Chapter Twelve - Reconciliation and Deserted Corridors

Though more things had gone wrong of late, than had gone right, Hermione closed the week with relative ease. And as a new Saturday dawned, her brain exited a lovely REM cycle. She could even give a slight smile to the sight of sunshine through her window, though it was rendered flat by what could only have been dense storm clouds. She'd had a wonderful dream, though she couldn't recall a single detail of what it had involved. Its essence remained as she dressed and began to plan her day.

The meeting with Dumbledore was already a week old in her memory, but she still attributed the recent spell of calm to their conversation. He'd not given her much direction, but he'd offered the reassurance she'd needed to do away with the majority of the guilt and heartache that had previously worn to the bone. Plus it very much helped to know that Dumbledore understood her reasons for abandoning the lessons to Draco Malfoy.

Most of the anger she'd felt towards Malfoy was now dormant. She'd hardly forgiven him - how could she, when he hadn't even apologised? But she'd been given a certain distance from the crux of it by the logical conclusion that Draco was little more than a brainwashed cog in the great, dark machine.

After her meeting with Dumbledore, she'd taken an opportunity to examine Draco at dinner that night. This is and of itself was not odd; she'd examined him more this year than she'd ever done before, but that time had been different.

It was impossible not to wonder what it was like to be Draco Malfoy - and she'd had more sympathy for him than most everyone she knew, but deep thought had never really been engaged for more than moments at a time. Last Sunday, as she'd watched Draco droop into semi-sleep over his mutton; she'd been nearly taken aback by a true picture of what life would look like from his perspective. She'd noticed how very sunken and despondent he looked - not for the first time - but this was the first time she'd really questioned just how affected he'd been by forces outside the school. She wondered if he, too, ever feared for his life.

And, instead of encountering his usual expression of disgust he was wont to show whenever they chanced to make eye contact, he'd merely looked dumbfounded. A strong impression came from his countenance, that he'd have tried to share something with her, if there'd been an opportunity. For a brief stint, it seemed that perhaps Dumbledore had known, or suspected something she didn't, when he'd said to keep an open mind in the event Draco apologised.

Well, she'd given him the chance only the Tuesday after, and he hadn't. Nothing came from his mouth that even approached remorse. And it came with sadness, to consider how closely she'd been forced towards the prat, only to learn she'd been wrong... whatever suppositions she'd held about the two of them possibly becoming friends was shucked out the window by Malfoy himself; who'd done his best to make it clear that such an idea was abhorrent to his very nature.

Before an official start of the day could commence, Hermione sat at her window and took in the sight of a boisterous storm, nearly frightful with the violence it wrought about the campus. For Hermione, it was cathartic, in a way. The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling doubtless offered a much more splendid view, but it was less painful to avoid the masses. While eating alone, or not eating at all, there was no temptation to watch her friends have a normal time without her.

Her heart seemed to shrivel in her chest as she thought of her wasted Christmas plans. While Hermione had regretted her choice to spend the latter half of her summer at the Burrow, and would likely have made the decision to return home instead; she'd lost that comforting illusion of choice which seemed to make everything easier to bear.

She'd written her parents last week to let them know of her changed objective, and only last night received their reply.

It's for the best, anyhow, She consoled herself. She spied a flock of birds upset from the dense, tall growth of the Forbidden Forest, and fight against the whipping wind. Her mother's reply had been full of happiness at the prospect of Christmas with her, and that was what mattered. If she couldn't be with one set of people she loved, she at least still had her parents. They would always love her. They'd always want her, and aside from that, she could take that time to ward her home now that she could legally cast spells outside of school.

She lowered her face into the wide neck of her jumper and thought, in a small voice, Still, though... It would've been nice.

It also would have been nice for at least one of her friends (aside from Neville and Luna) to wish her a happy birthday as it had passed; but there was hardly any use in lamenting what had already happened.

Nearly an hour passed before Hermione finally emerged from her room in Gryffindor Tower, in quest of the library. There was still a load of coursework due soon for Arithmancy. And while Defense was caught up, it couldn't possibly hurt to review. She thought about bringing her Potions text along but her current state of mind (which fixated, every now and again, upon Draco) wouldn't allow her to study it clear-sightedly.

