Chapter 20
A/N – Shout out to LuciaDiAngelo for review #100! I'm thrilled that you all seem to be enjoying this fic, especially since this is my first time writing and posting one. Truly, thank you for your kind words. Enjoy!
...
There was something creepy, and a little exciting, about walking through the halls of Hogwarts at night. Despite how much Hermione hated breaking rules, a small part of her had always enjoyed the thrill of exploring with Harry and Ron after curfew. The shadowy, twisting corridors. The rusting suits of armor and huge, ornate tapestries. The watery feel of the invisibility cloak about her head.
Of course, this night was different. For one, it wasn't after curfew yet. And secondly, she was wandering the halls quite alone. After all, it wasn't as if she could tell the boys about her secret room; that would lead back to the Time-Turner. And even if she could explain the room, it wasn't as if Harry and Ron were speaking to her.
She sighed quietly. The loneliness was starting to settle into her, numbing her little by little.
The only silver lining about their cold shoulder routine was that she no longer had to lie to them about where she was going. Or who she often met there. Or how much she looked forward to spending time with him.
To be honest, the idea still floored her, let alone what Harry and Ron would think. Somehow, Malfoy had become… important. Unthinkably, he'd become one of the best things about her third year.
Shoving her confusing thoughts away, she weaved her way through a shortcut, heart beating a bit faster as she neared her room. Tapping the secret stone smartly with her wand, she hurried inside.
"Lumos!"
Her wand tip lit most of the dusty room, casting odd shadows over the stone walls from the mangled remains of desks and chairs scattered all around.
Aside from the dirt and debris, the room was empty. Malfoy wouldn't be coming tonight - he had Quidditch practice.
She reached out her hand and opened the top of his desk, ignoring the insistent, vibrating urge to organize her Transfiguration notes, and took out the awful book once more.
She flipped to where she'd left off, keen eyes searching for the wonderful comments in the margins, and scanning the disgusting passages they referenced.
It had been two weeks since she'd given her copy of Rhetoric and Logic to Malfoy. Slowly, she'd seen evidence of the book's influence creep into his commentary, exactly as she'd hoped would happen.
Instead of finding only question marks or a frustratedly scribbled "How?!", she now found comments like, "Circular argument".
Or, "False Cause - having low intelligence and being in proximity to Muggles doesn't mean one caused the other."
Or, "Assumption, so far unsupported by any facts - disregard."
She was beyond thrilled at the transformation in his thinking. She felt a little bad about manipulating him into reading Rhetoric and Logic, and worse about reading his notes without his knowledge. But that hadn't stopped her from returning to her room as often as she could to get a glimpse into his thoughts. She'd even left his distraction jinx in place so he wouldn't get suspicious.
Then she saw something that made her heart stop.
Her name, written in Malfoy's usual, orderly script. Hurriedly, she read the small paragraph of text beside it:
"Mudbloods are inherently inferior to Purebloods, as evidenced by their substandard intellect. In order to compensate for this deficiency, they tend towards barbaric and violent behavior."
Hermione read the comment with her name again.
"No one in their right mind could ever call Granger inherently unintelligent."
Hermione's smile grew. She continued looking through his notes and found several more mentions of her name.
"But what about Granger? Is she an exception or a contradiction?"
"Granger had never encountered wizards before Hogwarts, so how could she have stolen the magic necessary to be chosen for school?"
"But Granger has far more raw talent than many, if not most, Purebloods. Just look at Crabbe or Goyle."
"This can't apply to Granger at all."
Hermione felt herself beaming. She had felt a shift in Malfoy, but this - she never dreamed that his thoughts about her would change. That he would start to think of her as a person, rather than a blood status.
That he would start to see her for who she actually was.
The idea made her feel like she'd eaten about ten Fizzing Whizzbees.
Still grinning, she placed the book back where it belonged and stood, practically bursting with excitement. She desperately wanted to talk to Malfoy about it all.
She suspected he still wasn't ready to admit his new thoughts to anyone… But Hermione hoped she wouldn't have to wait much longer.
...
Hermione climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor Common Room, thoughts entirely caught up in Malfoy.
He was changing - really changing, and he was seeing her as-
"You!"
Hermione's head shot up.
