CHAPTER 26: RECONCILIATION

A heavy weight rested across Hermione's abdomen. Vaguely, she became aware of slow, steady breaths. Breaths that were not her own. Her mind scrambled for purchase, sifting through the night's events. Malfoy. She was in Malfoy's room. Malfoy's bed.

She pried her heavy eyelids open, blinking rapidly to coax forth some moisture to lubricate the dry surface of her eyes. The sensitive, raw skin at the corner of her eyes stung as the salty liquid welled from her tear ducts.

Tentatively she wrapped her fingers around the wrist that rested atop her waist. With great care she eased his arm upward and slipped out from beneath his hold, trying her best not to wake him. Easing herself up off the bed, she stretched her arms above her head, the cracking of her joints ringing through the silence. She felt well rested. Exceptionally well rested in fact. Given the rough estimate of the hour, it occured to Hermione that she may have even slept longer in his bed since yesterday afternoon, than the meager, stolen hours she had achieved all week combined.

This was the second time now she had slept so soundly in the wizard's bed. Although correlation did not necessarily prove causation, she was forced to acknowledge that Malfoy's presence and her rare occurrence of restful slumber were likely not a coincidence.

Hermione heard Malfoy groan softly as the mattress shifted beneath his weight. She turned, her eyes meeting his. The Slytherin was now half sitting on his bed, propped up one elbow, his platinum strands disheveled from sleep, falling to hang over his features. A gasp left her, her hand flying to cover her mouth as she took in the sight of him. His clothes were shredded, deep, angry cuts covered his body. Dark blood – long since dried – cracked and flaked off his skin.

Her gaze dropped to her own body where she noted her own flesh, free of wounds. She recalled the sting of the glass as it sliced through her skin, the warmth of her own blood as it spilled forth. There was only one plausible reason that she stood here now, no evidence of the night's injuries. Malfoy must have healed her while she slept.

"I'm so sorry Malfoy!" she exclaimed, as she lunged forward. Throwing herself atop the mattress, she scrambled to kneel before him.

He pulled himself fully into a sitting position now, lifted his arm to comb his fingers through his hair. The corners of his lips pulled upward ever so slightly into what could almost be described as a smile.

"Relax Granger. I'm fine."

"You most certainly are not fine!" she retorted.

"I've had worse," he said with a shrug and immediately winced at the discomfort it caused.

Hermione shook her head, mumbling under her breath before her eyes scanned the room for her wand. Thankfully the slender piece of wood was undamaged – merely a short distance away – on the floor where she had dropped it amidst her panic. She leapt from the bed, collecting the wand before returning to Malfoy's side.

She reached out, gently grasping his wrist and pulling it towards herself. "I can't believe I lost it like that," said Hermione, as she began healing Malfoy's wounds.

Turning the arm over she assessed his skin. Satisfied that she had mended all the damaged flesh, she released her hold on his wrist and moved to the other arm. She worked in silence for some time, Malfoy allowing her to manipulate and contort his limbs as she saw fit. Healing the wounds and cleaning away the dried blood as she went. Finally satisfied that the wizard was no longer injured, she allowed her shoulders to slump as she expelled a deep sigh.

"I haven't felt this out of control, this terrified of my own magic since I was a child," she confessed quietly.

"It's not uncommon for children to have a few bouts of accidental magic when young," Malfoy began wearily. "Especially when strong emotions are involved. I'm sure this isn't unheard of in adults that have experienced trauma."

Hermione scoffed, "Well it certainly hasn't been mentioned in any of the books I've read."

"You could talk to someone about it, someone who might know more," he proposed. "If not Pomfrey, perhaps McGonagall?"

"No!" she protested. "I'm not putting myself through that again. I won't be the outlier. The freak."

Malfoy's brows pulled together. "What are you talking about?"

"Starting at Hogwarts, entering the Wizarding world, was not the first time in my life I had felt like an outsider," she said with a sigh. "I didn't just have a few minor, accidental episodes like most magical children."

Malfoy made no move to respond, simply looked at her curiously waiting for her to continue. Maneuvering her body, she shuffled backwards up the mattress until her back rested against the headboard. Gathering one of the wizard's soft, down feather pillows, she hugged it to her chest for comfort as she began to speak once more.

"I've told you before that my mother believed me to display magic at quite a young age. Though my own earliest memories of it, I would have been around three or four years of age.

"I was so young. I had a volatile temper. When I would become scared, or angry, things would disappear. People got hurt."

She looked down, fingers fiddling with the edge of the pillow. "I had no friends growing up. Children are smarter, more aware than adults often give them credit for. They knew I was different. That I was a threat. Dangerous.

"Even my parents were scared of me," she confessed sadly.

Malfoy lifted a hand, hovering awkwardly between them for a moment, before he placed it tentatively atop her own. "I'm sure they weren't scared of you. You were just a child."

"A magical child," she said, shaking her head slowly. "Something they didn't, couldn't, understand."

