Preface: Lots of shouting, with a saucy little swear word thrown in for flavour.

Chapter Nine - Fallout

Hermione did not see either Harry or Ron even once for the remainder of the weekend. On Saturday she skipped dinner in favour of an early night, and as Sunday wore on, it felt as though she'd just missed them every time she came into a room. When they were nowhere to be seen during any meals throughout the day, it became clear that they actively avoided her. Even Ginny was missing.

Hermione hoped that once classes resumed for the week, they would be too close to ignore her - that they would have to talk - but she was wrong.

Monday brought them at last to the Great Hall, but they'd started sitting quite at the other end of Gryffindor table, with Dean and Seamus. Lavender and Ginny sat with them, of course. Ginny would occasionally throw glances full of pity down to Hermione, who could have done without them.

That night, she caught Ron as he was headed towards the common room after dinner. She'd had to leave Neibolt to fill her dismissal duties - something she would not have done, if not desperate.

Yet, when she demanded to know what was going on, Ron could not seem to formulate the words.

"You can't seriously be this angry with me." Hermione said. "What did I do that I've never done before? Everyone knows I'm the annoying rule-minder. That's my schtick."

"Truthfully, I'm not angry with you, Hermione." Ron ducked his head to speak lowly, as the rest of the student body filtered in different directions, not far from where they stood in an alcove off the entrance stairs. "But Harry's a right mess, in terms of mood. All he'll say about it is that he's waiting for an apology from you."

"An apology? For what?" Ron waved a hand in a settling gesture as Hermione's pitch reverberated off the walls. She forced herself to lower her voice. "If not for me he'd be passing every evening in McGonagall's office - or Snape's, as Malfoy would have run to him before our Head of House."

"Look, I'm not about to convince you either way. It's up to you." Ron said. "But I know Harry. He needs me more than you do, right now."

"So... So, you'll what? Ignore me for the sake of his petty feud?"

"I don't think Harry would talk to me, if I talked to you." Ron said, after a painful pause. "Gin and I talked it over last night. We think it would be best if you just gave him a little space, if you won't apologise."

It was as though he'd pummeled her in the stomach. Her hand went to her diaphragm as if she could will back the wind that had been knocked out of her. "What if I need you, too?"

"You're the strongest out of all of us, Hermione." Ron put a hand to her shoulder, and she shook it off, and turned away. Tears would undoubtedly arrive, if she allowed him proximity, or looked him in the eye. "Don't pretend as if you haven't seen it, too. Harry's putting himself at a distance from everyone. I don't think it's a good idea if we let him."

"That's very sensitive of you, Ron."

"C'mon, Hermione..."

"No, I'm serious." She kept her back to him, wiped her nose with the sleeve of her cloak. "You're right. I won't deny it. Do what you need to do."

Perhaps half a minute of silence passed, before Hermione turned. "I mean it, you can-"

Ron had already gone.

Draco fully expected Granger to call off the lessons she'd been giving him. He'd gone to the dungeon on Tuesday on sheer whim, certain that she wouldn't be there. It was technically her obligation, but he knew Granger would withstand even the cajoling of a skilled manipulator like Slughorn if she was properly motivated to do so.

But, as he opened the door to the classroom quietly and stepped inside, he saw her; one leg crossed over the other as she peered over some text.

"You're here." The surprise in his tone couldn't be masked upon such short notice. Nor could the plume of pleasant thoughts that rose be shooed away before he felt them.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He came over to where she sat and let his bag fall to the floor.

"I reckoned your keepers would forbid you to see me, actually." Draco fell into the stool adjacent to her and bent to retrieve the fifth year text.

The atmosphere between them was positively stuffy with resentment.

"They aren't my keepers," Hermione muttered. She at last looked up from her chart to hold Draco's gaze. "They aren't even speaking to me, if you must know."

"That's no surprise, it it?" He said, rather pointedly. "I can't even count the amount of rows I've seen between you three."

"Yeah, well, this is a new kind of row." She spoke so lowly that Draco had to lean forward to hear her. She gave a tight shake of her head as her eyes shut. A tiny curl escaped the twist of her hair and settled over her eyes.

"It doesn't matter." She said. "Let's just get started. I've got a lot to do today and I want to finish our review."

Draco gave a mental shrug and began to unfurl the notes from the previous lesson. It was quite clear that to push her even a little would send her off the handle. She might even end up hexing him herself.

More than that - he simply felt no need to needle her today.

She was his enemy. She would follow him and snoop through his personal business all she liked, and he would normally never hesitate to remind her of her inferiority. They would never been comrades. But, now that she was near, and within view, he could remember that aura of solidarity he'd not spotted her without for a while... and he knew that he'd made it worse for her.

