Chapter 11: Lessons

When Draco slipped into the common room it was empty, to his great relief. He'd felt much better after flying for a few hours, but now his head was spinning again. Even without showing her face Hermione had done a very poor job concealing her horror at what, until twenty minutes ago, Draco had thought was an unfortunate but normal part of growing up. Now, he wasn't sure what to think.

No small part of him felt defensive; yes, his father's lessons made him tired. Exhausted, really, but how could anyone expect to achieve anything without a bit of hard work? And yes, he had a penchant for vicious criticism, but was it better to let Draco think he did everything perfectly? And all right, he'd been terrified before coming to school that doing magic would always make his insides ache and feel empty at the same time, but that had stopped, hadn't it? Besides, now he could master spells his classmates wouldn't dream of attempting until they were much older, and never struggled in lessons. So it was good, wasn't it, that his father had prepared him so well?

But on the other hand, there was no use denying that it had hurt, waiting with bated breath for a word of praise when he managed something quickly, and the excruciating silence that stretched endlessly between a failed attempt and his father's displeasure. It made him feel horribly small and powerless, even made him wonder, once or twice, whether his parents would love him if he couldn't be the son they wanted. He shook his head firmly. That was enough.

At that moment the entrance to the common room slid open and Theo slipped through it. For a moment they froze, each startled by the abrupt appearance of the other. As Theo recovered and crossed the room to join Draco by the fire, a realization struck him, bringing with it an immense sense of relief. Hermione had been brought up by Muggles. Of course she might be surprised by the way wizards raised their children, but she simply didn't understand.

"How did you know you were a wizard?" asked Draco, after a moment. Theo frowned slightly.

"I dunno," he said slowly. "Never questioned it, I suppose." Draco nodded slightly, disappointed but unsure what else he'd expected. After all, wouldn't he have answered the same?

"Did you ever do magic on purpose?" he asked. Theo was quiet for a few moments.

"Sometimes...it was as if I could control peoples' minds," he said carefully. "Make them think I was older if Mum wasn't around...make them forget things, if I needed to."

"Did your mum teach you to do it?" Draco asked at once. He heard how eager he sounded, and willed his heartbeat to slow down. Theo nearly laughed.

"Er-no," he said flatly. "No, definitely not." He paused, giving Draco a scrutinizing look. "Why?"

Draco felt as if something inside him had shattered. He made his best attempt at a casual shrug, hoping against hope that he didn't look as unsettled as he felt.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Never mind." Out of the corner of his eye Draco thought he saw Theo raise a hand slightly, as if to touch him. A split second later, however, Theo was simply staring ahead into the fire, an unreadable expression on his face. Draco likewise turned his gaze toward the flames. He'd been wrong; Hermione hadn't been shocked because she was Muggle-born, she'd been shocked because Draco had told her something shocking.

Memories of his father's lessons shot through his mind, one after another. He was six, and his father had locked him inside the dark cellar until he could let himself out by magic. He was eight, and learning to control the bodies of rabbits passing through the grounds. He was eleven, and couldn't quite manage to levitate that stupid, stupid cup. Suddenly Draco saw all these memories through Hermione's eyes, and their weight nearly crushed him. Tears stung his eyes and he bit them back violently, but a glance at Theo told him the latter hadn't noticed. He was still staring into the fire, clearly very deep in thought. Draco tried to leave, but his body wouldn't move; there was nowhere else for him to go. The two remained frozen for the rest of the night, each trapped in his own thoughts, and it wasn't until the sun crept over the horizon outside that they roused themselves to go to bed.

Hermione didn't find Harry and Ron until the following morning. Knowing it wouldn't be a good idea to stoke their anger before breakfast, she silently let them enjoy their bacon before leading them outside onto the grounds. The snow was nearly up to their knees in places, and the wind blew ice crystals that cut relentlessly at their cheeks, but Hermione scarcely felt the cold or the pain. Harry and Ron, however, complained loudly about both as they trailed behind her.

"Where are we going?!" said Ron crossly, for the third time since they'd left the castle. "Honestly, Hermione, if you don't tell me what we're doing out here I'm turning around and going right back into the castle, I mean it, it's mental out here-"

"If you're quite finished, I've got something to tell you," Hermione interrupted, stopping under a secluded grove near the edge of the lake. Harry and Ron caught up, panting slightly.

"And you've had to bring us to the Arctic Circle to do it?" grumbled Ron.

"Yeah, come on, Hermione. It's freezing out here," added Harry.

