CHAPTER 32: DOUBT

"I can't do this."

"You can. I know you can, Malfoy," replied Hermione.

She watched as his face contorted, brows furrowed and teeth bared, as his hands fisted in his hair. His name fell from her lips again like a plea, but it was as if he couldn't hear her. The compulsion to sooth him, to offer him some small comfort, compelled her to lift her arm. She reached out as if to touch him, but her doubts rose to the surface. Would he welcome her touch? Her anxiety the victor of the internal struggle, she dropped her arm once more to her side.

Her teeth worried her lower lip as she watched the wizard before her curl in on himself as he rocked back and forth on the spot. He was muttering to himself now, under his breath. She could not hear the words that he spoke, yet she knew that she needed to pull him from whatever hell he had descended into.

"Malfoy!" she cried, hoping desperately he would hear her call.

"What?" he roared as his hands slammed down upon the bookshelf to either side of her head.

Hermione inhaled sharply, the sudden movement startling her. She knew without a doubt Malfoy would never hurt her, not intentionally. However, it was clear the wizard was not currently in his right mind. Shallow breaths falling from her lips, she willed herself to remain still. The last thing he needed was to witness her react poorly. At last, he was willingly lowering his Occlumency walls, she wouldn't jeopardise that.

His eyelids lifted and Hermione saw the way his pupils adjusted, his eyes focusing on her. The fury that had been etched into his features softened, his expression shifting into one of evident concern.

"I- Fuck. I'm so sorry, Granger. I don't know what overcame me. I swear, I would never hurt you – could never hurt you," said Malfoy, his gaze falling from hers.

"I know that."

Malfoy lifted his gaze. Not enough for his eyes to meet hers, but she could now see the ice blue hue of his irises as he peered out from behind the blond curtain of hair that draped across his face.

His eyes, the uncharacteristically vibrant colour she had only caught glimpses of until this moment. His walls were down. He was letting his emotions in, letting her in. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she knew she needed him to look at her. For his eyes to meet hers. Her hand rose, the anxiety that had crippled her actions earlier long forgotten. Palm skyward, she brought two fingers up to rest delicately beneath his chin and guided his head up until his eyes locked with hers.

She could feel the tension in his stance, the rigid way in which he held himself. His eyes flicked between hers and then he shifted, leaning forward. The subtle motion brought his face down, almost level with her own and her breath caught in her throat. She felt the heat of his breath ghost across her mouth and she suppressed the urge to moisten her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

"Draco..."

His hand left the bookshelf by her head, his weight shifting as he moved to touch her face. As his skin met the warm flesh of her cheek, Hermione inhaled a sharp breath, a shock running through her and settling in the depths of her core. The pad of his thumb traced the edge of her jawline and her lips parted as she exhaled a wavering breath.

"Oh, fuck it!" Malfoy exclaimed.

She was certain he would feel the hammering of her frantic pulse as his hand shifted, fingertips ghosting across the column of her neck. His fingers twisted through the loose curls at the nape of her neck and – before she had a moment to fully comprehend his intention – he pulled her forward, his lips crashing down upon hers.

She froze. Her body rigid, unmoving against the bookshelf, as her mind grappled with the shock of the situation at hand. But then, the smouldering embers of desire that resided within her ignited, thawing the apprehension from her seized limbs. Back arching, she pressed herself up into his body, her arms lifting to wrap around his neck as she returned his kiss with fervent intensity. The tip of his tongue ran along the soft flesh of her lower lip and she opened her mouth to his, their kiss deepening. A wonderful ache bloomed low in her pelvis, coaxing forth a deep moan, the sound reverberating through her.

Upon hearing the soft sound, Malfoy's body stiffened. Abruptly, his lips left hers and her arms slipped from his shoulders as he retreated from her form. There he stood, eyes wide, pupils blown as his chest heaved with frantic breaths.

Hermione lifted her hand to her mouth and tentatively ran the pad of her index finger along her swollen lower lip. She surveyed the wizard before her, from the way his shoulders tensed to the subtle shift in the hue of his irises as his Occlumency walls were erected once more. Abruptly he turned on his heel and strode from the room in great strides.

"Malfoy- Draco! Wait!" she called after him, her limbs heavy and slow to follow.

She chased after him, her heavy footfalls echoing off the stone walls of the alcove. Rounding the corner she gasped in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound as she skidded to a halt. She had almost run headfirst into a body, upright and motionless, just outside the alcove. For a brief moment, Hermione had thought Malfoy had stopped, waiting for her to join him between the stacks. However, her hopes were swiftly dashed as she realised the man before her was not the wizard she sought.

Shit. The Hogwarts Express wasn't due to return until the morning. Anthony Goldstein must have returned early, just as she had. Her brows pinched with concern. Had he witnessed what had just taken place between Malfoy and herself? She wasn't ashamed of what she had done, but the last thing they needed right now was for this gossip to spread like Fiendfyre throughout Hogwarts. Not before they had the chance to figure out what this fragile thing between them even was.