"Ron?" she asked, perplexed at the sight of his burning blue eyes and a little stunned that he was talking directly to her.
"It's about time you showed up," Ron said scathingly.
Her hackles were raised immediately at his tone. "Oh? Are you actually deigning to speak with me now?"
"Don't talk down to me, Hermione. Not now - not after what your cat-" His voice cut off as if he were being strangled.
Desperately, Hermione turned to Harry.
"What's he on about? What have I done wrong this time?" she demanded.
Harry immediately looked down at the floor and mumbled something that sounded like "scbbs".
"What? What in the world-"
"Scabbers!" Ron yelled, face as red as the room he was standing in, "Scabbers is dead, and it's your bloody fault!"
Hermione blanched, her anger momentarily forgotten. "Dead? Wha - how?"
"You tell me!" hissed Ron, and he threw something at her.
Before she could react, a set of sheets hit her in the face, covering her head. In the moment it took to untangle herself, she heard a dark chuckle coming from the red-headed boy she'd always admired.
"See that, there?" he asked mockingly, gesturing to the sheets when she finally emerged from them, "It's blood, Hermione. And that, right next to it? Ginger hairs."
"Ginger - blood?" Hermione struggled to keep up, flustered as she was, "Ronald, please just-"
Understanding dawned on her. Poor Scabbers. Poor Ron!
"Yes, that's right!" Ron raged, "Scabbers is gone, and all that's left is his blood and his killer's fur! Your stupid, mangy cat slaughtered him! I fucking warned you to keep your murderous beast away from him, and you refused to listen to me. And now he's-"
Ron's voice broke again, from grief or fury Hermione didn't know.
"Oh Ron, I'm so sorry Scabbers is gone-"
"You damn well better be, as it's your fault!"
"My fault? Crookshanks didn't kill Scabbers!"
Ron's face went even redder, if that was possible. "Oh yeah? Tell me you don't see the ginger hairs, Hermione. That's proof, isn't it? It links the murderer to the scene of the crime!"
Hermione tried desperately to remember that Ron was grieving, that he was only angry because he'd lost his pet after years of loving him.
"Ronald, just because Crookshanks's hairs are on your sheets doesn't mean he killed Scabbers. He's been in your room loads of times - his hairs are probably all over your dormitory-"
"Just shut up, Hermione! I'm tired of your excuses! You just don't want to face the fact that I was right for once, and that your fucking cat isn't a perfect angel!"
Hermione felt her eyes sting. Ron had spoken down to her plenty of times before, but this was different. His tone, the veins in his forehead, the hatred in his words - they were all ominous red flags that signified the point of no return.
"Please, Ron, I'm sure that if we calm down, we can discuss this rationally-"
"I don't give a shite about being rational!" he shouted.
Hermione looked imploringly at Harry, but he simply gave her a pained look before glancing away.
"But - I-"
She didn't have any words. Instead, all she could focus on were the tears running down her cheeks, lingering on her chin for a bare moment before they fell and stained her jumper.
She wiped her face furiously, hating that they witnessed her blubbering. She knew they were uncomfortable with the idea of anyone crying. She wasn't helping the situation.
Gods, why can't you get a hold of yourself, Hermione?! She thought, humiliated.
"You really are a nightmare, do you know that?" Ron asked, his voice cold and unfeeling.
Numbness washed over her in waves, although her tears continued their determined march down to her chin.
Nightmare.
"It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends. She's a nightmare, honestly!"
His words from their first year bounced around inside her skull, echoing and forlorn and so, so lonely.
She felt something inside of her snap.
The admiration she'd once felt for this boy, the way she'd been drawn to him - it all seemed so surreal in that moment. So distant.
Sure, he was upset, grieving even, but… but that was no excuse to treat her that way.
She felt herself speaking, almost as if she wasn't in control of her words.
"You know, I almost envy Scabbers. At least he isn't stuck with you anymore."
Her voice was cold, as numb as she was.
Ron recoiled. Then he puffed up, shouldering the entire weight of his fury, preparing for another onslaught of hateful words.
But Hermione fled before he had the chance to unleash them.
...