They were enemies. But this, apparently, did not make him insensible of her suffering.

Three weeks passed. Normally here, there would be a description of some encounter between Hermione, and those she held closest to her heart. Yet, there were none of those things to speak of. No words, no glances, nothing.

The thought which kept her most company throughout the hours of increased solitude was why? Why did it have to happen now, when she felt as if all she really needed were her friends?

It was no secret that most everyone who knew Hermione found her hard to tolerate. Yet she'd become friends with Harry and Ron so quickly and organically, and Harry himself had always attracted a lot of attention; so she'd always been able to hold onto a certain amount of respect from her fellow Gryffindors. And she'd thought that, through Harry and Ron, she'd managed to make people see her a little differently.

She'd certainly earned the affections of Neville Longbottom, who remembered her well enough to keep her company through most meals. But Dean, Seamus, Parvati, even Lavender, seemed to forget about her presence in Hogwarts entirely, now that Harry and Ron had taken to ignoring her existence.

It hurt, more than she could fathom.

Though, perhaps the most hurtful part of it was Ginny's apparent ambivalence to the matter. It had only taken a handful of days for her to give up the pitying glances, and though Hermione hardly missed them, she'd thought for sure that she and Ginny had become true friends. It was (though it smarted to admit) understandable that Ginny would avoid rocking the boat with Harry, but that didn't ease the pain of being left behind.

Hermione had drifted so low that she started inviting Neville to the library with her. She also made sure he sat with her while in the common room. But, she found that she couldn't successfully study while he was around: he had a terrible habit of mumbling as he read and sighing in frustration every five or so minutes.

Even her lessons with Malfoy had gained some appeal. Draco hardly gave her actual conversation, but there was solace in the proximity of another person. And she could sense his effort when he was with her. His attention was always fully on what they covered, never anywhere else.

Now, on one Saturday afternoon, after Draco had asked a second time to postpone the previous Thursday's lesson, they sat side-by-side in the dungeon, brewing a Draught of Peace. It was a potion they both knew and understood well enough. They'd learned it last year in preparation for O.W.L's, but it seemed the right route to take. She'd become well enough acquainted with Draco's style of learning to understand that it was predominately his attention to detail which had suffered an unexplained blow this year.

As Draco sprinkled the proper amount of powdered moonstone over the brew, he caught her looking at him. Immediately, he smirked.

"Why is it that whenever I look at you, you seem as if you're trying to crack into my brain?"

"I'm not trying to crack into anything," She said. "I only wonder why these lessons are so necessary for you. When you're here, you do quite well. It's only in class that the story changes."

Draco shrugged, his expression impatient. "Sod off."

"You know, perhaps if you tried to figure that out, it would help you improve."

"I already know why, Granger." He dipped a wooden spoon into the brew and started with a slow stir. "I'd just rather not turn this into a sharing circle."

Hermione sighed but kept silent. When she sighed again, not even a full minute later, Draco's head lolled to one side as he rolled his eyes.

"Just spit it out, then, Granger. We both know I won't have any peace until you've unloaded your soliloquy."

"Maybe if you weren't so tense I'd feel more comfortable speaking to you." Hermione said primly. She cast a pointed glare to the hand fixed to the rim of his cauldron - white-knuckled enough to suggest he'd break the thing into pieces any second.

He released the grip and used that hand to wave her on.

"All I'm saying," she began. "Is that there wouldn't be much of a point to all this time and effort, if there's an underlying problem."

Draco stopped all movement and turned his eyes back onto her, his expression flat. She knew that this was his way of telling her, once again, to sod off; but she'd long since grown accustomed to ignoring that look.

"If you want my opinion-"

"I most certainly do not."

She continued as if she hadn't heard him. "I think you have a hard time under pressure. Which is nothing to be ashamed of, but you've got to diagnose the issue. I mean - what's happened, between this year and last, that's made the pressure too much for you?"

"What was it you said to me, outside the library?" He said with a half-smile. "'You're no fool, but that was a stupid question.'"

Hermione was flummoxed for a moment, and he seemed to read it in her face, as he cleared his throat and said, "Dear old dad was carted off to Azkaban, if you'll recall."

"Oh." She felt the heat rising above the collar of her shirt. "Right. Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm sure he loves it."

"Well, d'you think that's your problem?"

"Sure, whatever - maybe that's part of it."

"What else could there be?" She asked. She leaned forwards to rest her chin against her fist.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Well, you have to think about it sometime."

"Oh, believe me, Granger," He drawled. "I think about a lot of things. Potions slips in from time to time."

