too, so we can both start being happy." There's a pause, and a shuffling. I hope that's just a hug.
"I won't be happy until I know you're safe around him…and that might be never. Look even if you want me to stop chasing you, I'm still going to be your friend. I'm still going to protect you like Harry."
"Well, try to get to know him at least. Please? For me? I promise you that if he does anything horrible I'll cut him off right away." God dammit.
Huffs and puffs from the poor Weasley. "Alright, alright, fine. But don't be surprised if this doesn't end well, I don't need to know him, he's a bloody – mmph."
What? What just happened? I dare to take a step and peek in the room, carefully holding the door, hoping to god Hermione didn't kiss him out of happiness or something, who knows what regular people do to show affection to their-
"What the hell are you doing?"
I spin around to face Potter, who has just emerged from the room across the hall with a messed up looking Ginny. Gross.
"I uh-"
Fuck. I thought they were all in the room together.
"Were you eavesdropping? After all that crap you explained downstairs, I would've thought you were sick of people listening in, Malfoy."Oh damn, he means business, he's got the rage face.
"What's going on?"
Suddenly my worst nightmare unravels before my eyes, and Hermione comes out with her arm round Weasley's back. I'm now circled in by the Gryffindor's.
"Draco here was listening in on your private conversation."
"What?" Hermione looks infuriated, while Weasel outright devilish.
"I didn't mean to! I was coming up here to try and apologize, but when I got to the door you were in the middle of saying something, er, intimate, so I didn't want to exactly jump in!"
"Yeah right you slimeball. Why would you apologize for Hermione kissing you? How would you think coming up to calm me down would work? I just agreed to try and be nice to you, and this is the first thing you try and pull? Snooping around? What, do you want the intimate details of the Weasley family too, so you can tell the press about how 'weird' and 'filthy' we are?" Weasley comes right up to me, full stature, scarlet with anger.
"No!" God, what an arseface.
"Then what?" I get no opportunity to reply, however, as a fist comes flying into my nostril a second later.
White lights flash before my eyes, and I find myself a minute later on the ground in a pool of my own blood, with one of the most excruciating pains I've felt in a while.
"You bastard, you broke it," I spit, touching my now deformed cartilage and bone, trying to rid my mouth of the coppery taste.
"Oh, Draco. God, are you alright?" Hermione asks naively, bending down to me, touching my face in an apparent attempt to mend my nose that way.
"He deserved it," Weasel mutters.
"For what?" I cry, waves of pain splitting my head, making it ache.
"For everything," he says simply.
"What?"
"Look, you let this go, consider it payback for all the shit you've said or schemed, and I'll be more inclined to get over the fact that one of the people I'm most close to decided to see you."
"I- what?" What the hell? I must be delirious, because I accept his conditions. "Okay, alright, fine. But next time you injure me, I'm going to hit you back."
"Can I get one in too?" Potter asks. "What about you, Ginny?"
Ginny looks torn between siding with her boyfriend or friend, at least verbally.
"Harry, stop. He's bleeding everywhere," Hermione says, taking out her wand. "Want me to fix it for you?"
"If you must," I reply, sitting up fully.
"Okay hold still." She grabs my chin to steady my face. She points the tip of her wand at me. "Episkie."
A loud crack resonates in my ears, causing me to jump, and I feel pain then an odd pleasure afterwards.
"Ahh," I shudder all over. "Thanks."
"You're welcome. Are you ok?" Hermione grabs my hand and strokes it, causing Weasley to make a gagging noise; so she changes the original gesture by helping me stand up, then letting me go.
"Not really." I rub my nose, praising Salazar Slytherin there are no deviated septum or bumps in the curvature of my nose.
"You're lucky we haven't done worse, frankly," Potter replies, arms crossed.
"I suppose. This whole situation is surreal, after all," I concede.
"You can say that again," Ginny agrees, "I'm not killing you, am I? Last year, I probably would've hexed you by now."
Her attempt to lighten the mood doesn't exactly work for me, and I give a half-hearted chuckle. Nobody else does, though, creating another pregnant pause.
"Um, so you said you wanted to apologize, Draco?" Hermione says.
Fuck me, not anymore.
I sigh, then look at the floor grumbling. "Yes. I was coming up to ask what it would take for Weasley to give me a chance. And Potter. I was not snooping, I was waiting for a moment to knock."
"Well FYI, next time just do it, instead of waiting around like you're up to something. And as for giving you a chance, I agreed on Hermione's part to give you one, so I will," Weasley says, glaring at me. "I'll be watching your every move when I can, and like I said before, hurt her and you're dead. Consider yourself warned."
What? No strings?
A death threat was expected, but I don't even have to say sorry? Maybe he feels subconsciously guilty he roughed me up.