She inhaled deeply, feeling the ache in her chest as she willed herself to at last speak the words allowed. "I'm the reason they never had another child."

A single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. "They told me they didn't want another of course. That I was enough for them. But I knew, even from a young age, that I was the reason. They could not bear the thought, the burden, of bringing another child into this world. Not with the fear they held that one of their own daughter's inexplicable accidents would harm the infant."

"That's not your fault Granger. They made that decision, not you."

"People fear what they don't know. What's different," she said, wiping away the tears that had silently fallen. "And I've always been different. First as a child, with abilities my family and peers could never understand. Then as Muggleborn, treated differently by those born into this world. Now, after a war I gave myself to, to be seen as an equal. To keep my place in a society where others doubted I inherently belonged. Now after all that, I am losing control of my magic to an extent no adult should. Again, I'm different."

This won't be the same as when you were a child," Malfoy reassured. "People will understand the magical outbursts you are experiencing now."

She looked up at him sceptically. "Will they though? Even after all I have been through I'm still different. Still the outliner. I don't want people to look at me like I am something other. I just want to blend in."

A small smile, a ghost of a smirk in fact, pulled at the corner of his lip. "You, Granger, will never blend in."

At that her lips pinched, a biting remark forming on the tip of her tongue in response. Though before she could voice the remark the wizard continued, "You never would have blended in as Muggle either. You're intelligent, Granger. Smarter than most people could ever hope to be. To even begin to comprehend really."

Her mouth fell open, stunned by the compliments which fell with ease from his lips. He did not stop at complimenting her mind however and pressed on.

"You are compassionate, often to a fault," he said with a smirk that held no malice. "You possess bravery, an unwavering nerve in the face of great odds, that those like myself could only ever hope to attain. You are also fierce and determined, with an ambitious nature that would rival any Slytherin I know. Granger, you embody the very best traits of each of the Hogwarts houses."

He leant forward, his grey eyes boring into her own and he spoke softly yet with conviction, "No, you would never have gone unnoticed in this life."

Oh.

She did not know what to say to adequately respond to his thorough, and frankly flattering, summation of her character.

"You need to eat," Malfoy announced, abruptly changing the topic as if he too sensed the palpable tension his words had evoked.

"I'm not really hungry," she replied lamely.

The wizard arched a single brow as he repeated, "You need to eat, Granger. You need to regain your strength."

A defeated sigh left her. Logically she knew he was right. With everything that had happened the night before she had not eaten dinner. Honestly, inundated by fatigue and the all consuming effects of her withdrawal, she could not be certain if she had even made time for food earlier that day.

"Fine," she conceded. "I know you're right."

"I never thought I'd live to see the day! You, Hogwarts renowned swot, telling me I'm right," he said mockingly.

She shoved at his shoulder lightly as she rolled her eyes in response to his remark. "Shut it, Malfoy. Or you'll likely not hear the words from my lips again."

A brilliant smile pulled at his features, softening their appearance. Her breath caught in her throat, unable to speak. Not for the first time, she was forced to acknowledge how attractive the wizard had become. As fast as the smile graced his features, it fell, a furrow forming between his brows.

"I can't call us a House Elf," Malfoy said, his tone apologetic. His eyes fell from hers, combing his long fingers through his hair as he added, "A condition of my probation."

"It doesn't matter," she said, climbing off the plush mattress and stretching her muscles. "I wouldn't want to bother one to care for me specifically anyway. They have more than enough duties."

"Oh, that's right!" He said, his voice once more imbued with mirth. "You and your spew."

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare!" she huffed, turning to glare at him with her hands on her hips.

When her eyes landed on him, his face was pulled into a mischievous grin. The git knew exactly what he was doing. She couldn't help the twitch that pulled at the corner of her own lip, and her mouth broke into a wide smile.

"Tempus," she muttered, checking the time. It was almost noon. "It's near lunchtime anyway, I'll just head down to the Great Hall. Are you coming too?"

Malfoy's smile dropped a fraction as he leant back against his headboard. "No, you go. I'll head down in a little while."

As she entered the Great Hall she couldn't help but wonder what their peers' reactions would be if she were to walk in, side by side with Malfoy. She wasn't ashamed of their friendship, and she genuinely believed the wizard harboured no such feelings either. Realistically though, they both knew there would be an overwhelming negative reaction if they were to advertise their familiarity so openly. One day, she told herself, they would weather that storm. Though with her withdrawal and the currently fragile state of her mental health, that storm would need to be held at bay, at least for now.

As Hermione approached the four house tables, her eyes roamed over the students seated along the long timber benches. She surveyed the length of the Ravenclaw table looking for Neville. She knew she should probably find the wizard, apologise for her poor behaviour the night before. When she could not find him there, she moved to search the Gryffindor table.

Her searching gaze fell upon a solitary wizard, though not the one for whom she had sought.

Harry.

The sight of him gave her pause. She missed her best friend immensely. Things had been strained between them for sometime now, their conversations clipped and awkward. An unspoken divide between them, a conflict left unaddressed.

