Chapter Ten - To Be a Grindylow

Draco ran a hand over his mouth and sighed; it was time to leave. She wasn't coming, and he was hungry. But was he surprised? No, he couldn't say that. Two weeks had passed already since that blowout with Granger. Two weeks, and four lessons she'd conveniently forgotten now.

The usual course of action after each time she stood him up was to catch up with her, and it was never hard to find her. She never avoided him, and she was perfectly civil when they did interact. He'd approach her while she studied alone in the library, or get her attention after class. And he'd ask her what her problem was.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I've just got so much to handle." She's say, without a hint of reproach in her tone. "I'm sure you can study alone later on. You've all but caught up now, I think."

But she wouldn't look at him, not really. Her eyes would flick to his for the most transient of moments, and then they would focus on something else, like the beds of her nails or the cover of her book.

Each time, he asked her when their next lesson would be. What he truly wanted to know was whether or not she was going to cancel them altogether, whether he'd ever meet her in the dungeon again. But to ask such a thing directly would be like the admission to something he never wanted to speak aloud.

She would frown thoughtfully for a moment, and then she would sigh lightly. "I guess we'll see."

The eyes would flicker to his, and then the eyes would focus away from him. He'd wonder ridiculously whether he was there at all.

This time, however, was different. Now, he understood that Granger had given up the lessons the moment she tore through the classroom door.

He looked round at the things he'd brought - the powdered moonstone, the mortar and pestle. She'd left them behind when he last saw her. It occurred to him that Granger may have purchased these ingredients herself. She might've borrowed from Slughorn's store, or been given funds, but it seemed more likely that she'd order them and pay for them on her own.

The perfectionist in her would demand for all aspects to be under her control. She'd even drawn up a syllabus, for Merlin's sake. She'd done all this to teach someone she hardly liked. And it was a feat of will to picture this as laughable, as something that did nothing to cause him regret or guilt.

Still, however... Perhaps he would find her, just to return her things.

While the term had so far been more hectic than any previously experienced, Hermione had so far been able to tie up any loose ends in her coursework over the weekends. And, now that she had two more hours every week to herself, she even began to believe that she really might get on top of it all.

She used every free period for any upcoming assignments, and now that she no longer had many people to talk to, she could use her lunch and dinner times to study as she ate. No interruptions from Ron, who might puncture any moment with a chicken leg waved in her face as something absurd flew from his mouth. No more Harry, leant in with an urgent expression and whispers about Death Eaters and conspiracies.

Of course, the caveat of this meant she was no longer apart of the laughs she watched them share sometimes, in moments of weakness when she would break from study and glance down at them all clustered together. It broke her heart to see them that way, quite frankly. It was as though they'd all had their memories wiped of her completely.

Though, sometimes the way they ignored her seemed too deliberate - especially in close proximity to them, as she often was during Charms.

Now, she sat on a patch of soft grass which faced the Black Lake. She stared at its surface as her Defense text book lay in front of her, neglected. She thought again and again of her friends, of how deeply she missed just being near them, in their company.

She shut her eyes, so tight she could hear the strain of her muscles as a static hum within her skull. She didn't want to cry again, not after having done it at such an inconvenient moment the last time. She never wanted another person to see her that way again. It was true that she was, as a rule, a highly emotional being. But the emotions of what her life had become were so much more real, intrinsic and raw; the sort of vulnerabilities people don't like to showcase.

Which, was probably why it made her cheeks burn with a red, nearly sweat-inducing vengeance whenever she recalled the way she'd cried in front of Malfoy. She settled further against the squat little tree that supported her, and nuzzled her chin more deeply into the folds of her scarf. The wind was biting that day, but that held a certain charm.

She watched a ripple across the reflective surface of the Black Lake grow in circumference.

What was Hogwarts without her friends?

A certain day, from only a few months ago cropped back up into memory. She'd begun to question the safety of the castle, given in to perilous musings, but something brought her out of them. It had been the sight of Harry, as he'd smiled down his shoulder at Ginny who scribbled notes, oblivious. It had been that Hermione had once again been near them, with them, speaking to them; that had made all the hazard and looming doom seem worth it.