Her mind raced to formulate an excuse – a bribery if necessary – but then she noticed that Anthony had yet to react to her presence at all. With a relieved sigh Hermione realised that the Ravenclaw wizard was sleepwalking. She knew she shouldn't wake him, she had read about it once. Stepping forward, she held her breath as she hesitantly placed her hand upon the wizard's shoulder. When he did not startle at her touch, she pushed gently against him, turning his body away from the alcove. With great care and an exceptional amount of patience, Hermione escorted the unconscious wizard out of the library, up the many flights of often uncooperative stairs, and to the entry of the Eighth year common room.

One last step, she thought to herself, as she maneuvered Anthony through the portrait hole. Realising she did not know the password to his room, she guided him down onto one of sofas and coaxed him back into a somewhat inclined position with the hope that he would remain there until the morning.

She groaned as she straightened, her muscles fatigued from the effort of shepherding the unresponsive wizard up the many floors of the Hogwarts castle. She turned, taking a step towards Malfoy's room, before she paused. She had taken some time following him up from the Library, it was likely Malfoy was now asleep. Even if he was still awake, perhaps he needed some space. Tonight would have been incredibly taxing with the breaking down of his mental walls. Forcing this conversation on him now would likely be too much. Deciding she would speak to him in the morning, she turned on her heel and made for her own room.

Hermione had not seen him all weekend. He would not answer his door, did not attend meals. It was fortunate that Harry was still owling her of an evening, delivering a small portion of the Dreamless Sleep that Madam Pomfrey had provided for the holiday break. She wasn't sure what she would have done if the Slytherin had been responsible for rationing her allowance at this time. Would he have left her to struggle? To suffer alone? Surely not. Not after all they had shared.

With a contemplative sigh, she pulled the leather bound tome towards her for what felt to be the hundredth time that day. Her finger tips traced the slanted script that had been magically embossed into the cover's surface.

"Granger."

"Hmm?," she hummed, her eyes not leaving the scroll she had been translating all morning.

"I, well- It's Christmas…"

Malfoy's uncharacteristically anxious words drew her full attention and she lifted her gaze to meet his. He had risen from his place at the small study desk and stood by the edge of her bed where she lay on her front, surrounded by a plethora of scrolls.

"I didn't think you'd be here today," he continued. "But since you are… here."

He pulled a rectangular package, wrapped immaculately in dark emerald paper, from behind his back and held it out towards her.

"Is this for me?" she asked, clambering off the bed to stand before him.

"No, it's for Potter," he drawled.

A smile pulled at the corner of her lips. The snark had once grated her, but now – as he used it to mask his insecurity – she couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Just take the damn gift, Granger."

The smile slipped from her face as she was overcome by sudden nerves. She wiped her palms against her jeans before taking the neatly wrapped package from his grasp.

A book. She knew before she had even unwrapped the gift, that what she held was a book. It shouldn't have surprised her. Afterall, it's what almost everyone assumed she – the bookworm, the swot – wanted.

She slipped a single digit beneath the edge of the paper and methodically unstuck the sellotape before she carefully unwrapped the gift. Upon seeing Malfoy's familiar cursive script, her brows creased in confusion. Her eyes traced the brilliant silver ink that had been embossed into the dark leather, mouth falling open in surprise as she read the title - Hogwarts: A History.

"What... How did-"

"It is your favourite, is it not?" he asked.

"Yes, but…" she trailed off.

"I saw you, throughout the years, you carried this book with you so often. Always the most current edition," he said, answering her unspoken question.

She ran her fingers down the spine of the thick tome, still uncertain to what exactly the book contained. Lifting the cover, her eyes widened with surprise. She inhaled a soft gasp as she flicked through the pages. Not only was each page written by hand, he had translated the entirety of what looked to be Bathilda Bagshot's original edition of Hogwarts: A History, into Runes. Turning another page, a hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle the shocked sound that escaped her. It appeared that Malfoy had even included illustrations in many of the chapters, scenes of Hogwarts artfully sketched in ink and enchanted to reflect movements similar to those in the published text.

"Malfoy, it's- this…" she stammered, unable to find the words to express the depth of her gratitude for the thoughtful gift.

Combing his fingers through his blond strands, he replied, "I wasn't sure what to get you. I, well- I don't exactly lack funds, but there was no way for me to purchase you a gift."

"This is so much better than anything you could have possibly bought me, Malfoy," she began, hoping to quell his concerns. "It's such a personal gift. This must have taken you so long! And, I had no idea you could draw!"