"You're not going to like it," Hermione told them flatly. "So you've got to keep quiet until I've completely finished speaking, and you've got to trust me. All right?" Harry and Ron looked at one another, both frowning deeply now. After a moment they turned back to Hermione and nodded.

"Yeah, all right," said Harry. "We trust you." Hermione took a deep, steadying breath.

"We can't go ahead with the Polyjuice Potion," she said quickly, without looking at them. "I know you're convinced it's Draco, but I really don't think it is, and in any case, this isn't the right way to go about it. I'm sorry I told you we could go ahead with the plan, but we've got to call it off now."

There was a very long silence.

"We've been working on that potion for nearly a month!" shouted Ron, looking furious. "What d'you mean, it's not the right way to go about it?!"

"I mean, I was wrong when I agreed to do it," said Hermione. Her insides were trembling slightly, but her voice was firm and steady. "It's not right to manipulate Draco that way, and I really don't think we're going to find anything out that we don't already know." Ron's face was beginning to turn scarlet now. Harry, on the other hand, had gone pale and was staring at Hermione as though he'd never properly seen her before.

"You told him." Harry's voice was deadly calm, and it sent shivers down Hermione's spine. She'd never heard him speak that way before.

"I didn't," she insisted, looking directly into Harry's eyes for the first time. "I promise you that I didn't."

"What happened, then?" Harry demanded.

"Nothing. I've just thought about it, and it isn't right."

"Well, it's a bit bloody late for that, isn't it?!" Ron exploded.

"Seriously, Hermione, what did he say to you?!" Harry insisted, and now he, too, raised his voice. Hermione hesitated. She couldn't tell them what Draco had told her-they wouldn't understand, anyway-but there wasn't any point pretending nothing had happened. Harry and Ron weren't stupid.

"I can't tell you," she said finally, knowing as the words left her mouth that they were a mistake.

"Oh, well that's just brilliant, isn't it?" snapped Ron, rolling his eyes.

"It's not what you think, I just can't tell you!" Hermione repeated, hating the way her voice rose nearly an octave.

"If you're so concerned about manipulating him, have you stopped to consider that maybe he's manipulating you?" said Harry forcefully.

"Of course I have," Hermione told him, forcing her voice to sound level. "Harry, I've thought about every single possibility, and I'd really think that by now, you'd know that."

"What about the possibility that you're wrong?" Ron retorted. "That's bound to happen once in a while, believe it or not."

"Of course it is, but I'm not wrong about this," said Hermione vehemently. Harry and Ron had opened their mouths furiously, but she raised a hand to silence them. "Harry, last year when you thought Snape was trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone, I trusted you. On Halloween, when you started hearing voices Ron and I couldn't, I trusted you. Now, I'm asking you to trust me."

"It's not you, it's him we don't trust," muttered Ron darkly.

"Forget Draco," said Hermione, looking directly at Harry and ignoring Ron. "I'm not asking you to trust Draco, I'm just asking you to leave him alone because I trust him." There was a long moment during which Harry looked at the ground and said nothing. "Harry, I promise, if anything happens to change that, you're the first person I'll tell," Hermione went on. "You do trust me. Don't you?" After what felt like an eternity, Harry looked up.

"I trust you," he said quietly. Ron opened his mouth, looking scandalized, but Harry gave him a quelling look. "You'd just better not make me regret it." Relieved beyond belief, Hermione nodded.

"I won't."

"All right, then," said Harry, and with that, he turned and made his way back up the path to the castle. After a moment, seeming at a loss for what else to do, Ron followed, glancing periodically over his shoulder at Hermione as he went.

Hermione sighed and leaned back against a nearby tree, covering her face with her hands. She could tell Ron didn't agree with Harry, but that was all right. She'd expected as much, and besides, it wasn't as if he'd be able to carry out the plan on his own. Now, however, she was facing what she feared would be an even more unpleasant conversation. Although she'd called off the plan, that didn't change the fact that she'd agreed to it in the first place. She had to tell Draco, and make things right. Otherwise, she'd never be able to live with herself.

The Sunday following the Dueling Club, Draco left a particularly grueling Quidditch practice with the nasty and unwelcome realization that a viciously tricky Potions essay to be handed in Monday had entirely slipped his mind. The events of Friday evening made him very keen to avoid any unnecessary interactions with Snape for a while, and so, though he'd have much rather not, he made his way to the library. To his annoyance, however, he found that a large group of Hufflepuffs were lounging about in his usual spot. They didn't seem to be working, so he prepared his nastiest expression to tell them to sod off. Catching a snippet of their conversation, however, he changed his mind and slipped between two adjoining shelves to listen.