The Great Hall was bustling and chaotic as usual during dinner. Draco watched, amused, as Crabbe and Goyle seemed to compete for who could stuff his mouth fullest with steak and kidney pie. Pansy also observed the competition, but she was somewhat less entertained by it than Draco was. The blonde took advantage of everyone's distraction and chanced a glance towards the Gryffindor end of the Hall. He made a quick sweep of the long red and gold table - but he found no pile of bushy hair. She wasn't seriously skipping dinner again, was she?
He looked again, more thoroughly this time. No, Granger wasn't there. There was an empty spot next to Potter and Weasley where she should have been.
Come to think of it, Draco had barely seen hide nor unruly hair of her all day. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Had something happened to her? He thought that his persistent mocking and manipulation had forced her into taking better care of herself. Had she gotten sucked back into her pattern of self-neglect?
He suddenly found that he was no longer hungry. Watching Crabbe wasn't helping, for at that moment, the large boy began to choke on his overflowing mouthful of food.
"Well, this has been delightful," the blonde announced pompously to the table at large, "but I'm quite sure I'll be unable to eat now. Ever again."
No one seemed to hear him, distracted as they were by the spectacle of the two overlarge boys. Goyle was now smartly clapping Crabbe's back to help him clear the blockage. Unfortunately, Goyle was laughing so riotously that he, too, began to choke.
Draco stood to leave, rather rankled that no one had paid attention to his witty comment or his departure.
At least the idiots made a good distraction, he thought as he casually wrapped a few dinner rolls in a napkin and pocketed them. Exiting the Great Hall, he started towards the dungeons, taking a roundabout course to his real destination.
He found himself in front of the entrance to the hidden classroom a few minutes later. He took a deep breath, set his shoulders, tapped the stone, and entered.
And he stopped in the doorway.
Granger was definitely skipping dinner, again. She was knelt down, her body slumped forwards, arms resting on the window seat. Her forehead was lying on her crossed arms, and her hair, somehow flatter than usual, was obscuring all of her features. Even so, he knew that she was crying. Her shoulders were trembling rhythmically, and he could hear her trying to suppress her sniffles.
Her obvious distress seemed to cast a shadow on everything around her. The normally cheerful space was transformed into an achingly empty, dreary room.
His stomach clenched.
Slowly, not wanting to frighten her, he closed the door. It was just loud enough to alert her to his presence. She whipped around, revealing a pair of puffy, red eyes.
Draco froze. He had no idea how to proceed. He took a step forward, then paused again.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" she managed to say. She clambered to her feet and wiped furiously at her eyes, trying in vain to quell the tears.
"I, uh... saw that you weren't at dinner," he responded lamely. He hated feeling so out of his element. Instinctually, he made his features as impassive as possible, hoping that she wouldn't see his uneasiness.
"I wasn't hungry," was her only reply, her tone a little defensive. Another fat tear rolled down her cheek, and she turned quickly from him to look out the window.
"Look, I..." The feeling in the pit of his stomach was incredibly distracting. He surged on, "Here, you should eat something."
He took out the dinner rolls he'd pilfered.
"I said I'm not hungry, Malfoy," she sniffed, still not turning around, "And I'm certainly not going down to the Great Hall."
"Well, good thing I brought these up so you don't have to," Draco retorted, needled by her tone.
She finally turned around to see him drop the bread on her desk.
She stared at it, then at him, her features softening a little.
Mollified, he ventured, "So why are you really… in here?"
"It's just..." she looked at him as if she were sizing him up. Apparently, whatever she saw in his face was enough to encourage her - and the dam broke.
"Ronald Weasley has to be the most hot-headed, illogical, stubborn person I've ever met!" she exploded. Her whole body went rigid with fury, and she spat out her words like they were on fire. "I told him that Crookshanks didn't kill his rat, and he refuses to believe me! And things were just starting to get better again after Harry got his Firebolt back.
"But then Scabbers disappeared, and Ron's sheets were all bloody, but it's not like it's my fault - or my cat's fault - that his stupid, smelly rat is missing! And I told Ron I'm sure that Crookshanks didn't do it. The ginger hairs on his bed could have been there for months! There's absolutely no concrete evidence to back up his claims! And now Ron isn't talking to me, and Harry too..." All of the fight seemed to seep out of her in an instant. Her shoulders fell again, and a fresh wave of tears overtook her.