At that, he smiled. That rare, dazzling smile that transformed his features. The hard lines of his face softened and she realised for the first time how his right cheek pinched into a shallow dimple. She felt her own cheeks heat. No. She couldn't think about how attractive this man was, for Merlin's sake. Not at a moment like this. She turned from him abruptly and ran to fetch her small beaded bag. She fumbled around within it for a moment before she withdrew her arm, a small parcel clutched in her hand.

"It's nothing fancy," she exclaimed, thrusting the gift forward.

Flustered, she watched him open the simple gift of a new quill and Muggle sour apple lollies.

"I didn't know what to get you," she began, unable to stand the silence between them. "I wasn't even sure if I should get you anything. What if you weren't in a position to get me a gift? I knew the restrictions of your probation would make it difficult for you. Now you've gone and made me this wonderful, thoughtful gift, and I feel like a right idiot and I'm worried what I've purchased for you isn't anywhere near substantial enough. I don't want you to think-"

Suddenly his arms were around her, cutting off her anxious rambling as he pulled her into an embrace. She froze for a moment, shocked by the contact, before she tentatively lifted her own arms and wrapped them around his middle.

"Happy Christmas, Granger."

Hermione worried at her lower lip as she stared down at the hand bound book Malfoy had given her for Christmas. Surely the wizard was not avoiding her. He couldn't have spent months creating such a thoughtful gift for her, only to treat her so coldly a week later. Could he?

By Monday morning the quiet doubt she harboured had grown, festered. She know longer knew if she should be concerned for his well being, or furious at his avoidance of her. What she did know however, was that they had class today. She would have her answers soon.

Inhaling a deep, steadying breath, Hermione straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. Exuding as much confidence as she could muster, she rounded the corner into the Library alcove ready to confront the Slytherin.

Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled a sharp, defeated sigh. The wizard was not there. However, as her eyes surveyed the space, it became apparent that he had been at some point. Since last they had occupied the space, a large stack of tomes had been repaired and neatly stacked on the desk they normally shared. She stalked forward, her frustration growing as she sat herself down at the desk and summoned herself an assortment of damaged texts. This was not the only class they would share that day, he wouldn't be able to avoid her much longer.

Hermione paused as she crossed the threshold into the Advanced Arithmancy classroom. He wasn't there. Surely he wouldn't go to such an extent to avoid her, not when skipping class would potentially violate the conditions of his parole. Taking her seat, she unpacked her things absentmindedly as she stared at the classroom's entryway.

"Miss Granger," said Professor Vector, drawing her attention away from the door.

"Yes, Professor?"

The professor leant forward, lowering her voice so that only Hermione would hear her next words. "I have received word that Mr Malfoy has taken ill and been admitted to the Hospital Wing. As such, I am afraid you will be without a partner for today's equations."

A heavy weight settled in her stomach. Maybe she had been too quick to doubt Malfoy after all. Taken ill? Was there something wrong with him? Could that be why he hadn't been at meals all weekend?

She barely managed to complete her workload in Arithmancy, her anxious mind playing through endless scenarios of what may have befallen the wizard. Her attention span only deteriorated further during Transfiguration, the Seventh year Ravenclaw she had been partnered with, gaping at her in blatant disbelief as she blundered yet another incantation. The moment Professor Hale dismissed the class, Hermione was on her feet and out the door.

Hermione sprinted out into the open air of the courtyard. Paying no mind to the enraged Third years whom she had startled – causing their Gobstones game to end dramatically – as she dashed across the cobblestone.

Without pausing for breath, she raced into the Hospital Wing, throwing back the privacy curtains around the beds one at a time. A young girl shrieked as Hermione unceremoniously ripped the curtain that surrounded her aside. She did not stop to apologise, nor comfort the girl. She needed to find Draco, needed to know what had happened to him. What if someone had attacked him? What if he had been injured? Cursed?

A hand flew to her chest as panic shot through her. Her breaths fell short and fast from her lips as she began to hyperventilate.

"Miss Granger!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, racing out from her office. "What in Merlin's name are you doing, girl?"

"Where is he?"

The age lines of the matron's face deepened as her brows pulled into a furrow. "What- Who?"

"Draco! Where is Draco?" she demanded.

Pomfrey's head tilted to the side ever so slightly. "The boy is not here. Now, I must ask that you leave immediately. You have disturbed my patients quite enough. I do not want to see you again until you return this evening for your allocation of draught."

Hermione stilled, stunned by the matron's declaration. Her mind raced anxiously, playing through the seemingly endless possibilities that may explain the wizard's absence.

"Out!" Pomfrey hissed, startling Hermione from her panic fuelled speculation.

She made her way to the Great Hall, with the hope she may find the Slytherin wizard there. The large room was mostly uninhabited, it was after all her free period and the majority of her peers were still in class. As she perched on the Gryffindor bench, she found herself staring at the empty place Malfoy frequently occupied on the far side of the hall. By the time students began to arrive for lunch, Hermione found herself questioning if he had even been in the Hospital Wing at all. Or perhaps that was just another elaborate lie, a tale weaved by a cunning Slytherin schooled in the art of deception. Was he avoiding her after all?