God though, he must really love Hermione to do something like this…how will I ever live up to that?
"But since you asked," Potter chimes in, and I groan. "For me, anyways, I would know you're really trying here, if you go downstairs and admit, to everyone, everything you've done to us, and to them. Then apologize for it. All of it."
He looks at me defiantly, awaiting my response. I don't have a choice but to say yes, Potter is the only person who will tell people to back off at school , in public, because…..because he's not an asshole.
I hate that.
"Alright. I guess that's what I came for, isn't it. If that's what it's going to take…well let's do it then."
He looks at me in incredulity, "Really?"
"Potter, how many times does a person have to tell you they want to change before you get it through your thick skull?"
"Talking to me in such a way is really convincing me quickly, Malfoy," he replies sarcastically, and I can't help smirking.
"Look, I was serious, okay. I really like your friend over here, and I know I haven't been a very good person. I think you should appreciate the fact that I can even admit it."
"Maybe I should, but any normal person would have." This is not going to be easy.
"Fair enough. Shall we?" I ask impatiently, waving out my hand to the stairs, realizing I'm still covered in copious amounts of blood. This shirt will not be salvaged.
I just want to get this over with, fuck. This isn't even Granger's family and yet we get to present the Malfoy Inquisition, which I'm sure will go down in history for centuries just as much as my Mother divorcing her jail-ridden husband.
Hermione is looking at me with her famous look; as if I'm an exam question she's trying to solve.
Everyone else stats making their ways to the dinner table again. When they get down the stairs halfway, I turn to Hermione and grimace in agony, then smirk again to (falsely) show her I'm going to survive, but I do not like this situation one bit. She grabs my elbows and pulls me closer.
"God, I'm so sorry. Thank you so much for being civil. I just, they mean a lot to me, Draco, and I know once you get to know them, you'll agree. I can't believe you're going to do this. It's very…brave of you." Hermione whispers to me so the others don't have a chance of hearing, and leans in to kiss me on the mouth, more lively than at the table.
"Just make sure you remember that if I ever mess up," I reply when I pull away, and lean in for another quick smooch before rotating towards the steps.
I put on my charming face, feeling more courageous than I am, determined to succeed (for once) as I rejoin the outside.
"Gasp, why is he covered in blood?" Mrs. Weasley asks horrified. The Weasel looks a bit guilt-ridden, while I choose to say nothing. If I snitch, I'll never hear the end of it, and truthfully I hope he fesses up and gets berated. I know from that Howler he got, that this woman means business.
"Er –"
I sit down, trying with massive difficulty not to smile and wait for my signal to do my bit.
"What happened?" she asks firmly, looking at Weasel. Justice.
"Ron punched him in the nose. Hermione fixed it, so I think he'll live."
"For fuck's sake, Ginny!" Weasel yells.
"You punched him? I do not advocate such violent behaviour from such a nice boy, Ronald Weasley! And don't you dare swear in front of me again!"
"Well, Molly, he didn't ask the most important thing; did he deserve it?" Mr Weasley asks, wherein George laughs uncontrollably.
"For Merlin's sake, Arthur. What do you have to say for yourself? What warranted such a thing in my house?"
In a move I know will score me brownie points with my golden girl, I decide it's time to smooth things over for the buffoon. He'd better appreciate it.
"If I might, I probably did deserve it." Weasel looks abashed from his mother to me, his expression changing to one of confusion.
"What?" She looks at me oddly, considering she's never spoken to me directly I guess she doesn't know what to say.
"Look….er, Ron over here," Ew, no. "Okay, that doesn't sound right. Weasley has brought to my attention the reason I'm here, to apologize, and I haven't yet."
Nobody says anything, so I stand up, and continue.
"Potter would like me to individually apologize to you all, and, ahem explain why, so here it goes."
"This is gonna be good."
"George, I'm sorry, but please shut up," Hermione says exasperatedly. George purses his lips and giggles airily, and Potter can't seem to stifle a little grin.
"Sorry, sorry, go on," he says.
"Okay. Well I'll start with you, Andromeda," I look to her, and she's suddenly pink.
"You don't need to, Draco, honestly."
"No, I do. Look, uh, I am very sorry for not having met you for my whole life, and for not trying to myself, when I very well could have written you, something. Even if my parents were jerks, it's not only their fault that we haven't seen each don't know about my mother, maybe she'll change her mind when I tell her about tonight, but I wouldn't mind, you know…coming to visit, unless that made you uncomfortable." She looks as if she's about to burst into joyful tears.
"No, no, not at all. I know Teddy would love to have a blood-related family member in his life so he doesn't feel so…alienated when he's older. Not to say that you all haven't been amazing, especially you, Harry," she corrects herself. Potter merely nods, wrinkling his forehead.