Draco had probably been right, when he'd said that she was only "shoving herself down his throat", because she was all alone. He'd hit the nail right on the head. He'd struck the target, he'd whacked the mole.

And, quite suddenly, Hermione realised she was being trampled.

"Oh, I'm sorry - do forgive me."

It was Luna Lovegood. She sounded more flustered and animated than Hermione had ever heard her. Her round blue eyes focused on Hermione as she extricated herself from the mess she'd created.

"Hello Hermione, I didn't see you sitting here." She said, back to her wonted sanguine tone.

"Obviously." Hermione sniffed, and dabbed the sleeve of her robes into her eyes to do away with those unshed tears. "What are you doing here, Luna?"

"I always come to the lake on Saturdays." Luna's voice at that moment was like a soft breeze to Hermione's ears. The phrase "starved for company" floated through her mind's eye...

Luna's eyes scanned the lake before them. "Quite a peaceful sight, is it not?" She said. "The closest thing to remind me of home."

"Sure, it's nice." Hermione agreed softly.

For minutes on end the two girls simply say together under the tree. It was a shame Luna couldn't always be so benign. Absently, she turned her pale eyes onto Hermione.

"Have you been crying, Hermione?"

"Did it really take you that long to notice?" Hermione replied, immediately defensive. "Aren't Ravenclaws supposed to be observant?"

"I noticed." Luna replied, rather dryly. But as she went on her voice once again took on that sanguine quality. "It was hard to miss. I only thought it would be more polite if I waited for you to finish before I asked."

"How kind of you," Hermione huffed a laugh in spite of herself. "Although, perhaps the most appropriate thing to do would have been to ignore it altogether."

Luna pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I would have, but I thought since you've got no one else to ask you at the moment, you might like to have a chance to talk about it." She said. "My father always says that bad feelings should be let out of their cages. Otherwise they try to claw their way out on their own."

"I'd really rather not talk about it, Luna, thank you." Hermione said patiently. In her usual way of unperturbed peace, Luna only looked away and fell into examination of the lake once more.

However, only a few moments passed before she began to speak again.

"There's a river that flows near the house I live in with my father. As a little girl I loved to swim deep into it - as deep as I could get. I'd turn myself over in the water and just marvel as I floated up, and up, and up - at the way the light broke into dancing fractals upon the stiller parts of the river's surface. From the proper angle, that surface always looked to me more like a portal into another world, made from some sort of sapphire plasma." Luna looked at Hermione, who knew she must appear perplexed. "I thought, if only I could get to that other world, I could find a place that understood. But I've since learned that place is just another view of the world I'm in now."

"I... I'm not following, Luna." Hermione admitted.

"I know what it's like to be alone," Luna said, by way of reply. "Most people don't understand me, so they don't typically like me. We have that in common, wouldn't you say?"

This caused some discomfort... not only because Luna happened to compare them in such a sad matter, but also because she felt sure that Luna considered her to be one of those who couldn't comprehend her. She briefly recalled the first time they'd met, and how it ended with Luna calling Hermione narrow-minded.

"Sometimes," Luna continued. "All you really need is to be alone. After all, one's mind speaks the loudest to them if no one else will. Change your perspective, and marvel at those fractals, because they always exist, whether you see them or not. A kinder world is all around us. The both of us only have friends through other people. But, if you ask me, you and I are smarter than most people, and we care more than most people, and I think that means eventually we'll be happier than we are now."

Hermione, perhaps for the first time, really looked at Luna.

"Aren't you happy, Luna?"

"I'm happy. Yes..." Luna's face tilted towards the grass; her ethereal features were softened even further with a small smile, seemingly meant for herself, or some inner secret. "I'm happy. But I think you know what I mean."

Neither of them spoke, once again, for a long time. It was a wonder how uncharacteristically wise Luna seemed now. Although, was it uncharacteristic? Up until this moment, Hermione had heard nothing from this small, wide-eyed girl other than nonsense about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and goblin-related conspiracies. But she knew nothing else about Luna, save for her enrollment with Ravenclaw, for which there had to be a reason.