Upon arrival to the library, she chose her usual table near the muggle section and the stacks. Few students (save perhaps Ernie Macmillian, who frequented every inch of the library nearly as much as Hermione herself was used to) ever ventured to this area.

She was no more than twenty minutes into wrapping up Arithmancy when she heard her own name called in a sheepish whisper.

Granger looked up quickly enough that she gave a slight groan of pain. As she massaged an aggravated muscle in her neck, her eyes narrowed at him and her lips morphed into a grimace. This, however, was still preferable to the indifferent pod-state she'd entered after their falling out.

If you can call it that, He thought faintly. What was there between them from which to fall, anyway?

He fidgeted under her gaze, suddenly and painfully unsure of himself.

Granger inhaled a deep breath and exhaled through her nose; seemed to make an effort to mask whatever vestiges of discontent remained in her expression. She did not succeed.

"Malfoy."

"What, not Draco anymore, am I?" He smirked. Felt silly. But kept smirking.

She simply stared at him.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and tried his best to look casually unbothered, but a sheen of sweat had started at his forehead.

"Was there something you wanted?"

"Only to give you back your things."

She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. Draco moved quickly to open his bag and lay out the ingredients from the Draught of Peace before her.

Her gaze shifted from the ingredients, to his face, and back again. Without a word she began to close the many books which surrounded her, and shove them inside her bag.

"I've got no use for those." She said airily. "I only bought them for the lessons. I don't need them anymore."

This was perfectly tailored to bring back that remorse - once so foreign, now never absent when she was near. She did pay for the ingredients... suspicions confirmed.

"You may need them, who knows?" He took a step forwards as he watched her prepare to leave. "It couldn't hurt to just take them."

"They're yours now." She clasped the flap of her bag shut and rose to her feet. "You keep them. Do whatever - use them, throw them away - I really don't care."

And then she was leaving. Draco stood where he was; stared hard at the vial of silvery, glimmering moonstone as she moved past him. With a determination that fueled rapidity, he gathered every vial and bottle in his arms and went after her. He caught up with her outside the library doors, which shut behind him with a great whoosh of air and a bang.

"Wait!" He called, but still she walked towards the end of the deserted corridor. "Where are you going? You can't just leave!"

She whirled to face him and as he instantly recoiled he nearly dropped all that he carried.

"Oh, I can't?" She cried. "Well do forgive me, Malfoy. Here I am, at your service. Have you got something you'd actually like to say? Or are you going to keep trying to annoy the everlasting bullocks out of me?"

"I knew your temper couldn't stay away for long." Draco said - and truly, it was an attempt at levity. One which failed.

"You are brilliant, after all, aren't you? Incredibly smart. All the foresight in the world." She nearly bared her teeth at him like a wolf about to leap in for the kill. "You've gotten what you wanted. I now realise with perfect clarity that you and I will never coexist peacefully. Isn't that enough? Can't you just leave me alone now?"

"I was trying to do something nice, and bring you back your things."

"I think 'nice' went flying out the window the moment you started spouting a list of all the ways my miserable life will end." She said.

But then she surprised him. She shook her head, and fell into the bench closest to her, situated in one of the many window alcoves which lined the corridor.

"I'm not a fool, Malfoy." She said quietly. She crossed her legs and wound her fingers together at the knees. "So why don't you get on with whatever it was you really want? This is the last chance you'll get to speak openly. And I don't want my time wasted, so..." She gave a rolling gesture with her hand.

Draco stalled for time by replacing the items slowly to his bag; then he ran a hand through his hair and cast his gaze through the window behind her. The courtyard beyond was littered with branches and leaves, debris from the storm that had trampled the day. A clap of thunder sounded - powerful enough to shake the window in front of which Granger sat. She regarded him with cool silence.

"I only wanted to return your things." He said, shortly. Other words - any actual explanation or plea - seemed beyond his powers.

"I've asked you once not to waste my time." She said sternly. When he had no answer, she uncrossed her legs and made as if to get to her feet.

"Will you just give me a moment?" He barked, yet again running a hand through his hair.

Granger sniffed indignantly, but still settled back into her previous position.

"How-How are you?"