"Okay, great." One down. "Um, er, Verity?"
"Yes dear?" she replies amused, tilting her head sideways.
"I don't know you, so, I guess I can only offer a sorry if the word 'Malfoy' ever offended you in your life."
"Apology accepted."
"Thank you."
"Look you got a thank you from Mr Blonde Britches himself, you should cherish this forever," George says. Hermione sighs, and Potter gives a small snort.
I ignore it, hoping to treat the Weasley's as a unit.
"George," I point, and he returns his attention back to me. "Actually, all the Weasley family." They all turn to me and look expectantly awkward.
"Mr Weasley, first, I'm sorry on behalf of my father for him being such a complete dick to you over the years, I hope that his jail time alleviates your anger." George claps his hands applauding until Verity slaps him.
"George, come on now. It does make me feel a bit better. You know, I made a testimony about him in the trial, if you remember." Oh god, that's right. "And I don't regret it or feel bad, but I do hope that you don't take it personally because I feel he got what was coming to him."
"Yes, well, he's my father, I have to defend him a little bit, but he certainly did deserve punishment."
"Good, I also accept your apology."
"Thank you, but I wasn't finished. Mrs. Weasley, I got your son expelled from Quidditch, and I made a comment about you that was derogatory, so I apologize for that, I didn't actually mean it, it was meant to hurt." She says nothing, shrinking in her seat. "In fact, I made a lot of horrible comments about all of you. I apologize collectively for that, for raising myself above all of you in my mind, when really I was barely scraping the bottom of the barrel. George, I'm sorry I got you expelled from Quidditch by making insults about your family. Ginny, I can't apologize on behalf of my father again, but…." Ginny suddenly looks very uncomfortable, and Potter makes the choking, cut it out, sign with his hand. "You know what I want to apologize for, I hope. I didn't know about what happened until later, but it was directed towards you, Mr Weasley, so I guess there's another one for you."
Mr Weasley frowns, then looks attentively to Ginny, who just nods that she's fine, looking down at the table.
"Uh, what else? Oh, I'm sorry for insulting you at the Quidditch World Cup. And…I don't know if I should say what else as a whole."
"Go ahead," George beckons, liking me under the microscope. But no.
"No, really…" I struggle with this one, because it's going to hurt. A lot.
"Just spit it out," Weasel says, evidently not liking me having so much attention.
"I- I can't. Not yet." Weasel rolls his eyes.
"Whatever, go on."
"Alright. To you, Weasley, I apologize first and foremost for insulting your wealth and blood constantly. I took what my father handed to me, and what he handed to me was nothing nice. Weasley is Our King was a horrible thing to write, I won't go any further on that, I guess." I clear my throat to no response yet.
This is painful. What I'm about to say.
"I want….I want to apologize for accidentally uh, poisoning you." Mrs. Weasley gasps. I am a terrible person. "Thank you for saving me twice, as you pointed out, during the battle. And I want to admit to you something I've never been able to before now." Weasel looks at me finally, in the eyes; he's curious. Oh god, this is so embarrassing. "I've been jealous of you throughout the entirety of going to Hogwarts."
"What?" That's from Weasel.
"What?" From Potter.
"What!" And from Ginny.
"The first day of school you laughed at me. I held it over your head, not just because I was told that your family sucked, but because you were already friends with Potter. And I confess, even though my father wanted me to make nice with a 'celebrity', I wanted to be your friend, Potter."
"Uh….." Potter doesn't know what to say and Weasel is stunned.
"My hatred was jealousy, I already told you. I craved the spotlight you always had on you. You both mocked me on the first day of school and I responded with vengeance the only thing I knew how to do effectively with words. I watched my father do it for years. And then it turns out you really aren't full of yourself."
"What?" Potter really is at a loss.
"I read your stupid biography, hoping at a last attempt at justifying myself. But you saved my life, and I now can't hold that as an angry failure on my part, but a testimony as to how not arrogant you are."
Potter's eyes bulge from his sockets.
"Y-you read that?" he turns red.
"I did. And as much as I probably should apologize to you most of all, I have a sudden thought…but, it's a bit drastic." The notion from earlier tonight unsticks itself from the back of my skull and zooms into my frontal lobe.
"Drastic is always the best measure," George chimes.
"I don't know in this case."
"Well, what is it?" Potter demands of me.
"Earlier, for some odd reason I was thinking about your book, and about the chapter when you describe how you went from loathing Professor Snape to realizing how crazily brave he was." Potter stiffens suddenly. "And it was because of his memories. And I thought…maybe if I did the same, maybe you all would understand where I'm coming from. But I don't know if you'd be interested, or think it's too out of line to suggest it."
"I would like to see it," Hermione says next to me, quietly.
"A trip inside Malfoy's mind?" Weasel says aloud. "I don't know about that."
