Chapter Four- The Abyss and Granger
He was in a bad mood. A really fucking sour mood.
It must have radiated from him, rolling like waves from the snarl of his lips and the hood of his eyes, because everyone he passed on his way to breakfast took one look at him and moved quickly out of his way. They ducked their heads, though their submission was counteracted by the trail of whispers their brashness allowed. Draco angled a glare at a particularly bold Gryffindor who didn't even bother to lower her voice when she used 'Malfoy' and 'Death Eater' in the same sentence.
It wasn't like she was wrong, but he didn't need the fucking reminder.
He didn't have his bag because lessons hardly mattered now. Blaise would slip him a quill and some paper when the professor wasn't looking, and Draco would take notes only after five minutes of stewing furiously and a laborious sigh because his head was starting to burn due to the heat of his friend's glare. Although he had always been a good student (never as good as Granger, he thought bitterly), he could only question what the point was. What was the point in trying to haul himself back on track when in less than four months it could be too late?
Blaise hadn't brought up his trial again. Draco was secretly relieved at his friend's tact, but part of him wished that Blaise would care less. He ostracised himself when he was seen with him, and Draco was well aware that convivial conversation died when he entered a room. He'd also noticed that Blaise would fill both his own and Draco's plate with food to make sure he was eating. It was part of the reason Draco had taken to having some of his meals in the kitchen.
He didn't want Blaise getting attached. Not if he wasn't going to be here for much longer.
But he also knew Granger ate in the kitchens too, and right now, Blaise was the lesser of the two annoyances.
He wondered what her reasons were.
The Great Hall was alive with chatter. The owls had just swooped in and they pecked at the fingers of their recipients, vying for food or payment. Draco found himself drawn to the open window that allowed them access. He wished it was that simple to just take off, into the September skies and never have to stop or look back, to just disappear into the clouds. The din of morning excitement withered away and he was painfully aware of the silence, and the hundreds of eyes that turned to stare before relocating rapidly.
Draco found it worsened his mood considerably.
He skulked over to the Slytherin table, and when Blaise moved along the bench to let him sit down, he obliged, not having the effort or energy to fight him this morning. His heart dropped with his body as he slipped in beside Blaise, shoulders deflating, head pounding. He didn't even argue when Blaise began putting bacon and toast on his plate.
"Do you like black pudding?" Blaise asked nonchalantly.
Draco didn't reply. His eyes stung because he'd hardly slept, and he felt like the world was falling away at his feet.
"I'm going to take that as a no," said Blaise. "You're having some beans though. They're good for your heart."
"I'm going to Madam Pomfrey after Transfiguration," muttered Draco, and Blaise looked at him in surprise. "I haven't been sleeping."
Momentarily struck by this change in his friend, Blaise was silent before he said, "Okay. Good. That's good. She can give you a potion for it."
"Yeah."
He pretended he was doing it for himself, and he allowed Blaise to feel as though he was trying to get back on track. In reality, it was because he didn't think he could face Hermione Granger.
Almost absently, his gaze trailed the table on the far side of the hall, looking for her bushy bird's nest, seeking out her tired eyes. Draco didn't know what it was, what kept drawing him back to her. He had once longed to see her broken, to see her grappling and disorientated because she was always the one holding everything and everyone else together.
He remembered their second year, seeing her sprawled and seized up on the hospital bed. Draco had to admit he'd been curious. She'd been a tiny thing, filled to bursting with self-righteousness and the silly ignorance she used to delude herself with about a dark world she was a stranger to. He heard the whispers- Potter's Mudblood has been petrified. That was when he knew it wasn't Potter. He'd doubted it highly anyway because a Gryffindor (especially one as bloody stupid and brash as Potter) could never be Slytherin's heir, but Draco wanted to see what Granger looked like when she was inches away from death.
As it turned out, she looked no different. Apart from the pallid waxiness of her face, the unseeing gaze of her wide eyes and the fact that her mouth was shut and silent for once, he thought she looked the same. It unnerved him more, though he'd never admit it. She wasn't supposed to be broken. She was meant to be spitting and fighting until the end.
This wasn't the end for Granger. He didn't know how he knew it, but Draco hadn't felt so sure of anything in his entire life.
That was why he needed to sleep. If he didn't sleep, his mind would wander and for some bizarre and fucking annoying reason, it would always wander back to her. He didn't like to see her broken. It made him ponder on how absolutely beyond fixing he was in comparison.
"I'm going to go to class," he murmured, feeling his skin crawl like he was on fire, pushing the bench back so he could escape. It was so hot.
Blaise frowned at him. "You haven't touched your bacon."
"I'm not hungry."
"Draco-"
He sped up so he wouldn't have to face a confrontation with his friend. As soon as he'd burst through the doors, and the stifling air relinquished its clutches on him, he let out a shaky breath.