"What sort of things do you think about, then?" She asked - and all at once she could see the patience die in his visage.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her through the strands of hair that had fallen free over his brow.

"What d'you think you're doing?" He asked.

She straightened out of her casual slouch. "Talking? I suppose."

"We don't talk, Granger." His tone had turned formal, and stiff.

More than once over the past few weeks, Hermione had come to this same road block, again and again. She knew there had to be something nefarious twisted in his mind, somewhere. She could see it in his eyes as they traced the words over whatever page he happened to read. Especially during class.

Whether she wanted to confront the feeling or not, she'd grown to know Draco Malfoy. No, there had been no heart-on-sleeve talks - there were still more questions about him than answers - and any time she tried to help him deconstruct whatever trauma bogged him down, he'd throw up a wall. But, somewhere along this tumultuous timeline, Malfoy had become Draco in her mind. She saw him less as the blustering bully she'd known for the past six years and more as a particularly temperamental rich kid, a product of his destructive environment. And, if she could understand Harry's volatile temper and heavy emotions, surely she could empathise with Draco.

Now, Hermione pressed her intentions more than she ever had. "Obviously we don't, but we could." She said.

"You are the last person in this school I would seek as a confidante, Granger." Draco said smoothly. "You seem to have forgotten that I despise you."

"You don't hate me, Draco." She said immediately, and let it be known she surprised even herself.

At first his face was rather empty of expression, as though he needed a moment to compute, as though he could not grasp what she'd just said. Then, his jaw clenched. "Don't call me that."

"For heaven's sake!" She tossed her hands in exasperation, blind to the signs of what she was about to walk into. "What is the big deal? Does it cause you physical pain to imagine that we might not be enemies anymore?"

"We are enemies, Granger."

But she kept going, "That we might actually be on friendlier terms? Why would that be such a bad thing? I quite like the thought of having a Slytherin as a friend, even one with a head as bloated as yours-"

Draco, caught up in the wild, fight-or-flight reaction that had seized him from nowhere, slammed his palm flat against the table. The mortar and pestle next to him toppled over onto the stone floor, where the bowl shattered into pieces. The pestle clattered under the table.

Granger started violently, her lips parting in shock.

"Enough!" She started again with his shout. She'd even leaned away, putting quite a bit of distance between them as he left his stool. "We will never be anything more than enemies, Granger. Just because I tolerate you - that doesn't mean I like doing it!"

She stared at him in open-mouthed silence; her complexion had blanched. And he felt the sudden need to tear her to pieces, to shatter her, like his mortar bowl.

"You've gotten so bloody pathetic, do you know that? Practically cramming yourself down my throat, simply because no one else can stand to be near you. Besides Longbottom, that is, but let's face it - that prat's only got half a brain as it is."

If anyone had pointed out to him that perhaps he was punishing Granger in order to punish himself, he would have laughed. Even if that was precisely what he was doing, and even if the most miniscule part of him was conscious of it.

"It's so sad that it's almost laughable," He declared, and he did laugh, rather meanly as he spoke. "Potter and Weasley should thank their lucky stars they found a way to dump off the likes of you, even if it did take them six sodding years to do it."

Granger's expression had hooded over some time ago; now, she fastened her arms round her chest and developed a menacing glare. He could see that fire blaze into her eyes and he couldn't remember the last time she'd looked at him that way. The Great Hall, was it? Right before Katie Bell...

He was accosted by the mental image of her knelt above him as he came back from consciousness after Potter's sucker punch. He recalled her stepping in front of him to prevent Potter's attacks.

It made him falter, and for a beat or two he simply shut his mouth and stared right through her.

Then, as he shook himself back into the present scene, he noted the way she grinned with what appeared to be furious amusement. Even as he thought about this moment in hindsight, he would not be able to tell what he would have done if Granger had kept silent. He may have aborted the mission to draw tears from her, he may have just stood there, dumb forever. The fight had gone out of him, just as quickly as it had come.

But, Granger did speak.

"I'm pathetic?" She seemed so still. The expression was taut over her features "I'm not the one doomed to failure for the rest of my life."

Before he could respond (and, really, he couldn't think of a thing to say) she went on. "What? You didn't think I could see it? We all see it... we all know - outside these walls, you are faceless. All of your barbaric ideals and delusions of ancient grandeur mean nothing. They make sensible people detest you, and even those who would pretend to be your ally would only do so to gain advantage. Say what you like about me. The opinion of someone like yourself can only mean so much."

And, just like that, the fight had returned. "That's rich, coming from a muggleborn. From Potter's personal assistant, no less! Every time you make sure the poor hero gets his chicken scratches mended properly, you only enhance the size of the target on your back, don't you think?"