He was alone. Hermione could not recall the last time – outside of class – that she had seen him without Ginny practically attached to his person. Perhaps this was the opportunity she needed to regain a sense of normalcy between her and her friend. With a steadying breath she set her mind and moved to take the seat on the bench opposite the bespectacled man.

As she sat down before him, his green eyes snapped up and locked with her own. The corners of his lips pulled upwards as if he were about to smile, then dropped as his shoulders sagged.

"Hi 'Mione," he greeted softly, the reservation apparent in his tone.

"Firstly," she began. "Please stop calling me that. I hate that bloody nickname. Honestly. It only caught on because Ronald couldn't enunciate my name correctly around a mouth full of food."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, evidently taken aback by her forward dismissal. "Well, I- Yeah, I guess I'll stop calling you that then, Hermione."

"Thank you."

At hearing her thanks, some of the tension appeared to leave his shoulders. His hand moved to rub at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture as he spoke. "So, uh, how have you been?"

A mess. I've been a complete fucking mess, she thought to herself.

Instead she said, "I've been getting by. Things have been difficult."

"Since returning to Hogwarts?" he questioned, brows pinching together in concern.

Hermione sighed. "No more difficult then since before returning to Hogwarts. Since the war. Things have been quite hard for some time now."

"I'm sorry, 'Mione- er, shit." he scolded himself, instantly realising the slip of his tongue. "Hermione... I've been a terrible friend recently. I've just been too caught up in- with Ginny."

She could not reassure her friend, tell him everything was ok. The truth was he had been a terrible friend. So instead she asked, "Where is Ginny anyway?"

She saw the way Harry's Adam's apple bobbed, having not missed her refusal to contradict his statement. He did not dwell on it however, choosing to answer her question. "She's at Quidditch practice."

That surprised Hermione. She hadn't even realised Harry wasn't on the Gryffindor team this year. Perhaps the inattentiveness present in their friendship was not solely one sided.

"Why didn't you try out this year?" she asked, having quickly deduced that Harry would have undoubtedly made the house team had he wished to.

"Don't get me wrong, I'd have loved to play Seeker this year," he said before releasing a drawn out sigh. "But I just didn't want the extra attention. This year, I just wanted to feel normal. To be treated like any other student."

In that moment she realised just how similar their issues were. In a way they both wished desperately to pass unnoticed. To not be categorised as something outside the norm. She reached across the table and placed her hand atop Harry's in a comforting gesture. "I understand. I want that too."

Quickly his eyes darted to her covered forearm – where the crudely carved letters of Bellatrix's branding remained – then back to her eyes.

"Shit," he cursed. "I haven't even asked how you've been coping with- Well, with everything that happened. Are people still calling you that?"

Hermione pulled her hands from the table and brought them to rest on her lap as she fought the urge to scratch at the itching flesh.

"Parkinson," she huffed. "She's still quite fond of the slur."

The normally vibrant green hue of Harry's eyes darkened as his brow furrowed deeply, casting a shadow over their surface. "Anyone else?"

Her shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. "I've heard it whispered in the halls from time to time. Mostly younger students I've gathered, Seventh, or perhaps Sixth years. I try not to let it bother me, I never expected things to change immediately upon Voldemort's demise."

"And Malfoy?"

She arched a brow in challenge. "What about Malfoy?"

"He hasn't called you that name?"

"Honestly," she began, her tone exasperated. "He hasn't called me, nor I doubt anyone else, that horrid word since before the war. I've told you, that's not who he is anymore."

The wizard sat silently for a moment, his brows pinched as he seemed to ponder his next words carefully.

"Look, Hermione," he said, tone confident and posture straightening. "Since we've returned, my only real interactions with Malfoy have been in class. He hasn't been a bastard directly to my face. It's actually kinda weird having gone so long without him baiting or insulting me in any way. Which I guess that in itself should tell me that maybe, it could be possible that he has changed, at least a bit."

"He really isn't the person he presented himself to be before the war Harry. It changed all of us."

"I still think he's a right git," he huffed. "But I trust your judgment Hermione. Bloody hell, I would likely have been dead years ago if I didn't trust you. So if you tell me he isn't the prejudiced prick he was before, then I should take your word for it."

It was as if a heavy weight had suddenly been lifted from her chest. She enjoyed her time spent with Malfoy. Hermione could even admit she had come to care for the wizard, to consider him a friend. A close friend in fact. Although Harry's opinion on the Slytherin would not have altered her behaviour in any way, it was an immense relief to know that her best friend would no longer challenge judgement on the matter. That they would no longer be at odds.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "It means a lot."

Reaching her hand across the table once more she took his hand in hers. The soft, reassuring squeeze he gave in return confirmed her hope. She had her best friend back. There would still be work to do, to repair the divide that had formed between them. But for now, she would simply relish in the knowledge that he was at least willing to meet her half way.