Chapter Nine- Snowfall
Draco Malfoy needed Hermione Granger.
It was something he didn't like to admit to himself, even though the fact sometimes crept up on him. He found himself looking for her in a crowd, craning his neck to catch sight of that bird's nest on top of her head, or straining to hear a snippet of her voice. The only lessons he could bear without twitching and tapping his fingers against his leg, counting down the seconds until the bell would ring and he could leave, were the ones she was in. He started eating breakfast in the Great Hall simply because he knew she'd be there too. He made sure she was eating. If Blaise wouldn't let him starve to death, then he'd be damned if he let Granger escape the same way.
So yes, Draco needed Hermione Granger.
Blaise knew it. He would be talking and when he realised his friend wasn't listening in the slightest, he would stop and sigh or smirk. Draco would look away hastily at that smirk. But at least he no longer tried to sneak food onto his plate or interrogate him on his sleeping patterns, or lack thereof.
Hell, Hermione Granger knew it. She was significantly less smug about the fact since the words had been wrenched from his unwilling lips and seemed, if anything, just as embarrassed about the whole situation as he was.
Still, Draco refused to recognise that the stubborn Gryffindor, who'd slapped him so hard in Third Year he'd had to ask Pansy to cover the bruise up with her charmed makeup, was likely the only thing helping him sleep.
She found him sitting on the banking of the lake that evening. She would find him in the oddest places, slipping beside him, that Draco had come to wait for her presence, whether he wanted it or not. Now, Granger sat beside him on the grass, rubbing her hands together and blowing them.
She commented numbly, "Snow will be falling soon."
Draco glanced at her, then followed her gaze, craning back his neck to take in the heavy, grey clouds and naked trees. He hadn't noticed but he supposed it was cold. The dying sun dropped behind the trees another inch. "Yes. I suppose it will be."
"It's so unfair," she said and he wondered if she was aware that her voice trembled. "Why does life get to move on as though nothing has happened?"
Draco sighed. "Because that's what life does, Granger."
"What about us?" she asked.
"The ones that can't keep up get swept under the rug and left behind. We don't get the choice."
She was quiet. It was something he wasn't really used to: Hermione Granger silent. Whatever relief it might have ignited in him before was doused in the discomfort it sparked now. He didn't like it.
"Can you keep up?"
If she found the question odd, she didn't show it. She simply stared out across the lake, eyebrows pulled together in a small frown, as if she was truly contemplating her answer.
Eventually, she said, "I'm not sure. I think so."
They were quiet for a few more moments and then her eyes slid sideways to him and she said, "Can you?"
Draco didn't reply.
They let the sunset soak over them, catching their breaths when they froze in the air, caress their sweet and tangible youth, and allow them to feel as if they would retain that youth forever.
"I think you can," she said quietly.
Draco felt the anger flare up inside of him and before he could stop himself, he snapped, "Oh, because you know me so well, Granger?"
The way her eyes flashed made him instantly want to grapple for the words and shove them back down his throat. He sighed, looking away.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. Hermione's jaw clenched regardless and she stared stonily at the water.
"Actually no," she said after a while. "I think you can keep up with the way life carries on because you're talking to me. If you were lost, if you'd been brushed under the rug as you so put it, you'd have long disappeared by now. But here you are. You're still fighting, Draco. That has to count for something… I think it counts for everything."
Draco felt his heart stop. Maybe it sped up. He wasn't sure because it had been so long since it had done anything of the sort. He didn't look at her.
She shifted beside him, drawing her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She was wearing a Muggle padded coat, zipped to her neck, and jeans. It was too cold for October. Maybe the world was in mourning too. Granger blew some hair from her face. "Are we friends yet?"
Draco opened his mouth and he wanted to laugh because the question exasperated him so much and it was easier than grappling for an answer. He shook his head. "No, Granger. We're not friends."
He ignored the feeling of her shoulders slumping and couldn't stop himself from adding, whether it was to spare her or himself, "You don't want me as a friend."
"I think I should be allowed to decide that for myself," Granger sniffed, and he recognised that self-righteous tilt to her voice and rolled his eyes. Despite it all, it made him smile slightly. "You know, I don't understand why you continue to raise your heckles when I tell you I believe in you. Is my belief really such a bad thing?"
