Reformed
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Goldensnitch18
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Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Language, and Violence.
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Summary: Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban and sent to Hogwarts for his eighth year where he has a year to show that he can be reformed. Hermione Granger, and her friends, are struggling to come to terms with what has happened to them and move on, but she has agreed to be Malfoy's Muggle Studies tutor anyway.
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Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this story.
Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.
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Chapter Three: Meetings
Wednesday, July 15th, 1998
Hermione awoke with a sharp scream, scratching at her neck with her hands, trying to move a blade that didn't exist away from her skin. She thrashed in her sheets as her breath came in short, shallow gasps, the darkness adding to her confusion. Slowly, her fingers stopped, resting on her chest as her gasps turned to sobs, and tears began to fall down her face. She was safe. She was in Hogwarts.
Bellatrix is dead.
Bellatrix is dead.
Bellatrix is dead.
She grabbed her forearm as the mantra repeated over and over in her head and in her whispered words to the room.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Hermione let her head fall forward onto her bent knees. Her hands moved around her neck to rub at her shoulders. Her heart was still beating wildly, so she focused on slowing her breathing, trying to calm her nerves, trying to battle the part of her that was still wanting to fight against an invisible enemy. Minutes felt like hours as she waited for her body to return to normal, but finally she felt safe enough to lift her head. It was still dark outside, but light was just starting to break through. There was no point trying to get back to sleep. She knew there would be no more rest for her. She never could get back to sleep when the nightmares were about Bellatrix.
Instead, she climbed out of her four poster and slid her feet into slippers waiting on the floor. She pulled her wand off the night table and padded across the room to her closet. She grabbed clothes for the day and passed into her bathroom.
Hers.
The room was hers.
The bathroom was hers.
It was so strange to have so much privacy at Hogwarts. Her memories of this place were of sharing her dorm with giggling girls who loved to sleep in and primp in the bathroom while talking about boys and music and famous wizards. There had been a time when Hermione had longed to be part of them, to feel like one of the girls, but that time was long gone, lost somewhere between the screams of horrified Muggles at the Quidditch World Cup and Cedric's death in her fourth year. Now, Hermione was grateful for the single bed in the center of the room. She didn't have to worry about waking roommates with her screams or annoying them by keeping the light on all hours of the night while she tried to avoid sleep or thinking about Ron by reading.
As she walked into the pouring warmth of the shower, Hermione felt the tense knots in her back soften slightly. Some days she felt like her time under the water was the only real time of her day that she got to turn her brain off and stop feeling, but today that was not the case. She was meeting with Draco Malfoy this morning. Professor McGonagall had left her a note the night before that Draco was expecting her in the library at nine. Hermione hadn't seen him yet.
McGonagall had walked her to the Eighth Years Common Room upon her arrival. The room had been warm and inviting, decorated in soft browns and tans with splashes of color from all four houses. There were several couches, a fireplace, and a chess table waiting for the rest of the returning students. On the wall of the circular common room, eight closed doors led off to bedrooms. McGonagall pointed out "Mr. Malfoy's room," and then walked her into her own bedroom. It was decorated in the red and gold she was used to, and it felt like coming home. Hermione had held back a sob as a lump had formed in her throat, and McGonagall had left her alone. Hermione hadn't left her room the rest of the night.
The next day, she had gone down to breakfast in the Great Hall. She was the only one there, but as she sat down uneasily, a plate of food had appeared in front of her. She had eaten quickly, feeling wrong being alone in the place. Unwelcome memories flooded in as she tried not to cry and shoved her food into her mouth. She left the room as quickly as she had come, passing several groups of witches and wizards arguing as they attempted to work or stared at plans on parchment. Hermione had ignored them, trying not to look too hard at the gouges still carved in the walls or the work the other wizards were doing.
She had made her way to the library and hidden deep in the books, trying not to listen too hard to the unfamiliar noises of work around the school. There she had remained until the sun was gone. She hadn't even eaten again. She hadn't wanted to disturb the house elves again.
Hermione climbed out of the shower reluctantly. She didn't want this day. She didn't want this responsibility. She was regretting her decision to help Professor McGonagall out by tutoring Malfoy in Muggle Studies, but there was nothing to be done about it. She wanted to crawl into bed again and grab a book and hide. That was what her life had come down to, hiding in bed and reading.
She wrapped a large fluffy towel around her skin, drying it as she went, trying to calm her thudding heart with steady breathing. She thought about the book she had been reading the night before about the Wolfsbane Potion. She tried to remember the process, to repeat it in her head, but her mind slipped to the dirty image of Draco Malfoy chained to a chair.
She dropped the towel on the counter and gripped it with her fingers tightly. Her mind was slipping from courtroom to Manor, taking her deep into things she didn't want to remember, the things that had woken her up scratching at her throat. "Get it together, Hermione."