Walls felt confining nowadays. If he sat in the same place for too long, they would start to close in on him, squeezing his ribs, sucking the light from the world. When the wind picked up and snaked around his neck, Draco swore he felt the Dementors reach out for him-
He stopped. Running his hands over his face and through his hair to try to get a grip, he shook himself and turned on his heel. He might as well actually go to class. There was nowhere else in the world he needed to be. Not now. Not ever.
He didn't get very far however.
"Death Eater!" Draco felt the name stab into him, but he continued walking. "Merlin, it's a wonder they ever let war criminals back into the school. You'd think they'd send them straight to Azkaban-"
The heat exploded within him, writhing fury, coiling frustration, and he whirled around. The group were maybe fifth years, with various coloured ties but he saw red.
"Are you talking to me?" Draco gritted out.
The tallest, a smug boy with sickening grin and squinting eyes, who Draco associated with the name Hamelin for some reason, raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're the only Death Eater here, aren't you?"
Draco could feel the tension in the air. He could feel the brewing storm. After living his life for that, with no breaks of sunshine for so long, he knew the moment a situation changed. It was when his hairs stood on end in anticipation and every bone in his body braced itself for impact.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wouldn't rise to it.
"What do you want?" he asked, fixing them with a bored glance.
The Ravenclaw, Hamelin, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards him. Draco didn't move as he came nose to nose with him. He could feel the heat of the other boy's breath, see every flicker beneath his skin. There was a twitch in his jaw, an unpredictability in his eyes; he was fuming, bubbling over with something poisonous and livid. Draco recognised it. He didn't square up, just watched him through hooded eyes.
"I want you to pay," the boy said in a low voice. He was trembling, something Draco was sure his friends couldn't see.
He knew he was playing with fire, but he asked in a cold voice, "For what?"
"My brother," Hamelin spat. A vein pulsed in his head.
Draco's eyes darted over his shoulder. They had accumulated a small crowd. He swallowed. They stood with wide eyes, held breaths, debilitated with the expectation of what would happen next. He knew what they were waiting for.
He'd give it them. He'd be the villain they so desperately wanted him to be.
"And what did I do to your brother?" he drawled.
Hamelin's entire face changed. It twisted into agony. "They killed him!" he stressed, almost crying out.
"You're going to have to be more specific," said Draco, flicking his eyes away.
His dark eyes were red and wet, and he drew in a shuddering breath, surveying Draco as though he wanted to kill him. "Your lot. Your friends, your father, your sick, fucking leader. I don't know. You could've done it yourself, Malfoy."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Draco quickly said. He looked Hamelin dead in the eye. "You all would. Would it make it easier if I told you I did it?"
That was all he needed to hear. Hamelin reared back and punched him, fist colliding with his cheekbone and all Draco could hear was the crunch of the bones in his face, splintering awfully in his ear. He stumbled backwards. Vaguely, he could hear the gasps of the crowd and even some cheers, but they were soon drowned out by the rush of blood to his head.
Hamelin punched him again as soon as he'd regained balance, and he felt the cold, hard impact of the floor. The world spun a little. It wasn't much, compared to what he'd been through, but he still felt weak.
"Why aren't you fighting back, Malfoy?" Hamelin asked, almost deploringly, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his robe. When Draco didn't stir, he kicked him in the ribs. "Why won't you fight? Fight for yourself, you piece of shit!"
Draco felt each kick but he was numb to it. He rolled over and took it, thinking he deserved so much worse. His ribs felt to fracture, jarring in his body and ripping into his heart and lungs. Each breath was painful, and when he coughed, a splatter of blood stained the floor.
Hamelin knelt down beside him. He was crying, taking huge raking breaths. Drawing his face close, he said, desperate and devastated beyond description, "This is for my brother. It's for everyone who you've hurt. Everything you touch breaks."
Draco didn't even react. Hamelin inhaled sharply, recoiling, and he grabbed Draco's arm, ripping his sleeve from his skin. There was a hiss of fear, a ripple of disgust, and Draco felt his Dark Mark burn. He finally acted. He rolled away slightly, pulling his arm back and punching the other boy hard in the nose. He knew it was hard because his knuckles stung and it was enough to take his mind off the pain that was imploding everywhere else.
Hamelin fell backwards, skidding away from the force of the hit. Draco knew he'd just made it worse, and he relaxed into the stone floor, welcoming the cold that seeped into his skin.
Nobody tried to stop Hamelin, not as he scrambled furiously to his feet, storming back over and bringing his foot down squarely on Draco's face. He could feel the blood explode from his nose, and his tooth cut into his lip. He thought he saw stars, and maybe his mother's face, and why the fuck could he hear Granger's voice?