In the middle of Hermione's musings, Luna spoke once more.

"I was looking for you, you know. And I'd only just given up when I came down here. Funny, that."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Professor McGonagall ran into me outside the Great Hall after lunch, and she's asked me to tell you that the Headmaster wishes to speak with you."

"Why didn't you say earlier?" Exasperation lanced her tone as she stood up and dusted the dead leaves from the back of her robes.

Luna shrugged, apparently unbothered. "He probably only wants to hear about what happened between Harry and Draco Malfoy. I thought it was best to let you calm down before sending you along." Then, as though it had just occurred to her, she added, "Are you friends with Draco Malfoy? Everyone knows you two have spent more time together than usual."

Hermione felt a bubble of sardonic laughter escape her lips. "No, Luna. he and I could never be friends."

As Hermione turned to leave, she stopped, suddenly wanting to say something meaningful to this girl, who'd unthinkingly offered such comfort.

Lamely enough, all her brain came up with was, "Thank you, Luna."

"See you, Hermione." Was the dreamy reply. Luna's gaze drifted lazily back towards the lake, as she probably began to picture herself as a Grindylow.

Draco's first priority as Saturday afternoon approached was to go to Madam Pomfrey for some sort of cure for his blasted headache. Perhaps she would give him a small store of whatever she had available; it seemed a common trend for him to sport a throbbing cranium for days at a time.

They weren't typical headaches, like the sort he'd grown accustomed to from reading without proper light, or chugging along without sleep. These devils sprouted up somewhere near the base of his skull, like some malignant, all-consuming weed; its roots unfurled through every nerve in his brain. They only seemed to abate when he was able to keep his focus from the pain; but the pain was often so intense that no trick of will could stifle it.

He'd decided on the longest route he could have possibly taken to the hospital wing (he'd even passed it once in order to make another loop) so that he could cut outside of the castle walls. Fresh air, he'd heard, could do wonders, and Merlin knew he'd had none of that. He eventually started down a loggia which extended along the ground level of the West face of the castle.

It was habit, now, to stare at his feet as he walked; but an impulse seized him to look up, to take in the view of the grounds exposed to him between twisted pillars of stone. And, he saw Granger, settled underneath a gum tree by the Black Lake.

He stopped short.

He'd made a plan on Thursday to find her, certainly - to give her back her things. However, something in the view she created gave a strong impression that to approach her would result in catastrophe. Even if he'd had a thousand galleons to give her and the Dark Lord's liver in a canvas rucksack, she'd've probably cursed him into dust and danced upon the sight of his death.

There was no telling how he knew this - from this distance he could hardly make out that it was even Granger under that tree - but the impression was too strong to ignore.

As he watched, a figure with a stooped head and arms that swung wildly with each step drew closer and closer to where Granger sat; until finally, the newcomer collapsed over her and they fell into a tangle of body parts. From where he stood Draco could hear Granger squeal, and he smiled in the throes of greatest amusement as he recognised Looney Lovegood.

Draco didn't know many things about Lovegood, but she had a reputation for oddness that made most people avoid her - except when half-witted tricks were played at her expense. Granger, he knew, had a low tolerance for nonsense.

And yet, once the pair had untangled themselves, they simply sat under the tree together and gazed off into separate directions. Draco was transfixed, rooted to the spot.

He thought of the colour-coded chart in his bag, which listed the ingredients for the Draught of Peace they'd never finished. He wasn't sure why he still carried it. Maybe the thing vexed him, with the way she'd even cast a protective charm over the parchment in order to keep it from getting mussed over use. She was forever doing things like that, he realised. Little things, small things that no one else in their right mind would think to do. Because, really, what was the point of the charm? Wasn't he only meant to use that chart once? What was the point of the chart itself, even, when there was a perfectly good outline in the Potions text?

He recalled his own words, shouted so hatefully in her face. Bookish, Mudblood bitch; gutted in the name of purity; slaughtered parents and trapped husbands.