Draco had stood rather awkwardly through her tirade, but when he saw that broken expression on her face, he had to clench his fists to contain his anger. Those bloody bastards!
"They aren't talking to you?" he scoffed, "How old are they? And to think you lecture me for my choice in friends! Honestly!"
"It's not like I wanted this to happen," she continued as if she hadn't heard him, "I've just been so busy with all of my classes, and keeping up with my homework, and trying to help Hagrid save Buckbeak, and trying to keep Harry safe and out of trouble, and I haven't been able to sleep because I've been too busy thinking about everything I have to do! I'm just so tired and so frustrated and, and - this year was supposed to be perfect!" She dissolved into tears again.
Realization washed over Draco. He recognized that look in her eyes. She looked exactly how he so often felt - like he was trying so hard to stay ahead of a speeding train, but he wasn't quite fast enough. He recognized the burden of high expectations on her shoulders, weighing her down. He saw the intense desire for someone's - anyone's recognition of a job well done, and the crushing disappointment when it never came. In that moment, he understood.
He took a step towards her, but hesitated. What was he going to do? Comfort her? He'd never so much as patted anyone on the back when they were upset. He should leave. He should turn around and leave.
…His feet didn't budge. His eyes sought her face again. He knew that look well – broken, alone…
Gulping, he took a small step forward, reaching his hand up tentatively. He paused before touching her shoulder, unsure of exactly how this whole offering comfort thing was supposed to work.
Should he actually pat her on the back? That seemed like it would be a bit awkward. What if he stepped closer? He tried it, but it seemed a bit too close. He took a step back, assessing the distance between them.
Yes, that was much more comfortable. He supposed he could try patting her.
He looked up - and stopped short. Granger had stopped crying and was staring at him. How long had she been watching him?
Then she burst into laughter.
He realized that he still had his arm outstretched towards her, hovering just centimeters over her shoulder. He was just standing there, preparing to pat her, and shuffling back and forth on his feet. Finally, he unfroze and quickly bristled at her reaction. He stepped away from her, withdrawing his hand, unable to stop the flush from blooming on his cheeks.
"Now see here, Granger," he snapped, desperately hoping that his fury masked his embarrassment, "I was just trying to help, but if that's the way you're going to treat me, then-"
"I'm—sorry!" she managed between giggles, "You just looked—so confused!"
He scowled at her, then whipped around and began stalking towards the door, pride stinging.
"No, Malfoy, wait!" she said, grabbing his sleeve and still chuckling all the while. He stopped and glared down his nose at her.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she continued, "I'm sorry, Malfoy. It's just… when I opened my eyes, I wasn't expecting to see you standing like that. You just seemed so concentrated on what you were doing and – it was a little surprising. That you'd, you know… want to help." She gave him a small smile. "That you'd want to help… me."
"Uh, yes, well…" he mumbled, "It seemed like you weren't going to shut up until I did something, so…"
He'd meant the comment to be diffusing, to lessen some of the odd tension between them, but she remained unfazed.
"Really, Malfoy, thank you. For trying. It… it means a great deal, coming from you."
"Right, uh… well…" he stuttered lamely, deciding that the best course of action would still be to flee. He took a step towards the door, muttering, "Now that you've recovered, I really should be-"
"No, please don't go!" Granger interrupted. She said the words so quickly that it took a moment for Draco to untangle them.
When he finally made sense of what she'd said, he felt his ears heat slightly.
She actually wanted him to stay with her?
"All right," he said without thinking.
She faltered for a moment, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.
"Wait, really?"
He shrugged, backpedaling a little. "I mean, it's not like I can be your friend or anything, but-"
He could see her defensive walls going up and her blush deepening as she opened her mouth to snap, "I didn't want - I'm not asking you to!"
"I mean," he continued desperately, "Out there."
He gestured towards the door.
She paused, hand frozen with her index finger pointed at him accusatorily.
"What?"
"Out there," he repeated, "There are certain things that I can't... In here, though, in here it's different."
She studied him. "...What will we be in here, then?"
"Well, maybe not friends, per say..." he hedged. Even in private, it still wouldn't do to allow himself to get too close. No matter what he wanted.