He thought it might be his conscience berating him, calling him a coward and an idiot and everything between and beyond, but then he felt hands on him, warm ones, and the world resumed. Everything came back tenfold, and Draco felt like a gasping infant, birthed from turmoil and fury, squinting in the painful brightness of a world that was unfamiliar to him.
"-stupid, stupid boys!" a voice was saying. It sounded stressed, upset, frantic.
"He deserves it, Granger. You know he does-"
"This isn't war!"
Granger's voice echoed loudly and despairingly along the corridor. It came from somewhere very close to him, and Draco suspected it was her warm hands that were sending heat through his body. He realised she was shielding his forearm from view. He tried to move away from her, rolling onto his stomach in an attempt to crawl, but she held him fast and he had no effort to try again.
"I didn't put everything on the line in a war for you to perpetuate violence and anger," she said, distress making her voice tremble and high. "Hamelin, your brother wouldn't have wanted this-"
"Don't you dare tell me what he would've wanted, Granger," countered Hamelin defiantly. "Look at his mark, Granger! Why are you defending him? His type tried to kill you. They killed Linus-"
"You're just grieving!" she shouted at him. The silence bounced back, cracking her voice. "We're all grieving but that doesn't mean we turn on each other. We won because we prioritise love and friendship, not hatred."
Draco tilted his head slightly so he could watch her through his hair. She was crying silently, chest heaving. "We're just children. We shouldn't be fighting like this. We shouldn't have to grieve. Now, get to class, all of you. Go!"
"And 100 points from Ravenclaw," added a cool voice. Draco glanced behind Granger and saw the Weasley girl. She stood tall, arms folded across her chest, Head Girl badge glinting from her robe. With even more aloofness, she said, "And a further 50 from everybody watching."
Draco lowered his eyes to the floor. He wanted to get away from here. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He wanted to die-
There was a scuffle of hesitation, before the crowd dispersed, too chastised and ashamed to properly argue over such a heavy penalty. The group of Hamelin's friends grabbed his arm to steer him to their lesson.
"You belong in Azkaban, Malfoy," Hamelin said finally, resisting his friends for only a moment before they dragged him away. There was no bite in his voice, just dejection, and Draco tried to kick out his legs to see if he still had control of them, feeling each one of their footsteps pound within his skull. He rolled onto his back and gazed up at the high ceilings, and the beams swung, and the sunlight seemed to do pirouettes and twirls above his head.
Every bone in his body hurt. He ached as though he was hollow and there was nothing left.
Now, it was just him, and the pain, and Granger and Weasley.
"Hermione-" Weasley began, reaching for her friend.
Granger swallowed, and there was a hardness to her face which lasted just a second, before she turned her chin half towards the other girl to say, "Go to class, Ginny. I'll take him to the Hospital Wing."
"But-"
"You need your NEWT's more than I do," she reasoned.
Weasley hesitated, but then she squeezed Granger's shoulder, cast Draco less than half a glance, and left.
Granger remained sitting there for a moment, staring into space, before she turned to look at him. She realised she was still holding his arm and dropped her hands.
"It was very stupid of you to provoke him like that," she said. She sounded stronger than before, but he could hear the cracks.
Draco forced himself to sit up, slowly pushing off against the cold floor, and biting back his winces when he felt his ribs dig into his flesh. He coughed, spitting out the blood that had collected in his mouth and grimacing at the metallic taste it left.
"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, her comment smarting a little.
Granger frowned. "I didn't see it. I was on my way to class when I saw some Third Years run past, talking about a fight. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was probably you, since nobody else is stupid enough to start a fight-"
"Don't fucking patronise me, Granger."
"-and then I saw that I was right, and someone told me that you'd killed Hamelin's brother," she finished, as if he hadn't said anything at all. She stared at him, with pursed lips. "Did you?"
He glared at her. "Did I what?"
"Did you kill his brother?"
Draco climbed to his feet, ignoring the flash of agony that jolted through him. "No," he said. "I didn't even know he had a brother."
Granger remained kneeled on the floor. "Then why did you say you did?"
Why wouldn't she fucking shut up? He wanted to drop the subject entirely and walk away, but he knew that he'd collapse if he tried. He wouldn't be able to get anywhere without her help. Even so, his skin crawled with her interrogation. He wanted to bang his head against the stone so hard his ears would bleed and he wouldn't have to listen to her or answer her stupid questions.
"I don't know, Granger," he spat. "They wanted a villain. It's the least I can do to give them one."
She was silent. Draco wondered if she'd slipped away because he hadn't looked at her since she'd asked him. But then-
"Are you alright, Malfoy?" Granger asked him seriously. The concern leaked into the air.