She was merely bored - plainly bored. And no wonder, when her blood status had been an arrow in his quiver for half a decade.

Thus, a new inspiration was struck. "The minute you leave these walls, you're in danger. Your very existence puts even your revolting muggle parents at risk." Her eyes flashed, but it was not enough. "I'd bet anything that the only reason they haven't been slaughtered in their beds yet is because without them, there'd be nothing to lure you back home."

"That can't feel good, really." He leaned in with mock sincerity. "And I do pity you, Granger, rest assured. You're already all alone - you've driven away the only tolerance your noxious personality has ever managed to hold onto."

"Listen to you!" Hermione cried. "Preaching the threat-level of a hovel of infidels which has already been defeated once! Should you even be so eager for the Dark Lord's success, Draco? Is that really the hill you plan to die on? The only thing such an outcome would give you is a Dark Mark pressed into your skin. You won't ever be able to have a family, unless you want to see them tortured, or used as leverage in order to further whichever revolting cause Voldemort can conceive. Your children will be raised as hopelessly as your father raised you. You preach a meaningless life."

Draco began to visualise that wall which built itself, beyond sudden that Granger had somehow slipped into his mind; had managed to unearth those thoughts he fought to keep from his own awareness.

With those words, Granger made to leave. She stuffed her Herbology text into her bag, but before she could shoulder it Draco stepped in her path. "Oh, no, you are not going anywhere." He said. "There's one more thing you need to understand: Your pride, your precious knowledge, and love of order and propriety - those things mean nothing, Granger, without the Light. My children will be raised without the indignity and oppression of those who are weaker than them. And once the Dark Lord succeeds, you'll be worse than faceless. You'll be the first one gutted in the name of blood purity."

"You're disgusting." The words burst from her lips and she backed towards the table as Draco took a step closer.

"Maybe!" He cried, with a bark of empty laughter. "But that doesn't change the fact that you'll be alone forever, assuming you live. Perhaps you ought to have fluffed up Weasley's misguided affections when you had the chance. Then, at least, you might've had some hope of trapping yourself a husband. The two of you could've made a home in whatever pit of earth Weasley calls home - with all twenty-seven of his siblings - at least until the new order comes to tear it down around you and claim your bodies. Now I suppose it's too late for that, isn't it? Now that he sees you for what you really are -" He took another step closer and she began to shake with red energy. "- Nothing more than a bookish, Mudblood bitch - positively desperate for attention, desperate to hide your inferiorities behind all your memorised facts and spells."

She made to move again and he seized her arm.

Though Draco fully believed that to see her cry would be the only thing to stop him in his savage tracks; he quickly learned otherwise as Granger slapped him across the cheek with her free hand - hard enough that his head rocked back on his neck and his eyes widened in thoughtless, wordless shock.

He stumbled back a few paces, but she matched him with a quick stride forwards. That adamant finger came up once again to point in his face. "I may have lost my friends, perhaps forever. I may be in danger and I may be killed the moment I return home - but that doesn't matter to me. I've always had a reason for the things I've done. I've never been without conviction, and therefore I've never been without self-respect - which is more than you will ever be able to say for yourself."

And, she slapped him again, matched his backwards stumble, again. He pressed a hand to the inflamed skin of his face. "I don't imagine it's easy to be you, Malfoy. I've seen enough of your father - I know enough of him. But if you think that's an excuse to barrel your way through life with your head down, shrouding yourself in your own cowardice at the expense of others, you're wrong. You're still accountable, and you'll never hear otherwise from me."

And, she slapped him again.

Well, she attempted a slap, which he blocked, but then she only changed hands and struck him with her left. He gave a sharp cry, but he didn't stumble this time. Finally, her eyes grew glassy with unshed tears.

"You will never," She took a step closer; if she merely raised to the tips of her toes, their noses might have bumped. "Touch me again. You will keep your hands off me, or you will pay."

With only a look of insipid hatred she strode towards the dungeon door and flung it open.

Once she was gone, Draco moved his hand away from his face. He wondered how long she'd held in those tears. It seemed to have taken hours to extract them from her.

"Repairo," He muttered, wand trained on the mess on the floor. As the shattered pieces of his mortar bowl mended themselves, he slumped into his stool. Regret, of all things, threatened to overcome.

Author's Note:

It's currently past two but I had to get this up or I knew I'd never sleep. I hope you all enjoy it. I'll be up here tomorrow to respond more thoroughly to the comments left with last chapter. And thank you, as always, for the ongoing support!

Don't be afraid to be honest!