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Chapter 22: The Unaccepted Apologies

Weeks went by as the cold snow and ice melted into slush and spring peeked around the edges of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. Most people were elated by the prospect of sunshine. Draco Malfoy was not. He spent every day searching through books for a spell he was no longer sure existed.

Draco didn't speak to anyone anymore. Anyone living, that is. He spent time in a restroom on the fourth floor with Moaning Myrtle. She was really the only person who would talk to him.

He cried in front of her. He knew she wouldn't tell anyone. He told her about everything. She tried to help, but what could she do?

He was losing hope. Every day that he did not fix the Cabinet was a day closer to death. He didn't know what to do. He felt so sick, so weak, so dead. He was almost sure he had already died and was now just a ghost.

It was when the news of Katie Bell's return to Hogwarts reached his ears that he truly snapped. He had passed a group of jubilant seventh-years on his way to the seventh floor and heard their excited voices.

"I'm so glad Katie's back! I wonder if she'll remember who attacked her."

Fear rippled through Draco as the last three words settled upon his ears like a ton of bricks. If she remembered...

Draco tore up a flight of stairs and rushed into the bathroom he had been spending so much time in. He stopped in front of a mirror and stared into it.

He could've been a ghost, seeing how pale he was. He looked dead. He was a as good as dead, because if Katie was able to tell the teachers Madame Rosmerta had given her the necklace, Madame Rosmerta would be investigated, and the spell would trace back to him.

He didn't want to die. He didn't want to lose his soul to the dementors. He didn't want to face Voldemort.

Draco began to cry.

His tears brought Moaning Myrtle to the bathroom. She floated in front of him, trying to console him. Draco found no solace in her words. He was going to die. He knew it. He was going to die a near-killer and a Death Eater.

Just then, the door banged open and Harry Potter stood in front of Draco, his wand aloft. Draco took one look at the face of the "Chosen One" and he felt anger slice through him like a knife. He took out his own wand and shot a spell. A spell was shot back. Back and forth it went until Draco felt his robes getting wetter and his head getting lighter. He felt himself falling to the floor. Potter stood over him, his face carrying an expression of horror. Draco turned his head to see his robes drenched in blood.

He heard Snape crash into the room and rush over to him. Snape knelt before him and fixed the wounds Draco didn't realize were there. Draco felt woozy as he was taken to the hospital wing. He wanted to throttle Potter. He tried to get up from the bed he had been unceremoniously dumped onto to do so, but blacked out as soon as he lifted his head up.

Draco awoke to see the pug-nosed face of Pansy Parkinson above him.

"How're you feeling, Draco?" She cooed. Draco felt annoyance build up in his head.

"Fine," he replied, rubbing his eyes. "I thought you weren't speaking to me," Draco said, sitting up.

Pansy looked hurt. "I never said that!" She insisted.

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Pansy looked down into her lap. "I've missed you," she said softly.

Draco didn't reply, so Pansy went on.

"Blaise and I broke up a few days ago," she said simply.

Draco still didn't respond.

"I've missed you," Pansy repeated.

Draco sat silently for a few moments before replying, "Sorry, Pansy. It's not going to happen. You-er-really hurt me." Draco bit back a laugh.

Pansy looked like she was about to cry. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said. After a moment, she added. "Potter's a git."

"So you agree?"

"Always have," Pansy said with a smile that Draco did not return. She sighed. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I just...what's been going on with you?"

"Nothing," Draco replied simply.

Pansy sighed again and got up from the chair she had been sitting on. "Well, see you." She left the room.

Draco reached his arm out to the small table beside him upon which lay a package of Every Flavor Beans. He took a handful and stuffed them in his mouth, not caring what flavors he got. He chewed on them slowly, trying to discern the flavors from the sugary mess they had become.

He thought it an appropriate metaphor for his life.

Draco wiped his hands off on the blanket and reached down to pull his shirt up. He saw every one of his ribs. Much to his surprise, only a single scar was visible on his stomach.

Draco rolled the shirt back down and sank back down onto the pillows. He saw his bag lying near his bedside. He reached for it and pulled out a book from within its depths. Draco held the book up in front of him and began to read.