He wanted to be honest with her. He didn't know why because he wasn't one to talk about his feelings, but there was a balloon swelling in his chest and he thought that if he didn't let some air out, it would pop and he would shatter or deflate, and Draco so desperately wanted to tell her. He was breaking. He was being swallowed by the abyss and she was standing above him, reaching her hand out, hearing the way life caught in his throat and locked his joints and silenced every scream and cry for help.
He was just too damn proud to take it.
"I don't need you, Granger," he snarled at her, wiping his mouth roughly against the back of his hand. The blood smeared startlingly red against the blue of his veins. He pretended he didn't notice. "You're not my keeper!"
She bristled at that. It had been so long since he'd seen her all riled up, eyes aflame, hair catching the static of the moment. She looked a bit like the old Granger.
"I know, Malfoy," she replied through gritted teeth. "I just thought you looked rather pitiful getting the shit beaten out of you and wanted to offer my help. Clearly, it wasn't wanted."
He knew he was being a dick but her words still stung. He'd provoked her to such a reaction but he wanted her to defend him more, to tell him in that bossy voice of hers that left no room for debate that he had to fight for himself because nobody else was going to do it.
Instead, he ducked his head and muttered, "It wasn't needed."
Granger looked at him. Then, she let out a surprising laugh and said derisively, "Of course it wasn't. Well, Malfoy, when you decide to pull your head out of your arse, I'll be waiting. But until then, I'm going to class."
She stood up and turned her back on him. She had a gift. Draco was sure of it. It was like every single word that came out of her mouth was targeted to rub him up the wrong way, to nestle beneath his skin and prick. The flare of anger reared its ugly head inside of his gut and he stormed closer to her, backing her into the wall.
He'd never been this close to her. Not even when they sat side by side on the cold, stone floor, soaking in the same moonlight. Granger looked worse up close.
There were purple crescents under her eyes and her skin was waxy, stretched taut over her skull. Her hair hadn't been brushed in days, but Draco had always wondered if she'd even owned a hairbrush so that shouldn't have shocked him as much as it did. She had no resolve in her eyes. They were empty.
He pushed down the unease that settled deep within him at that revelation, and leaned his face closer to hers.
"You don't get to speak to me like that, Granger," he growled menacingly. "I don't know who you think you are. You have no idea what I'm going through. Even if you hopped down from your little war hero pedestal, you couldn't possibly imagine how fucking wrecked I am."
She pushed herself up so she could look him directly in the eye, chin tilted high to the ceiling, voice biting but something in her eyes made him think that she was wounded. "Have I not shown you I'm wrecked too?"
"Your biggest fear is failing a fucking class, Granger!" Draco stressed, his voice bordering on a shout. It was strained, sounding like his throat was tearing to allow the words to pass. It was too raw, too unprotected. He seemed to realise this for he adopted his sneer, though it lacked the usual malice. "Forgive me for not taking your anguish very seriously."
Granger stared at him, eyes hard, jaw clenched. She said quietly, without looking away, "Yes. And my best friend had been marked for death since he was a baby. My parents are currently in Australia with no knowledge that they have a daughter and I don't know if they will ever get that knowledge back. Every time I close my eyes, I see people fighting and dying. So don't act like your problems are bigger than everyone else's, or like they make you bigger, because that's not how this works."
Draco just stared at her. He was well aware of the blood pounding to his head and the fact that Blaise would probably kill him for being late to class, especially as he'd set off early, but he couldn't find the energy to care about any of that. He swallowed thickly.
"You erased their memories," was all he said. He blinked. "I didn't know about that. I'm sorry."
Granger looked surprised she had let such a damning part of her grief slip, and she frowned at the floor. "I didn't have a choice. It was their lives or me.
"I'm not asking that you let me in, Malfoy," she continued quietly. He screwed his eyes shut to try and block her out. "I just want you to know that you're not going through this darkness alone. All differences aside, I can see when someone is grieving, and it pains me to see you driven so close to the edge-"
"Don't kid yourself, Granger. Nobody cares about me. They all know how my story ends."
Her hand was cool on the searing heat of his skin and it jolted him so he had no choice but to look at her. She shook her head and said insistently, "Nothing is written in stone, Malfoy. If you want something, truly want it, you need to fight for it. No one can save you if you're not willing to save yourself."
Draco looked into her eyes, so persistent and concerned, and he thought, maybe he believed her. Maybe there was still time left for him. Maybe, as he felt the pressure of her hands, and the shaky heat of her breath, and the morning light readied the day for salvation, he wouldn't have to do it alone.
"Granger," he began, swallowing, choking on the words. She nodded expectantly, and Draco floundered for something to give her, but he couldn't say what he wanted her to know. He was in too much pain and it was too much to ask of her and too much of himself to give away- "Can you please take me to the Hospital Wing?"