And now, a vivid flashback to the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup came - when he'd threatened Granger after she and her friends stumbled upon him in their attempt to escape the chaos. He'd only done it to get a satisfactory rise out of Potter, and especially Weasley who had ill-concealed feelings for her. Only now did it really hit him that if Lucius had chanced to see Hermione, if he'd caught her as she fled the campsite, he'd have whisked her right up there with those muggles. And, if the catastrophe had started after Voldemort's return, those muggles would have been murdered.

They all - the Death Eaters, that is - knew who Granger was. They hated her as purely and unheedingly as they hated the blood-traitor Weasley's. She really would be killed. They would kill her.

He'd thrown that barb at her - sure, you bet, loads of times - so much that the words meant practically nothing to him. But it was the truth, and the sudden light of that, with its tinny, pale cruelty, made his stomach roil.

Despite what everyone in the world seemed to think, violence was not Draco's forte. It never had been. He was on the cowardly side, even he could not deny that. The sight of blood made him nauseated, and tortured cries were not exactly easy-listening music to his ears. But, beyond that, such darkness was offensive to him.

This was perhaps the very first moment that he even realised this about himself, but it was so stark now - terrifying enough to make his toes curl in his shoes.

Another memory tried to surface, one from the previous summer he'd spent in such close proximity with his estranged aunt and her cohorts, but he refused it. It was pure instinct, to refuse that memory. His mind did it on its own.

Then, all at once, the memory he wouldn't recall vanished back into its dank hidey-hole in subconsciousness once he noticed when Lovegood seemed to turn her head, seemed to say something to Granger... And then, hadn't she replied? Yes, they were having a conversation.

The desire to know what they were saying swept over him in a frenzy.

In the breath of a moment completely void of rational though, Draco extracted his wand from the pocket of his trousers and twirled it over his head, as though using a baton to wrap himself in folds of ribbon. A sensation of being enveloped followed as he muttered a hurried, yet purposeful incantation under his breath. He held his hands in front of his face to check his work; once again, Draco had managed to pull of the closest degree of invisibility one could hope to achieve though the Disillusionment Charm.

That's talent, he thought.

Of course, if anyone had looked intentionally at Draco, they would notice the way the light bent superficially round his figure, but who would know where to look? If he could just sneak up to them, no sound, at the proper angle...

But, no. That was very creepy, wasn't it?

But, hadn't she followed him that day in Diagon Alley?

Well, yes, but she'd done it because he was, admittedly, up to something dastardly.

But - what was she bloody thinking about it all?

His hesitation would be the deciding factor: just as he was about to vault over the wide stone balustrade in front of him and jog down to the lake, a smattering of voices chirped from his left. He practically had to throw himself back to keep Potter from making impact with his disguised form. He and Weasley pulled themselves up and sat on the spot of the balustrade in front of Draco.

Their legs dangled over the side at they chuckled heartily between themselves, and the sounds of their vapid cheer made Draco squirm with antipathy.

"I can't believe it's still so funny." Weasley chortled, and wiped an index finger under his eye.

"I don't think I'll ever forget the look on your face." Potter laughed as he let his school bag drop from his shoulders onto the floor behind him. "Just dangling there, with your knickers bunched up at your arse."

"You can use that on Malfoy next time." Ron said, but before Potter could respond, he seemed to have caught sight of Granger. "Hey - Hermione's down there."

"And? I'm not avoiding her. She's the one keeping herself away."

"I'm really not sure what you expected her to do." Ron said. "She does what she believes is right. You used to admire that about her."

"Too bad she's wrong in this case."

Over Potter's shoulder, Draco could see Granger stand and say something over her shoulder to Lovegood, and then she walked away. The chance to hear what she'd said had vanished. Though he knew even then that this was probably for the best, the impulse to smack the back of Potter's block of a head nearly overcame sense.

But, his glance happened upon that rucksack - a nice secondary option. It seemed to glow with invitation behind the two dolts, who'd moved onto the topic of Quidditch. Draco lunged forwards quietly and opened Potter's rucksack to rifle through its contents with deft fingers.