He'd taken a shot in the dark for something - anything to say, and he'd more or less blurted it out. But now that the words had been aired, it seemed imperative to know.

"I'm fine."

"No, really. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Move to the point. My open mind is shutting as we speak."

"I suppose I wanted to know if you ever plan to resume the lessons again." He muttered. "Or have you given them up?"

"Then I suppose I'll ask you the same thing as last time we had this conversation: would you do it?" She'd tilted her head upwards a bit so that she looked at him through partly slanted eyes. She was anticipating nonsense, or a bluff. "If anyone treated you the way you've treated me, would you continue to help them?"

Draco clenched his eyes shut. He felt like the world's greatest fool as he stood before her, as he practically begged for her attention. He felt as though any honesty or vulnerability was out of the question - he was completely incapable of giving it.

And yet, "No." He said. "I wouldn't do it. I'd have reported you immediately and laughed as you flunked."

"So why is it you've hounded me time and time again? How can you expect me to do what you would never do yourself?"

"I don't expe-"

"I'll just answer my own question, shall I?" She'd cut him short. "I'm nothing more to you than a conveniently smart Mudblood. What does it matter what you've said, or done? You... You can say anything, do anything, and I'll still be expected to aid you because I'm only half a person, whereas you are whole. Pure."

He kept his mouth shut this time. There was a very distinct sense in the air that she was far from finished. And, aside from that, he could hardly argue against his own professed feelings... could he?

"Do you have any idea how hateful that word - 'Mudblood' - really is, Draco?"

The expression in her eyes seemed to connote that she didn't at all count upon his comprehension. She spoke now for the sole purpose of venting frustration she'd long held back.

"It's nothing more than an insult to you, but it's so mean. Dirty blood-" She scoffed. "Dirty, half-person who doesn't deserve the gift of magic, who means less than someone of purely magical parents. Every time you call me that, you call me dirty, unworthy, and less-than. You know all this, of course... But d'you know that you were the first person to ever use that name for me? And now, even when you aren't in one of your foul moods, you fling it about so thoughtlessly that I feel as if you think of it as my nickname. It hardly ever phases me anymore, and that's profoundly pathetic."

Draco could feel the intensity of his own gaze as it fixed on Granger - knew he must look mad, but there was nothing to do for it. The fright had all but gone from the emotions that had jostled in his mind. He couldn't recall the first time he'd called her a Mudblood - had only the vague impression that the situation had somehow involved a great mess of slugs - but he was perfectly conscious that this was because he really had used that name for her countless times.

"Does the Mudblood need to be fed?"

That had been the day she'd defended him against McGonagall, against her friends. And she was right, he'd said it while in a docile state of mind... He'd said it to tease her, not at all to hurt her feelings. And hadn't he then been struck with how casually she'd responded to it?

Dirty blood, half-person, unworthy. He thought to himself. It means she's foul.

And the "well-bred" part of him agreed rather vehemently that such a meaning was justified. Maybe it even was, for the rest of the muggleborns. But for Granger? No, he couldn't reconcile that, as dearly as he wanted to. Few people were cleaner than the girl perched primly on that bench before him.

"You were right, when you said we've both said horrible things to each other." Granger went on. "But the difference between us is that I've never gone out of my way to hurt you. You wound me for sport. You fling your venom when you feel bored, or grow uncomfortable. And yet you expect-"

"I expect nothing of you, Granger." Draco interrupted her this time, and she rolled her eyes. "I mean it. I won't disagree with anything else you've said, but I don't expect anything of you. I'm asking that you reconsider."

"I can't."

Draco watched as she squeezed her bottom lip between her teeth; if she bit down any harder, she'd make herself bleed.

"Granger-" At that moment the library doors opened and a pack of brutish-looking Gryffindors swarmed into the corridor.

As they passed they each turned their heads to glance at the Slytherin boy and the Gryffindor girl who'd chosen to spend their Saturday with an intense chat in this empty area of the castle; but they said nothing, and moved along.

Once they'd disappeared round the bend which would take them towards the entrance hall, Draco turned his attention back to Granger, who had buried her face in her hands. She'd bent forward, elbows supported by her knees.

"Granger," he began again, and she immediately straightened up with a deep, resigned sigh. He could see that her cheeks had taken on a flush of delicate pink, as though she'd either held her breath or had been embarrassed to be seen with him yet again.