She'd had Ron. Every night on the run he had been there, holding her hand, comforting her, but now he was gone. Something had happened, something had changed, and she was alone, so damn alone, and he was gone, and no one was there to keep her grounded.
She pushed her body away from the sink and forced herself to go through the motions of getting dressed. She had made a commitment and it was time to get it over with.
XXX
Wednesday, July 15th, 1998
He was sitting at a table in the Library, and, for once, Granger seemed not to be here. As far as he had been able to tell, she wasn't in the castle, but McGonagall insisted he come here and meet her. Hermione Granger tutoring Draco Malfoy about Muggles. Never in a million years would he have imagined such a turn of events. He had unpacked his bag when he had arrived and chosen a table amongst the Muggle Studies shelves. He assumed she would want to use many books because they seemed to be her favorite things.
He'd been sitting there with his copy of Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles book on his lap, his feet on the table top, for twenty minutes before he heard her approaching. He swung his legs down, put the book on the table, and smoothed his trousers. She turned the corner and came into view. A lump formed in his throat at the sight of her. She was skinnier than she had been during their sixth year, but looked healthier than she had at the Manor or the Battle. She'd lost a noticeable amount of weight over the past year. It made her frame seem almost too small. Her eyes were dark, and he imagined she slept about as well as he did. She was wearing a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a blue cardigan that covered the word carved into her arm.
Mudblood.
He cringed. Her face fell.
"I can just go." She had stopped walking at the movement. Her voice was soft and unsteady, a tremor ran through him at the sound. Who was this witch? What had Granger done with the girl he knew? He imagined she'd left her back on the floor of his Manor with the blood and tears she'd lost there.
"No, I'm sorry." The word sounded strange in his mouth, and he had to push it past his teeth. Granger stared at him, her lip rolling under her teeth as she considered his apology. "It wasn't … I was just thinking about something."
Hermione pulled her arms into her body subconsciously, and he wondered if she had guessed at his thoughts or not. Either way, she decided to take the final steps towards him and pulled out the chair across the table to sit down.
He watched her pull her belongings out of her bag and tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't. He wanted to say something about the trial, but he didn't. He just sat there, waiting, his eyes flicking between her, the shelves of books, and the text open in front of him.
Finally, Hermione opened her own copy of the book and looked up at him. "So," she said in that same tepid voice as before.
"So," he responded. Something was wrong with her. She was as broken as he was. He could see it easily enough. Why was she here? Why wasn't she with her friends getting fixed and put back together?
"I, um, guess we'll start with the basics and work our way up from there."
"Okay."
She wasn't really meeting his eyes. She was looking at his hands, his book, his ear, but not his eyes. "What do you know about Muggle Currency?"
"Uh …" Draco looked down at the book. He'd read it. He knew he did, but now staring down at it, he couldn't remember what it had said. "It's different than ours," he finally mumbled.
She actually chuckled quietly at that. Draco looked up and her lips had curled up slightly, and her eyes met his for the first time. He tried to smile, tried to be reassuring. He needed her help. He needed to pass this class. He needed to be back with his mother. Granger was his ticket to that. She was the only way he could do this. He wasn't fool enough to think that he could erase a lifetime of lies and replace them with truth on his own in nine short months. He needed her. He didn't really like that. He would have rather relied on nearly anyone else but this girl. The thought made his knee bounce in irritation.
"True." She bit her lip again and cocked her head to the side, observing him. "Do you know anything about Muggles?" she asked. "I'm not trying to be rude. I'm just not convinced this is the best way for you to learn." She said the second part quickly, before he could respond to her question.
"Uh … not really." This wasn't exactly true. He knew plenty of things about Muggles. He had grown up learning about them actually, but he didn't think Granger was asking if he knew the twelve ways a Muggle could steal magic or the four tests for proving someone a Mudblood. He couldn't imagine she had any interest in knowing his intense knowledge of the sacred twenty eight and the hours he had spent learning about the torture and deaths of the wizards who were dumb enough to forget what sacred meant. He was sure she didn't even know about the texts he had been shown with photographs of Muggles cut open with magic, their bodies dissected as Wizards searched for and found weakness in them. Their blood was dirty and should be spilled often. Their brains were simple and should not be used. They lacked logic, cunning, strength, and knowledge. They were the bottom of the barrel, and it was his job to stand on them while he enjoyed the view from the top. She wouldn't want to know that he had grown up receiving not one magical education, but two.
"Hmmm." She looked away from him now, her mind turning. Her brain working. Her logic sliding bolts into place. A mudblood, smartest witch of her age, the perfect contradiction of everything he had been taught.
"What?" he asked finally, not able to wait anymore.
"If you're willing, I think we should do practical lessons."
"Errr." He wasn't exactly sure what a practical Muggle Studies lesson would entail. "I'm not allowed to leave the castle."
"Oh, I know. I was just thinking, you need to learn things like using money, shopping, baking, cooking, cleaning. Those are all things you would learn quicker by doing them yourself."