There was no particular goal in mind; this was the mere desire to take something that might mean something to the blasted half-wit. Book after book met his grasp, as well as an immense fold of yellowed parchment that appeared blank upon discreet inspection. And, in the end another second-best was all he was given, as his fingers close upon Potter's copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

Taking the text would accomplish nothing - Potter may not even notice its absence - but the symbolism would have to do. It could be something of a token. And so, Draco lifted the book from Potter's bag and stowed it in his robes, clamped under his armpit. His internal temperature seemed to skyrocket from the exhilaration of having stolen from such an oaf.

From the time he left Potter and Weasley, through his journey to the Slytherin dormitories, right up until he lit a radiant fire in the hearth of his room; Draco broke into occasional, chuffed chortles.

He tossed Potter's book into the flames, where it landed upon the logs with a sound of splintered wood. Runners of embers exploded, the way autumn leaves might burst from under the body of a child who'd just thrown himself into a pile of them. He watched as the thing was transformed into ash, and a contented smile rested unchecked across his features.

Fortunately, finding Professor McGonagall was not at all difficult. The moment Hermione stepped through the doors into the entrance hall, she could hear McGonagall bark at Peeves the Poltergeist, who'd once again begun to wreak havoc. This time, he did so by pulling the tales of students' shirts as he whizzed past them, so he could yank them with him for several feet before he'd release them.

After Peeves had zoomed away with his patented cackle, McGonagall turned to Hermione and nearly collided with her. Her mouth was fixed in a line of fury that looked as though it would be permanent.

"I apologise, Miss Granger, you came out of nowhere." She said, once Hermione had jumped back in alarm. "It'll be the day when Peeves is banished from these walls forever."

"I see he's caused you trouble again," Hermione gave a smile of commiseration. "Though, I've actually come to find you. I've just been with Luna Lovegood, and she's told me-"

"Yes, yes, the Headmaster is looking for you." McGonagall gave an impatient wave. "He's probably in his office as we speak - you'll want to go see him now, if you can. You'll need the password -" Here she leaned in and spoke lowly. "It's 'lemon merengue'"

"Thank you Professor."

"Yes, well, off you pop, Miss Granger." As Hermione turned away she heard the professor mutter, "Enjoy your youth while you have it - everything gets harder when you're older."

The journey towards the Headmaster's office only provided time, in which anxiety could fester. An angry, resentful Dumbledore was hard to imagine, but bitter disappointment? She'd failed; in both the post she suspected he personally gave her as Malfoy's tutor, and in his desire for her to seek Harry's confidence. She'd failed miserably.

As the gargoyle came into view, Hermione stood before it and spoke the password with more stability in her voice than could currently be felt. The gargoyle leapt aside, and Hermione stepped up the spiral staircase with the heartbeat of a hummingbird's wings.

She knocked on the Headmaster's door, heard him call, "enter," and in she stepped.

The light fell as usual upon Dumbledore's desk, but he stood behind it, turned towards the wall of portraits; he'd been speaking to one of them, whom Hermione had been unable to glimpse before they walked from their frame and out of sight.

His hands were clasped behind his back as he greeted Hermione. He turned his head over shoulder and gave a smile that appeared easy enough.

"You've no doubt heard that I wished to see you?" He swept his hand in the direction of the armchair on the other side of his desk. Hermione nodded as she took the seat, and Dumbledore followed her lead. "I had hoped you might turn up sooner, rather than later. Thank you for your time again, Hermione. It does not escape me that I seem to have demanded quite a lot of it, as of late."

"Don't mention it." Hermione said. She knotted her hands in her lap and chewed her bottom lip.

When the Headmaster was silent, she looked up and found him peering at her with a keen expression.

"Why do you always seem to anticipate the worst when we meet?" He asked with a mixture of concerned amusement. "I will tell you the same thing I told you last time, if only to set your mind at ease: you are not in any trouble, Hermione."

"Oh! No, sir." Hermione blurted, her cheeks turning pink.