Slowly, she smiled. "Okay."
"Okay?" He asked, wondering if she actually understood his intentions.
"Yes: okay. In here, we'll be... not friends." At his confused look, she added, "You know, hyphenated."
Not-friends. He wasn't entirely sure what that entailed, but he wasn't opposed to the idea. Not at all.
Slightly flabbergasted at the turn the conversation had taken, he endeavored to steer it back towards comfortable, sarcastic ground.
"Well, I suppose I can manage that. After all, it seems to me that you're officially desperate for intellectual company." He arched an eyebrow at her.
For a split second she looked affronted, but upon seeing the slight quirk to his lips, she seemed to understand. She even donned a shy smirk of her own.
"Well, seeing as how I'm willingly suffering your company, I'm inclined to agree with you," she quipped.
She glanced out the window, and her smirk faded at the sight of the darkening night sky. "But I suppose it doesn't matter. It's not like we have much time. It'll be curfew soon…"
"Not looking forward to facing those two great prats, I assume?"
She looked away, some of her earlier sadness returning to her face.
Obviously not.
He thought for a moment, an idea coming to him. Like so many other times that night, he reflected on how bad an idea it was. But looking at her - her full lips turned down at the corners, her eyes darkened and shimmering - he couldn't help himself.
"Say, Granger, how long have you been in here?"
"Since a few minutes before dinnertime, I suppose," she admitted, "Why do you ask?"
"Well," he mused, "if it's more time you desire... I suspect that I have a rather easy solution." He nodded significantly towards the pendant around her neck. Her hand immediately gripped the Time-Turner through her robes.
"What are you thinking, Malfoy?" she asked suspiciously, "You know the law - and the rules - I can't alter anything that's happened!"
"No, no, you misunderstand," he said, waving a dismissive hand.
"Then, what-?"
A mischievous grin to spread across his face. "We could go back to a few hours before you came in tonight. We wouldn't even have to leave this room if you don't want to. Just a little respite from Scarhead and the Weasel."
She hesitated.
"But we-"
"Don't overthink this, Granger. I know your big, powerful brain wants to dissect all of the rules we'd be breaking, but can't you - just this once - let yourself have a bit of fun? Based on the rant I just heard, you're sorely overdue for it."
Contemplatively, she lifted her hand, brushing her thumb back and forth across her chin. As always, he was drawn to the motion, and he had to shove down the desire to trace the same path with his own fingers.
"Well we couldn't stay here the whole time. We would have to leave before I come in around dinner, otherwise we'd get stuck hiding from ourselves again…"
She sent a sudden, suspicious glare towards the pile of desks in the corner, as if they, themselves, might pop out at any moment.
Draco chuckled, then covered it with a cough.
"Well," he pressed, "We could go for a walk around the grounds, before you get here. We've been out at this time of night before - there's been no sign of Sirius Black for weeks, and we know the Dementors won't bother us so long as we stay close to the castle."
She hesitated again, but Draco could see that she was considering it. Merlin, the witch was easy to read. It still baffled him how he could identify every little emotion that crossed her features - doubt, guilt, curiosity... excitement.
"It feels a bit like stealing," she said, wrinkling her nose but smiling all the same.
He shrugged. "It's just a little borrowed time. No one will know except for you and me. Besides, it isn't as if we haven't done this before. Except this time, no homicidal trees."
He frowned a bit more and added, "Or Hufflepuffs."
Surprisingly, Granger laughed.
He allowed the shadow of a smile to cross his face as well, then held out his hand towards her.
"Deal?"
Her smile grew, and she reached out to shake his proffered hand. He felt the familiar tingling as she touched him, and he allowed himself a smile. A genuine smile. Only for her.
Granger slowly dropped his hand, pausing for a moment after withdrawing her touch.
Not meeting his gaze, she took out the Time-Turner. She waited with the thin, gold chain in her hand until he stepped close.
For once, the look on her face as she looped the necklace around them both was inscrutable.
It only lasted for a moment before she closed her eyes. Draco assumed she was calculating how far back they needed to go. When she opened them again, she looked intently at him, nervous and eager.
Biting her lip, she spun the dial.