"You were right about something else, as well." She smiled, but it was void of good humour. "My 'pathetic existence' will probably get my parents killed. They'll be slaughtered in their beds, just as you said, for the crime of having a witch for a daughter. I don't know when, but if I can't keep them safe they'll be murdered purely for the spectacle. Even-" Her voice broke, and although she turned her face away from his he could see how bright her eyes had become. He realised with deep, mortified horror that she was going to cry.

"Even if Harry never speaks to me again, I'll never be safe. Do you hear me, Draco - do you get it, yet? I understand you perfectly well. There's nothing you can say to me that I don't already know." It seemed a feat of will for her to look at him. "That probably won't be enough to stop you from informing me the next time you get in a bad mood. But I want you to tell me - I want you to say it. Without any pretense or preamble. And I want you to look me in the eye when you do."

"Say what, Granger?" His own voice came in a rasp. He couldn't argue with her. There was no argument. Nothing.

"I want you to tell me why you think I deserve to die." She said. "I want to see if you're even brave enough - if you've got the conviction - to look a fellow human being in the eye and wish death upon them. I want to see you try to rationalise it - I want to see if you can."

"i don't want you to die."

An angry breath of laughter escaped her lips. "Right."

"I'm serious. I don't - I just said it."

"You just said it." She stated, but he offered a dumb nod, anyway. "But - how? That's a reality I face every time I leave these castle walls. One day, along this path you've chosen for yourself, you might be the one who has to do it. If not me, you'll eventually murder someone. Is that really who you are?"

"Who knows who they are, at seventeen?"

"I can say with confidence that I am not a cold-blooded murderer." Granger's mouth twisted with disgust as she looked at him. "What a ridiculous thing to say. Was that even a defense? These are your choices, and you can't even back them up-"

"How can I possibly defend myself?" He was aware he'd started to shout, but his nerves felt shot from the turbulence of such a conversation. "I do get it, Granger - I'm deplorable, a despicable monster. I'd hate to blow your mind here, but I haven't actually got a choice in how my life turns out. I can't say where I'll be years from now, I can't even say where I'll be once this term ends! Not everyone has that luxury."

"You speak to me of luxury? The pampered prince, who was born at a height from which he can sneer at others with impunity!?" Granger mirrored his heightened tone. "You poor little soul. You feel trapped, so you torture everyone around you - is that it? I dared to suggest we might some day be friends, and you decide to rip me to shreds. I suppose you were forced into that, yeah? Someone must have taken control of your mouth while I wasn't looking."

"I don't know what else I can say, Granger." Draco forced an even tone, which resulted in his sounding mechanical even to his own ears. Internally, he felt as though his heart had plummeted to his stomach. He felt as though he were seeing himself from outside his own body - the first real view he'd had.

At this moment, he was nothing more than a scared child who'd picked a fight with the wrong person, and now had no comeback.

"I don't want you to die. I don't want your parents to die. I don't want anyone to die, and I certainly do not want to kill anyone."

For a long time, they only looked at each other. A single tear fell down Granger's cheek, followed by another. Anger was still visible upon her face, but now, so was confusion. A great deal of confusion.

"I cannot be around you anymore. I don't understand you." She shook her head, slowly, and looked down to her lap. "I've done nothing but try to keep the peace between us, and help you. I've tried to keep an open mind. You can't even apologise to me - or you won't. I just... I hope, for your sake, Draco, you never have to know how it feels for someone to look at you with such thoughtless disgust. I hope you never have to remind yourself you're not worthless."

The tears at last began to fall in earnest, from eyes that had sewn shut. Her face was still turned to her lap as she said, "You can leave, now."

Instead, Draco's mind pottered uselessly for anything he could say or do that might reverse the palpable pain that seeped from the girl in front of him.

The shame he felt now was so bright, so clean, that if he could have seen it, he'd probably have called it Pure. And perhaps that was the best word for it, because for the first time in his life, Draco faced the monster that dwelt within his own personality, unable to deny its existence.

He'd done this to someone. Someone who didn't at all deserve it, and he'd done it for years. He'd never before known much about Granger, but he'd lost that excuse months ago. He knew her to be kind. He knew her to be just, and intelligent.