The longer she sat there, the more her doubt grew. Lunch came and went, yet she saw no sign of the blond in the Hall. As she made her way down the dungeon steps to her Potions double, Hermione felt the last of her concern give way to anger.

She entered the classroom and froze. There he was, sat at his workbench by Parkinson's side, evidently in perfect health and entirely uninjured. Her jaw clenched and she felt her molars grind against one another, something her mother had always scolded her for in her youth. Lifting her chin high, she tore her eyes away from the wizard and marched into the room.

"Are you okay?" asked Harry, once she had thrown herself down on the stool by his side.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

He stared at her for a long moment, before he shook his head, "Uh- sure."

She sighed, reminding herself that her anger should be directed at Malfoy, not Harry. "I'm sorry. I just… I don't want to talk about it, not here."

"Ok," said Harry. "I'll drop it. For now. But, please Hermione, talk to me about whatever this is."

"Later," she confirmed.

Mercifully, Harry nodded once in understanding and dropped the subject. The pair pulled out their textbooks and read through the instructions for the day's brew in mutual silence. For a time, throwing herself into her classwork successfully distracted her. Inevitably though, her thoughts returned to the blond wizard. How could they not, when she was in such close proximity to him. She fought the urge to look his way for as long as possible, but eventually, the overwhelming sense that someone was watching her tempted her gaze upward, her head turning to face him.

The air left her lungs as her shoulders slumped forward in disappointment. She had been wrong. He wasn't looking at her, in fact it was quite obvious from the rigid way he held his body, that he was quite determinedly – and purposefully – not looking in her direction.

Forcing herself to pull her gaze from him, she realised abruptly that it had not been Malfoy who had been watching her from across the room. Her eyes meet Parkinson's and the witch's painted lips twisted into a cruel, taunting smile before she turned her attention back to the wizard by her side. Hermione frowned, confused by the interaction. Had Malfoy returned to speaking terms with the Slytherin witch? What did she know?

The remainder of class passed in a haze, Hermione completing the various steps of the potion absentmindedly. She needed to confront him, to make sense of what had broken between them.

The moment Professor Stoutwood dismissed the class, Hermione swiftly gathered her belongings. Her mind set, she turned to Harry as they crossed the threshold out into the dungeon corridor. "Head to dinner without me, Harry. I'll catch up with you later, I need to talk to Malfoy."

Harry gave her a knowing look, but refrained from commenting. Watching him as he turned and made his way down the corridor, Hermione tried to steady her nerves. She waited there for what felt like an eternity, though in truth it was likely mere moments.

As Malfoy at last exited the classroom, she stepped forward and pleaded, "Talk to me, Draco."

Upon hearing her, his step halted, but he did not turn to face her. His muscles tense, he stared straight ahead as he growled, "Don't call me that."

"What, your name?" Hermione deadpanned, her brow raised and patience running thin.

Draco rubbed at his temple, his eyes falling closed. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"So you do regret it?"

"Just- Drop it, Granger," he hissed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Draco, wait for me," Parkinson called out.

She heard Malfoy grumble something illegible under his breath, before he stalked off towards the dungeon's exit.

"So, it's actually true then?"

"What?" replied Hermione, Parkinson's words having torn her attention away from Mafoy's retreating form. Upon seeing the smug look on the Slytherin witch's face, Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

"You kissed him," Parkinson countered matter-of-factly.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise as she inhaled a sharp breath. "How did y- I, uh- I don't know what you're talking about."

"No point lying, Granger."

Caught off guard by the other witch's knowledge, Hermione defended pathetically, "I- I'm not lying."

A high, cruel laugh met Hermione's ears before Parkinson began to pace, circling where Hermione stood.

"He came to me, you know," the witch whispered from behind her. "Confessed his mistake."

No. He wouldn't have gone to her, Hermione told herself. Not her. But how else could Parkinson possibly have known what transpired between them? Perhaps he had gone to her, they had been friends once. More than friends, she reminded herself. He had been so vulnerable that night, so broken after his mental walls had fallen. It was possible he had sought out someone familiar, someone with whom he had once felt comfortable, to process what had occured. Afterall, there was no one else in this castle for him to turn to.

"He won't ever be with you, Granger," Parkinson sneered. "You're nothing but a filthy Mudblood. He had forgotten his obligation to his family, to his bloodline. But the shame he felt when he touched you, it reminded him of who he is. Who you are, and always will be to him. Nothing."

As Parkinson spat that final, vicious word, Hermione felt herself deflate. A heavy unease settled in her gut, as bile threatened to rise in her throat. Deep down, she suspected she had always known the truth, that Malfoy would never accept someone like her.