"So anyway," the loudest of the group was saying, "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while." Draco recognized Ernie McMillan, who he'd spoken to perhaps twice and decided was one of the most annoying people he'd ever met. "Of course, Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?" Draco rolled his eyes. These idiots didn't actually think there was any chance Harry Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, did they?

"You definitely think it is Potter then, Ernie?" said a girl with blonde pigtails anxiously.

"Hannah," said Ernie solemnly, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes?" Have you ever met anyone who could talk to snakes, you absolute imbecile? thought Draco. He himself hadn't, and besides, it should've been obvious to anyone with a brain that Potter wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. If this ridiculous theory was gaining traction because of a few idiots who couldn't keep their voices down in the library...well, Potter was in for a very unpleasant few months at Hogwarts, wasn't he? Irritated, Draco shook his head, hating Ernie for the faint stab of pity he felt toward Harry Potter.

"He always seems so nice, though," Hannah was saying uncertainly. "And, well...he's the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad, can he?"

"No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who," Ernie countered, lowering his voice mysteriously so that Draco had to creep closer to catch his next words. "I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens." Ernie paused here, and Draco gritted his teeth. Who on earth, he thought irrationally, used words like smithereens? "That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill him in the first place," Ernie went on, and his self-important tone told Draco he was voicing what he considered to be a highly brilliant and truly revolutionary idea. "Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

Draco had heard enough, and made to step out and demand the Hufflepuffs leave his corner of the library, when another familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello," said Harry Potter. "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchley." Draco stifled a laugh; this should be good.

"What do you want with him?" demanded Ernie, in an attempt at cool aggression which didn't quite land.

"I wanted to tell him what happened with that snake at the Dueling Club." There was a long and very thick silence.

"We were all there. We saw what happened."

"Then you all noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" said Potter, an edge entering his voice.

"All I saw," said Ernie obstinately, "was you speaking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."

"I didn't chase it at him! It didn't even touch him!" cried Potter, in a voice Draco was sure wouldn't help his case. Sure enough, Ernie drew himself up in a clear attempt to look threatening.

"It was a very near miss. And in case you're getting ideas," he added nastily, "I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyones, so-"

"I don't care what sort of blood you've got! Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?"

"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with," said Ernie darkly, and watching the shadow that crossed Potter's face, Draco found himself wrestling once again with that awful feeling of pity. Didn't he know, after all, exactly how it felt to dread going home at the end of the school year?

"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," snapped Potter. "I'd like to see you try it." He turned on his heel and stalked off. By the time Draco realized which direction he was going, it was too late, and Potter had stormed directly into Draco's hiding spot. There was a moment during which they both froze, and Draco could tell it was obvious he'd heard everything. Potter opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He turned as if to leave, and then, before Draco could form a coherent thought, he had whipped back around and his fist was flying toward Draco's face with alarming speed. Draco only just got out of the way in time, and in so doing, stumbled backward into the enormous shelf of books behind which he'd been hiding. The thud of toppling books echoed like rockfall in the enormous, silent library. Heart hammering with cold fury, all fleeting jabs of pity forgotten, Draco steadied himself and drew his wand. Before he could do anything else, however, Madam Pince had descended upon them, looking positively thunderous.

"Enough!" she shrieked. "Out of my library! Out! Out!" Draco fled, Potter close behind him, but they had no sooner rounded the corner that led to the grand staircase than they ran smack into something which stopped them in their tracks and made the color drain out of their faces. Lying immoble, stretched across the corridor with a look of abject horror frozen onto his face, was Justin Finch-Fletchley. There was another figure with him, a few feet away and hovering scarcely a foot off the floor. With a jolt, Draco realized it was Nearly Headless Nick, not translucent as he normally was, but dark and smoking slightly. For what felt like a year they stood, nearly as frozen as the two figures before them, and then the door to their left opened with a bang and Peeves the Poltergeist exploded out of it. He took a moment to survey the scene, and then, to Draco's horror, cackled, flipped upside down in midair, and took an enormous breath.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAAAAACK!" This shocked Draco back to his senses.

"Bye," he sneered, and he shot off down the corridor as doors banged open left and right, not bothering to pause to see how those emerging into the corridor reacted to the sight of Harry Potter, frozen and white as a ghost, towering over the scene of the latest attack.

The following week was a slow and unpleasant one in Gryffindor Tower. Harry was being quite polite and oddly formal, as if he were keeping Hermione at arm's length; Ron wasn't speaking to her unless absolutely necessary. She supposed both were to be expected, and simply focused her efforts on getting a moment alone with Draco.