Draco had in fact felt worthless many times in his life. Though there was no way for Granger to know this, and he certainly would not point it out to her... He'd felt it. It was a sensation that made him feel separate from the world, as though no one else could possibly have understood. It was a sensation that had made him hate the man who gave it to him. How could he do the same, and not feel as though he'd let his father win? He'd given Lucius the greatest victory he could - worse, even than running to the man every time a fellow student or teacher crossed him, so that Lucius could fight his battles for him.

Draco probably should have wondered how many other faceless people he'd made feel this way, but Granger, at the moment, seemed to be the only person worth the question. Perhaps because she was the only one around... but more likely it was because he wasn't quite ready to become a bleeding heart.

Now, he did the only thing he wanted - the only thing that could spell quiet through the chaotic slew of thought: he sat down next to her.

She tensed, but she didn't look over to him.

"Granger."

Her response was to turn her face quite the opposite way, and Draco reached, tentatively, for her shoulder. "Granger, look at me, please."

She sighed, and though she turned her face again, this time towards him, she didn't look him in the eye. He settled for the compromise, but still, it took him several moments to be able to articulate his thoughts with two relatively simply words.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not doing the lessons, Draco." She said - to his knees.

"I know. I'm not asking you to, anymore. I just want you to know." He swallowed past the clench in his throat. This was completely foreign territory. "I can't... make you believe me. But I'll never do it again. I'll never say those things again. I'll never deliberately set out to hurt you."

Her expression collapsed; just like that. "I don't understand you." She repeated, before she hid her face with her hands and nearly doubled forwards. Although she was silent as a shadow, her shoulders shook with such tremours that she might as well have openly wept.

"I don't, either." His hand only left her shoulder when she'd leant over; now he returned it, this time to her back, between her shoulder blades. He could remember his mother having once or twice soothed him this way.

He'd not have been shocked if Granger shoved him away, but she didn't. Eventually, the force of her shaking subsided, the rattle of her breath became less harsh. And where before he would have forced himself to touch her at all, he now had to refrain from inching closer to her. It wasn't even his ideology that kept him from doing so; he simply thought it would make her uncomfortable. He had to admit that... yes, they were friends. He was her friend, anyway. How long was it now, that they'd been shoved into frequent hours together? It felt as though a year had already flown by.

His hand at last fell away as Granger straightened. He could have sworn he spotted a blush as she avoided his eye (and was aware of the subsequent, baffling bolt of victory that shot through him) - looked anywhere but right at him as she said, "If you happen-" She cleared her throat, the pitch of her voice ridiculously high and cracked. "If you happen to be serious about your lessons, meet me Tuesday at the usual time. But things will have to be different, Draco. I won't allow myself to be made a fool."

He nodded solemnly, and watched silently as she got to her feet and swept down the corridor. He remained there for a long time, as though coming out of a stupour. The palm of his hand tingled almost painfully as he questioned just what kind of infernal parasite had overtaken his senses in the last fortnight.

"Things will have to be different." She'd said.

He wondered, How could they not be?

Author's Note:

Hello my little dears! Here it is, as promised! And I haven't had any issues with the site since the last time, so that's great. Thanks for all the reviews and the follows. I noticed one or two people point out the contrast between Hermione's conversation with Hagrid and the one between Snape and Malfoy and it just made my little heart swell. I feel like readers of fanfic are soooo observant, you guys pick up on everything. You're definitely active readers, which allows me to really play with theme and tone and not feel as though I'm wasting my time. Also, someone said "they're heart broke for Draco" when the poor lad fell asleep at the table and I knoooooow I was thinking the same thing as I wrote it.

I meant to bring this up a long time ago, but I think I must have forgotten. Draco and Hermione both have canon birthdays, I know, but I've situated them so that they're both now seventeen. It suits the purpose of something I have coming up soon. And, for Hermione it's not too much of a change because I think her canon birthday is only what, three months(?) farther out than the one I've set for her. Anyway, just thought I'd mention that.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I ought to have the next one up by this time tomorrow, but I may have trouble meeting the deadline for another real-world project I've got in the works, so this chapter may come a day later. But I shall not forget about any of thee.