"Where would we do that?" he asked. He tried to imagine baking or shopping with Granger. It didn't seem to make sense. Even this, sitting at this table and having an actual conversation with her seemed odd.
"I'm sure we could figure something out. Professor McGonagall is set on this working." She was staring through him now, and he could tell her mind was miles away, probably already planning new lessons.
"Alright," he told her, trying not to think about what he was agreeing to.
XXX
Friday, July 17th, 1998
Ron was outside of Lavender's hospital room. She had been crying, but she had stopped. He wanted to go in and talk to her, but he didn't think she would want to see him, and he didn't know what he would say. He had heard her crying as he had approached the door, and his head had fallen back against the wall. He sunk down, his knees bent, his hair in his hands as he rested elbows on knees. He had sat there listening to her softly cry until she had slowly gained control, and then he had listen to her shuffle in her bed. She couldn't get up yet. They weren't letting her. He didn't know why he kept coming. He should be with Harry and Hermione and Ginny and his Mother, but something inside of that room was calling to him, taunting him.
That is how he was sitting when the shoes stopped in front of him. He looked up to see a man in healer's robes staring down at him. He was holding two cups of coffee. Ron pushed himself up quickly. "I'll go," he said quietly, not wanting to risk Lavender hearing him.
"No." The Healer handed him the second cup. "Walk with me."
Ron took the offered cup and fell into step next to the man as he began to walk away from Lavender's room. "Mr. Weasley, do you realize you come here every day?"
"Yes," he replied. What kind of idiotic question was that?
"And have you seen an abundance of visitors come and go in that time."
Ron frowned. "No." He'd seen a few people, some of their classmates had stopped by once or twice, but mostly it was him, standing vigil outside, disappearing at the first sign of anyone he knew. Her parents came for two hours every night, and he was always sure to be gone before they arrived.
"She needs a friend Mr. Weasley, something to hold her here, something to give her a fight."
"Errr." Ron saw where this was going then. "I'm no good for that, for her." He took a long drink of the coffee even though it was still a few degrees too hot.
"Often we find that the things we're most reluctant to do are the very things we should be doing." They had reached the end of the hallway, and the Healer turned back towards the room.
"I don't … I don't know."
"Look at it this way, Mr. Weasley." He clapped Ron on the shoulder with his free hand as he walked. "You can sit out here and be alone and miserable for weeks, maybe months, while she's here, or you can go in there and find out if she wants you here. If she does, great. If she doesn't, you can leave and stop making my wing so fucking miserable all the time." The man smiled at him, but Ron knew there was some truth to his words.
"Okay." He nodded and looked ahead at Lavender's room.
"Great, let's go say hello."
"Wait, now?" Ron stopped and stared at the wizard.
"Well, I'm going in to check on her now. You could join me." The Healer didn't stop walking so Ron had to move fast to catch up. His mind was racing, trying to determine if this was really a good idea. He'd been avoiding this moment so steadily, but the man was right. He either needed to go in there and talk to her or go home and move on with his life. He couldn't keep living in this limbo, hiding from Lavender and hiding from his friends and family.
"Okay," Ron said, and he saw the Healer smile as he turned into the doorway. He pushed the door open all the way, and his smile broadened.
"Hello, Ms. Brown," he said cheerfully.
"Oh, hi, Healer Dawns." Lavender's voice was dry and croaking.
"I found a friend out in the hallway for you."
"Oh," Lavender sounded almost disappointed at this.
Ron stepped into the room, taking the few steps to get far enough in to see her. His eyes found hers quickly. He watched them grow in shock and surprise, and he was sure that his were doing the same.
"Ron." The word escaped her lips as a whisper, so soft he barely heard it over the pounding of his heart in his ears.
Her beautiful curling hair was pulled back in a messy pony tail. The line down her cheek was nearly healed now, but her neck was heavily bandaged and held in place. She looked pale and thin beneath the gown she was wearing, and her eyes were puffy from crying. He hated himself in that moment for letting that happen to her. He stepped forward without thinking, walking right to the side of her bed and taking one of her hands. Lavender stared down, her mouth open, at his hand on hers.
"I'm so sorry." Ron barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.
"Ron, what … what are you doing here?" She was still staring at his hand.
"I …" He looked at their hands too, and pulled his away. "I can go."
"No," she said quickly. "Don't, I just … I didn't think you would come."
"This is all my fault," he told her, his face falling into desperation as she reached for his hand again.
"Ron, how is this your fault?"
"If I … if I had been with you … I could have stopped this."
"That is stupid," she told him frankly. "It didn't have anything to do with you." She squeezed her fingers around his, and he fell into the empty chair beside her. "I'm glad you're here," she told him quietly.
A/N: I hope you are continuing to enjoy this story. Let me know in the reviews !
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Thank you so much for reading!
XOXO
Meg