Dumbledore quite rightly pretended not to notice. He cast his eyes away to stare casually out the window. "I have only called you here to ask you to describe what transpired between Harry and Mr Malfoy, once everyone returned from Hogsmeade."

Hermione rather stammered her way through a narrative which outlined every detail of that day she could recall. The Headmaster had no doubt had Harry's account the moment Dumbledore returned to the castle; perhaps he knew that Harry would be less than unbiased.

Once the narrative was finished, however - before she could stop herself - she began to tell Dumbledore of everything that had happened afterwards, how Harry and Ron now refused to speak with her; how they resented her defense of Malfoy; how she'd given up the Potions lessons; and, how she'd been virtually alone, for what already felt like years.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Dumbledore," She finished pitifully. "I really don't know what to do - I can't think of a thing to say to either of them. Ron and Ginny aren't really mad, but they're too worried for Harry to go against him. They won't even look at me. I know how important it is to stay close to Harry, but he won't even look at me."

Instead of a direct reply, Dumbledore gave only questions, at first. Quietly, kindly spoken questions, but nothing that could act as any sort of balm to the tempest of unease.

"Draco was with you all day, you say?"

"Yes, and more importantly, he was with me when Katie was cursed."

"Harry knows this, of course?"

"Yes," Hermione said, then felt the need to add. "He knows my account, but I don't think it matters to him. I'm not sure he believes me."

"Has Mr Weasley likewise not accepted that truth?"

"I think Ron understands, but he's more concerned with keeping Harry calm." Hermione licked her lips nervously. "Forgive me, Professor, but I've already told you all of this."

"Quite right, you have." Dumbledore inclined his head solemnly. "However, at this age, I require everything in absolute clarity before I can think properly."

Hermione wished that he would say something - anything - about his feelings on the subject. She wished he would profess his disappointment, or tell her how to make things right. All she really lacked, she supposed, was some sort of direction to take. If Dumbledore told her to apologise to Harry, no matter how it grated against her pride, she would have done it, if only because Dumbledore always knew best; and, doing nothing seemed to be the worst part of her existence at this point.

But for several minutes Professor Dumbledore was lost in his own musings; until, "Forgive me," uttered lowly.

The light from the sun which flooded the richly decorated office suddenly dulled and greyed. Hermione imagined the great ball of fire sheathed in a thick, stormy cloud.

"Professor," Hermione shook her head. "I'm the one who should apologise - again. I've failed on all counts."

"You have not failed me, Hermione." Dumbledore, to her surprise, chuckled lightly as he twiddled his thumb and leaned in. "In fact, I would not change a thing about your actions on the day Miss Bell was cursed, nor any actions you've taken since."

Hermione felt her mouth hang open slightly, felt each breath she took in dry her tongue even further. She had no response.

"I am sure you understand why it is dangerous for Harry to keep on this track of obsessions, regarding Mr Malfoy?" Hermione could only nod, yet still Dumbledore went on to explain. "He cannot lose sight of his real objective, which I have revealed time and time again, each evening I meet with him. The overwhelming truth of the situation is it does not matter a bit whether Draco is a Death Eater, or completely innocent, as there is nothing Harry can do about it either way. He must focus on the goal ahead.

"He has rather allowed himself to become blinded by prejudice, has allowed himself to become distracted. This is no doubt aided by Draco's antagonistic nature, but it was Harry's choice alone to push you away. You have done nothing to warrant it, as from what you've told me, you were only trying to play the part of a true friend."

His eyes, which had only moments ago bored into Hermione's with that usual precision, softened. The look held a weight that was nearly too much to bear. She had to avert her stare to the nameplate upon the professor's desk to avoid the pity she found in his face.

"At this moment, you feel more alone than you ever have." He continued. "I should think you would not choose such a path for yourself lightly. You have only done what anyone would expect of an upstanding individual: You've defended someone you wholly believe to be innocent, despite the fallout that would follow. Harry needs such people in his life, people who will not allow for his whims or sit back while he distracts himself from more painful thoughts and actions."