Draco swallowed. It felt like there was shrapnel in his throat. He shook his head a little. "I don't deserve it, Granger."
"Oh be quiet," she snapped. In his surprise, he turned to look at her. Granger was scowling at him. Her cheeks were pink, a bit fuller than they had been at the start of term, and her eyes sparked. She looked livelier, almost like the Granger he remembered. For a few seconds, they stared at one another before she huffed and rolled her eyes. "You are difficult."
Draco forgot everything else, spluttering indignantly. "Excuse you."
Granger raised her eyebrows. "I just don't understand your problem. The war is- it's over, Malfoy. The war is over and the monster is dead. You need to move on with your life and stop acting like you've given up-"
"You don't believe that, Granger," he said, and he cursed himself for not being able to look at her. The way she'd tripped over the words proved she didn't truly believe in what she was preaching. He screwed his eyes shut. He knew that if he looked at her, he'd shatter and weep and he couldn't do either of those things because it was all he seemed to do lately and he feared that if he started again, he'd never stop.
She shut her mouth. "What?"
"That the war is over," said Draco. "You, more than anyone, know it's not. And if the monsters are really dead... why am I still alive?"
He spat out that last bit. He'd held it in his mouth for so long it tasted bitter and sour and Draco heard the way his voice cracked. Hermione looked at him, lips pursed tightly. Her eyes were furious and hot. She said firmly, "You are not a monster, Draco Malfoy."
The words felt to make physical contact with him, puncturing his gut, and he clenched his jaw shut to stop himself from breaking because his throat trembled. All he could was scoff because anything else would give him away. He tried to stand up, throwing out, "I'm done with this conversation," but Granger, the stupid bint, reached for him, touching his arm and it burned. He recoiled, falling back onto the grass.
"You don't even know me!" he spat. He made sure the distance between them stayed. Granger had frozen in the air, watching him with her mouth parted as though the breath had stopped from her lips. She made him furious. She made him feel- "You just showed up out of the blue after not giving a damn for years, expecting me to care, expecting me to make an effort to live when I just want to fucking die! Can't you see, Granger? Just let me die. I'm not another one of your pity cases. I don't need your pity, Granger! You don't know half the things I've done-"
"Draco-" she was crying. Draco's heart definitely stopped at the sound of his name, tumbling from her lips in that desperate and ragged way. She pleaded it. Begged. "But I don't want you to die."
His face crumpled. He gave in. He couldn't hold on any longer. He started crying, and it hurt. Merlin, it hurt. She'd taken off her mittens and she touched his hand. It seared where their skin met. She flicked her hair back and he caught the smell of her strawberry shampoo. Her breath was quick and sharp on the air around him. He couldn't escape her. "I know you won't want to hear this but you need to hear it, okay? Sometimes you don't need to beg for redemption. Sometimes it comes and finds you."
Draco didn't move. He was still half sprawled on the banking of the Black Lake, feeling the wetness of the October dew seep into his clothes because he'd forgotten to cast a warming and drying charm. His body was hot though. He was breathing hard and his eyes were wet and the castle behind him and the forest behind her were all faded, shapes against the white expanse of sky but she- she was there, close and real, lips pink like peonies in spring, reaching out to him and Draco could have sobbed in relief had he deserved her. He'd have given anything to deserve her.
"I don't deserve redemption," he said and his voice was now low, ragged and broken; a fractured sob that not even the approaching stars could hear.
"Maybe not, but I'm giving it to you anyway." Granger stared at him, his hands were clasped tightly in hers, and he was finally shattering. It was like he had been strong for so long, too long, and now his anguish was pouring out of him: against all odds, Hermione Granger was there to catch it. "You're forgiven, Draco. Whether you feel you deserve to be or not, I forgive you."
Draco stared at her then, with a little bit of disbelief tainting his red-rimmed eyes. Hermione stroked his cheek, wiping away his tears, and she smiled a small smile. He laid back, melted into the grass, staring up at the darkening sky as it bleached white in the absence of light and the shadows shot through the clouds. Granger moved.
"Stay," Draco whispered. His hand was clutching hers so hard that both their knuckles had turned white. It cost him everything to plead with her. "Please stay with me."
"Of course."
He heard her swallow and she moved to lay next to him. They stayed on the banking for a little while longer, hands tightly together between them, until the first stars blinked open their bleary eyes and the first snow started to fall.