Most unfortunately, however, Draco seemed to have other ideas. He wasn't avoiding her, precisely, but he seemed uncharacteristically reserved and cautious, as though afraid she'd grow fangs and bite him at a moment's notice. At first she found this frustrating beyond belief, but after a few days of fruitless efforts to entice him to talk to her, she resigned herself to letting it go for the time being. The Christmas holidays would be starting soon, and perhaps if he didn't see her for two weeks, Draco would behave normally again.

Her resolution was tested on the morning they took the Hogwarts Express back to London. Hermione had ridden the carriage down from the castle with Dean and Seamus, who had composed alternative (and rather rude) versions of a few popular Christmas carols, which they sang loudly for the amusement of Parvati and Lavender. Hermione wished they wouldn't; the last week hadn't exactly put her in a jolly mood, and they were giving her a headache. She was very glad when the carriage deposited them on the platform and she could fade into the jostling crowd and look for a quiet compartment to herself. However, she'd no sooner found an empty section at the back of the train than she nearly ran smack into Draco, who seemed to have had the same idea. They stared at one another for a few moments, and something in his face told Hermione he wasn't going to run away from her this time.

"I've got to tell you something," they blurted at the same time. Draco froze, and Hermione forced a laugh.

"You first," she said quickly. Draco nodded slightly and dropped his gaze to the floor, suddenly looking more serious than Hermione had ever seen him.

"Er...what I told you before...I didn't mean…" he paused, seeming to struggle to find the right words. "What I mean is, I didn't realize I was telling you anything…" he trailed off, and Hermione felt as if an invisible giant had squeezed her insides.

"It's all right," she said quickly. "I...are you? All right?" she added after a moment, for he was still staring down at the floor and looked slightly sick. Draco was quiet for what felt like a year.

"I've never thought about it before," he said quietly. "But the way you reacted-I don't blame you," he added hastily, for Hermione had jumped slightly. "But I...you're right. What my father was doing, I...it didn't feel good." These last words were so quiet that Hermione scarcely caught them, and Draco looked as if he expected to be knocked to the floor and beaten at any moment. Hermione felt her heart break. She couldn't imagine being afraid of her parents at all, let alone so afraid that she couldn't even speak about them. Desperately she searched the recesses of her mind for something, anything to say, but everything seemed laughably inadequate.

"I've never told anyone before," Draco went on, without looking at her. "So you can't, either. I-I really don't want them knowing, all right?" Before she could think better of it, Hermione threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He stiffened, but did not resist, and after a moment she felt him relax ever so slightly. As she released him she saw a strange expression cross his face, one she couldn't quite read, but it was gone the moment he saw her looking.

"What did you want to tell me?" he asked, after a moment. Hermione gave a start. She'd momentarily forgotten her reason for seeking him out all week, and now that she finally had his attention, she found that she couldn't bring herself to tell him. There was something fragile about him at that moment, something that simultaneously tugged at her heart and frightened her to the core. If she told him then, she had the impression he might shatter.

"Nothing," she said decisively. "Never mind." He frowned slightly.

"If you say so." He turned then to look out the window at the passing countryside, and Hermione found herself struck by a sudden realization.

"Weren't you going to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays?" she asked. Draco turned toward her and shrugged.

"Changed my mind," he said lightly. She frowned slightly, wondering whether there was more to the story, but it seemed unwise to ask at the moment.

"Dad's got another book for you," she said instead. Draco's face lit up.

"Yeah?" She laughed and shook her head slightly, then pulled the thin, wrapped package her father had sent out of her bag and handed it to Draco.

"It's about witches. It's very silly, but I suppose you'll think it's brilliant." Draco laughed.

"Oh, I've got to know what Muggles have written about witches," he said eagerly.

"You're very odd," she told him, but inside she felt strangely warm, lighter and happier than she'd done in weeks.

"And you should be a bit politer, hasn't anyone ever told you that?" he retorted.

"That's rich, coming from you," said Hermione at once. They laughed, and the remainder of the ride passed in much the same way, the tension between them quite forgotten by the time the train slowed and pulled into King's Cross. As he stepped off the train, Draco turned around to face Hermione, suddenly looking serious again.

"Er-thank you," he said shortly. "For...well, you know." She nodded slightly.

"Thank you for telling me," she blurted, seized by an impulse she would later be at a loss to explain. "I...I'm really glad you're my friend." There it was again, that look she couldn't quite place.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

"Happy Christmas, Draco."