"But, how am I to fix it?" She asked. "I know that I need to - and I want to, so badly. I miss them every single moment of the day. But they won't even look at me, sir."

She heard the armchair across from her creak a little as Dumbledore adjusted his position; and when he next spoke, it was with a grave sadness.

"I will only say this once more, Hermione: You have done nothing wrong. You cannot continue to abuse yourself so, or your mind will cease to be the sharp tool you and I value so highly." He waited, and when Hermione finally looked up at him, he went on. "Harry has made his own choices, and Mr Weasley has, of course, acted in the way he deemed most wise. But things will not remain this way. I can nearly promise you that."

"Have I done the right thing?" She, frankly, could not believe it at times. "Malfoy is insufferable. He's been so from the first day of knowing him. He may not be evil, but he enjoys being mean. He enjoys toying with Harry and putting down anyone who crosses his path. Is it right, to allow that?"

"There is a difference, you must remember, between allowing meanness and refusing to respond to it in kind, or with violence. But - it is interesting you pose the question in such a fashion." Dumbledore's tone had shifted into something lighter, as though they'd suddenly veered into the discussion of film theories. "You were right, Hermione, Draco Malfoy is not evil. And yet everyone who knows him seems to think he is, wouldn't you say? Or, at the very least, they expect evil to work through him.

"Only last year Harry himself was the pariah of the wizarding world. Very few could look at him without branding him insane, or desperate and starved for attention. He was ostracised by his fellow students, the parents of those fellow students, and hundreds of thousands of other faceless witches and wizards; all of whom thought him a malingerer... or a crackpot, as the Prophet was fond of expressing it.

"And still, Harry had more than Draco Malfoy has: Harry had in his arsenal two loyal friends, and the Order of the Phoenix. He had those who believed in him, and trusted in him. And Draco? Who has he got?"

This time, Dumbledore studied her face quietly until Hermione realised it was a prompt.

"He's got no one?"

"Precisely - He hasn't got anyone. Not even his parents, who most likely expect the worst from him as much as any student out there in those halls." Dumbledore's voice dropped, nearly to a murmur, as though Hermione had melted from his frame of mind. "Anyone will go bad, if enough people believe that is their fate. Anyone would cease to want to be good, when not a single person believes they are capable of it."

Hermione mulled those words over with such focus that she hardly noticed as Dumbledore's pause grew into a full minute of silence. When he appeared to re-enter the atmosphere, he looked to Hermione again, and said, "What you did for him was beyond honorable, Hermione, because you are, most likely, the only person in his life who would have done so for him for a noble reason."

Hermione scoffed bitterly. "It isn't as if he appreciates it." She muttered.

Dumbledore chuckled once again, and this time Hermione found herself smiling along with him. "No," he said between breaths. "I should say not - not on the surface, at any rate."

After a moment, Hermione said softly, "I feel silly."

"Why should you? You have been under a tremendous amount of stress. Normal human emotions do not make a silly person.

"However, I would like to ask that you keep an open mind in regards to Draco." Dumbledore continued, back to business. "The same as I would with you to for Harry. Should either of them wish to make amends, I hope that you will consider them. I imagine Harry must feel some guilt, knowing him as well as I do. Draco may be another story, but we may hope that he somehow learns the art of remorse."

"Of course, sir."

They sat a moment longer. Hermione had hardly begun to fidget when Dumbledore observed, "Is there something else you wish to ask me?"

"Actually, yes - but I thought it better to keep it to myself." She said. "I don't want to overstep."

"If one of us is considered to be overstepping, one might safely say that it is I." Dumbledore smiled frankly. "As ever, I welcome your queries."

"Was it really Professor Snape's idea to pair Draco with me for study?" Hermione spoke in a rush, now that permission had been secured. "Was it Slughorn's suggestion, even? Or were you behind it?"

Dumbledore's smile grew wider, and he adopted a glimmer to his eye.

"It was my idea, of course." Dumbledore said. "Can you think of why I might have done so?"