"What would that achieve, exactly?" Potter is looking at me intently.
"Well, maybe nothing. But if you saw what I've been through then you can judge me once and for all for what I've been and not what I've tried to make myself look like. Like you did with your book."
"If I were to agree," he starts carefully, "where would we get a pensieve first of all. And what kinds of memories would you show me, or us?"
"I don't know if I want you all going to do this," Mr Weasley cuts in, in front of me.
"It's not your choice to make, dear," Mrs. Weasley counters as low as Hermione.
"Well, if it's dangerous – I"
"I promise you it's not," I cut in.
"Yeah, I've done it before….with Tom Riddle's memories, remember?" Potter explains. "And Snape's. You just watch what happens, it doesn't affect you at all."
Mr Weasley grunts, unwaivering but allowing us to finish.
"They'd be memories that haunt me, define who I am now, I suppose."
"I'm in, if you permit me," Ginny says suddenly. "I want to see them."
"I'm good with what I've gotten," George says, putting his hands up.
"I don't need another sorry, but yes, I'd like to see them as well," Hermione agrees with Ginny.
"If you finish your apologies I'll think about it," Potter says, still narrowing his eyes.
"Okay, you're the last one. There're so many to list, I'll try to make it short. In regards to school, sorry for making your life hell, simply. Sorry for breaking your nose, for insulting your parents, and making you fall off your broom in third year. I'm sorry for getting Hagrid sacked, and Hermione, I know you can't forgive me, but I'm so sorry about that hippogriff, because I knew when you slapped me how incensed you were about the whole thing. Thank you, Potter, for saving my life as well in the battle, and most importantly; I'm sorry about…about Dumbledore. I know he meant a lot to you, and I knew I couldn't do it, but I wish I had the guts to just take the risk of getting help instead of fucking up the whole year. I just didn't want him to kill me. Or my mother. And it's not a good excuse, but there you have it."
"What was that one thing you didn't want to say?" Potter asks, not showing his gratitude for me admitting all that.
"The last thing I want to say, that I don't really want to say is…." I gulp heavily, my collar feeling hot. "Was about my Aunt Bellatrix."
The air in the room changes from moderately tension-filled to charged. Hermione looks at me with tears in her eyes, and exhale a shaky breath, I hate myself for what I'm about to do.
"And- and what about her?" He asks, sad angry eyes on me.
"I – I wish she wasn't related to me," I say, hoping nobody asks me to elaborate.
"Why?"
Fuck.
"B-because…because of what she did. Because of who she hurt…..or killed."
There's very audibly a catch in someone's throat; George. For the first time tonight he looks wounded.
"Please don't make me say who. I'm just…..I feel horrible for ever having fought on a side with somebody as truly deranged as she, and I have no vindication as to why I would have."
The room is silent, even Teddy knows something is wrong.
"I'm sorry for everything," I finish.
I want to sit down, to feel less exposed, but I'm really empty, I don't feel good about my confessions.
I feel too evil to be seated with everyone here now, so I excuse myself and instead of going back inside, I walk around to the front of the house again, to sit on the stone step, looking at the stars in the chilly air. I feel my eyes grow wet, but I don't know if it's from sadness or shame, or something else indiscernible.
After a few minutes, I hear the door creak open, and out walks Hermione, Potter, Weasley and Ginny.
They all say nothing, looming over me, until Potter speaks up.
"We want to see your memories, Malfoy," he says surprisingly gently. "But we don't know how we're going to do that."
I clear my throat of the buildup I've accumulated to try and stop myself from weeping.
"I have a pensieve at my house," I say groggily. "My father used to keep all his memories in there. If you permit me to go get it, I can come back here."
"Only if you want to, Draco. I mean –" Hermione tries to be on my side, unsure of what to say, but I have to do this.
"Hermione….I need to do this. I just…I need somebody to understand."
"Okay," she says breathlessly.
"Well, I'll go right now. I can get out of these clothes too, so…" I stand up slowly, checking to make sure my wand is in my pocket.
"Don't you want your jacket?" Ginny asks uneasily.
"No….no, I'll be okay. See you soon." I give them a nod, and they look at each other nervously, probably thinking I'm crazy.
I leave to silence, walking quickly up the hill in the chilly air. But I can't feel the cool.
The truth is that after admitting everything, all the events and memories of the crimes and atrocities I've committed are swirling around in my mind. Tomorrow, I'll probably smack myself on the head for doing as Potter wanted. Maybe in a week I'll come to the conclusion this was a good idea.
Right now I'm only numb, the only emotion that will probably enable me to get through showing my past enemies all my darkest times, all my most vulnerable moments.
But if it can work for Snape, it can work for me.
I reach the forest, and disappear into the darkness.