An hour later, a soft footstep echoed around the hospital wing. It was nearly dark, so Draco could only make out the silhouette of the person who had just entered. A purple-ish light filled the room, and the figure stood out in gray. The person approached Draco. Draco squinted to see if he could make out who it was. He could tell it was girl, so he figured it was Pansy. Not wanting to have to talk to her, he turned over and faced Madame Pomfrey's medicine cabinet.

A few seconds later, the person whose identity was still unknown to Draco was standing next to his bed.

"Draco?" Hermione whispered.

Draco was shocked to hear her voice. At first, he felt himself overwhelmed with joy, but then anger stole over him. He did not turn to face her.

"Draco?" Hermione repeated. When he didn't answer, she went on. "I know you're awake."

Draco didn't move.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Draco, I'm sorry," she said softly.

Draco groaned mentally. Why were so many girls apologizing to him today?

"I'm sorry Harry hurt you," Hermione said. "He feels awful about it. He really does."

Draco's nostrils flared. He flipped over so fast to look at Hermione that she nearly fell out of the chair she had just sat on.

"Why," Draco said, trying to keep himself from yelling. "Should I accept your apology?" He sat up quickly and leaned toward Hermione. "I said sorry about Weasley, and you didn't forgive me. Why should I accept your apology, you hypocrite!" He snarled in her face.

The look of shock on Hermione's face was replaced by before she said anything, she seemed to stop herself. She clenched her jaw, stood up, and walked out of the hospital wing. Draco thought he heard her sob.

But he didn't care.

Why should he care? She had done the same to him. He wasn't supposed to be a forgiving person. He wasn't a forgiving person. He sank back onto the bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, Madame Pomfrey shooed Draco out of the hospital wing, much to his dismay. Being in the hospital wing was an excuse for him not to work on his task.

Draco decided that he wasn't going to work on the task that day anyway. He instead decided to go down to the Quidditch pitch and watch the match. The fact that Gryffindor won did not improve his mood, especially when he saw Hermione hugging Ron after the Snitch had been caught.

He didn't think that he was annoyed because Hermione liked Ron. It was more because the two of them existed. Or that Harry Potter existed. Because if Potter wasn't alive, Draco wouldn't be a sixteen-year-old Death Eater.

The fact that Potter had detention didn't make Draco feel any better, surprisingly. Draco actually wished he himself was in detention, so he could avoid all the frightened glances coming his way. Frightened and mocking glances.

That evening, Theo cornered Draco in the common room. "Look, I'm sorr-"

"Save it," Draco spat. "And what're you sorry for, anyway?" Draco hurried off to the dormitory before Theo could reply.

The next day Draco spent in the Room of Requirement. He read more books and sent a few messages to Madame Rosmerta requesting Borgin's help. Predictably, no help came.

The routine, like many routines Draco had this year, continued for a few weeks. The routine finally changed when Draco came across a curious little book in the back of the Room of Requirement.

It was sitting on a shelf next to an old melted candle and a giant dust bunny that looked like a dead Pygmy Puff. Wary at first of the book, Draco summoned it over and set it on the table. Nothing happened, so Draco decided it was safe to approach.

Draco was only so cautious about the book because the previous day, a book he had plucked off of a shelf had clamped shut over his hand and began sucking him into the book. It had taken Draco a few minutes to reach for his wand and blast the book away. If he had taken any longer, he would be inside the book at that moment. Inside the book or dead.

Now Draco walked over to the small table the book he had just summoned was lying upon. It was brown with faded gold and green lettering. The title read: "A Collection of Unusual Spells".

Draco rolled his eyes. The title was so stupid. But he had seen worse. He picked up the book gingerly. He brushed to dust off with his fingers and whatever remained he blew off, sending a puff of gray into the musty air around him.

He opened the book, and the spine made a loud cracking noise. The yellowing pages crackled softly as Draco turned them. They were covered in spidery black writing, as if the book had been written by hand. The pages were thin and fragile, and Draco feared he might rip some.

Draco plowed slowly through the book, skimming over pages of incantations and charms for odd things like causing a sink to spew out chocolate or making a textbook sing Christmas carols.

Draco was a quarter of the way through the book when a silver alarm clock he hadn't know was there began ringing. According to the clock's worn face, it was already eight forty five.

Draco silenced the clock with a flick of his wand, then began gathering his things. He took the book an nestled it gently between the textbooks and rolls of parchments in his bag.

He left the Room of Requirement with a small flame of hope burning inside him.