"Well I imagine it has to do with what you said a moment ago. About how Draco doesn't have anyone in his corner."

"That is certainly part of it - yes."

"Why not someone else?" Hermione questioned. "Why not someone he actually had a chance of holding in some esteem? He can't stand me, Professor. And, to be honest, the feeling is mutual."

"You've already proven yourself capable, Hermione." Dumbledore replied. "You took up his cause - not as a means to get him out of trouble, or help him manipulate others; but out of pure belief that he was innocent. I remain positive that Draco understands the worth of your actions, even if he never admits it. Regardless, there is also the matter of who Draco Malfoy is.

"As I have said, he is not evil by any stretch, but he is surrounded by influences who are, and who would push him to be so as well. It would not do, to leave Mr Malfoy to his own devices in a time like this. He needs to be watched, as much as such a thing goes against my conscience." Dumbledore's expression had become grim. "There are many students, I know, who would be more than capable of helping Draco with his studies. However, you are muggleborn, and the brightest witch to take residence in this castle. I think Draco's exposure to you - a direct contradiction of Voldemort's "pure-blood" dogma - will be most effective in reaching what is undoubtedly a very troubled soul."

"I appreciate that sir, really. Only... I have to disagree. I think I'm the last person on this planet who could ever reach Draco Malfoy."

"Perhaps you are right, but what is the harm in trying?" Dumbledore straightened in that unique fashion, which always seemed to bespeak the close of their conversations. "I only ask that you provide the same sort of support to Harry and Draco that you have been wont to show. That isn't to say that I expect you to forgo your own sense of morality or judgement. Simply be open to them. Simply be there in the event that they choose to grow."

Hermione nodded, but her thoughts were a tumult. Never had she doubted Dumbledore - she did not doubt him even now - but she thoroughly doubted herself. She doubted Malfoy. And the echo of Draco's words, his accusation that her dear friends considered themselves well shot of her, seemed to play as the essence of her insecurity. Suppose it was true. Suppose everyone considered themselves well shot of her. What sort of help could she then offer anyone?

As she departed, the smile Albus wore wavered into the frown he'd held back for some time. He thought of the way she'd nearly cried in front of him; her insistence that no one would look at her; and he felt a stinging sort of contempt for himself. For having meddled in her life so freely.

However, any and all meddling would prove necessary in the end, wouldn't it? It was all for the greater good. He only regretted that the lives he shaped were so young, so green, so inexperienced in the grand scheme of things. He only hoped that they - that Harry, Hermione, even Draco Malfoy - would come to realise their own potential and strength.

Albus cast his eyes down to his hand, blackened and grotesque.

So little time. A faint thought. There can never be enough, but certainly, I need more than I have.

And slowly, his thoughts trailed back to poor Katie Bell, a completely innocent soul who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time; and he wondered, for the thousandth time, how Draco had managed to cause such damage from within the castle walls. The young man was stalling, that much was obvious. The attempt at Albus' life had been callous, ill-timed and ill-judged, but this was, somehow, a favourable sign. A sign that Draco was unwilling.

Yet, his carelessness had nearly caused Miss Bell her life. It had nearly cost Draco his own, Albus was sure.

So many intricacies... His mind continued to whisper at him, and he cloaked his face with his good hand as his shoulders heaved with an immense, weary sigh.

Author's Note:

Thanks again to M for the kind review, I'm really glad you've enjoyed the story so far, and I totally agree with you! Although, keep in mind that to Harry, his actions make sense and he's not trying to be a bad friend. I think I'd be pretty peeved too, if no one believed I was right about an assassination attempt lol.

I know the last chapter was hard to get through, Malfoy said some of the worst things he ever has. But, he needs to have those walls smashed to pieces if he and Hermione are ever going to actually be friends. So, the road will be full of nuances and a lot of toxicity as Draco learns how to stifle those beliefs he's been indoctrinated with.

This chapter is a bit longer, so I'm sorry about that but I can never seem to keep it at a four-thousand word average. Don't forget to follow if you like the story, and feel free to voice any criticism - that's what the reviews are for!