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 Thirteen

Wednesday, October 21st, 1998

Lavenders leg bounced as she sat in her desk chair, watching Ron with eager anticipation. He could feel her eyes on him, not moving for even a single moment as he read her article. When he was done, he set it down on the bed beside him and looked up at her. She bit her lip. "So?" she asked.

"It's really good," he told her, and it was. It was nothing at all like he had been expecting. He wasn't honestly sure what he had thought she was planning to write about, but what she had given him read significantly less like an an article and more like the beginnings of an argument for a change in werewolf legislation. "I think you should let me send it to Hermione."

Lavender's mouth fell open as she turned red, and he knew he had made a mistake. "What?" she asked.

"I just mean, I think this is really, very good, but it would be a waste in Witch Weekly. She might have a better idea of who you could send it to or talk to. She keeps up on that kind of thing."

"I do not need Hermione's help," she snapped, moving towards the bed. He watched uneasily as she grabbed the pages from beside him and turned to take them back to her desk.

He tried not to sigh, but he knew he had fucked this up. Having Hermione read it had been his first thought, and it had just stumbled out of his mouth. Hermione was the only person he knew that might be able to help Lavender find the right outlet for what she had to say and also the only person her knew that might be passionately on her side, but he should have known better than to suggest so flippantly that she should send it to the girl who had essentially broken them up the first time they had dated.

Ron pushed up from the bed and walked up behind her. She was rifling with the contents of her desk with no apparent purpose outside of not having to look at him. "Lav," he said softly, his hand coming to rest at her waist, "I didn't mean anything by it." She stiffened beneath his touch.

"Of course, you didn't," she said curtly. "This is important to me, and your first thought is to share it with her."

"Not like that," he insisted, but he should have know she would take it this way. He should have known that he would be putting his foot in his mouth. Her best friend was already telling her that it was a mistake to give him this second chance, and he was basically handing Parvati her argument on a silver platter by bringing up Hermione straight away.

"Well, that is how it feels," she told him, slamming down an ink bottle. Ron cringed.

"I genuinely just think she can be helpful to you," he tried to explain.

"I don't need her help," Lavender told him.

"She's my friend," he said carefully, trying not to put any inflections that could be misunderstood into the words. Hermione was his friend. They were both done. He knew it, and she knew it, but Lavender couldn't possibly understand why or how because he hardly understood it himself.

"I know that she is your friend. I accept that. It doesn't mean that I have to want her involved in this, in my life." She had gripped the edge of the desk and stopped moving things around frantically without purpose. Her voice was softening as well, leading him to believe that he might still save this conversation.

Ron grabbed her hand from behind before gently guiding her to turn and face him. She tried to look away, but he waited for her to meet his eyes. "Do you really want to publish this in Witch Weekly?" he asked, switching his method of trying to redeem himself.

"No," she admitted.

"Do you have any other ideas for where to send it?"

"No," she said again, sullen.

"Then, maybe, we could try this and see if she can help because she is my friend and nothing more," he suggested. Lavender stared back at him for a long moment and then looked away.

"Have you told her?" she asked.

"We, well, really, all three of us, just haven't been talking much." She looked disappointed by this, so he continued quickly. "She knows I spend nearly all of my time with you. I'm sure she's figured it out. I'll tell her when I see her on Halloween, okay?"

"I'm trying really hard not to be crazy and jealous," she said in response. He squeezed her hand.

"I know. I appreciate it."

"You can't just spring her on me when I ask you to do something like this. You just said 'It's good. I'm going to give it to this other girl I was in love with.'"

Ron winced and nodded. "I will try to not be an idiot in the future."

"You can send it to her, if you really think she might have an idea," she agreed.

"I do." He leaned in, kissing her softly.

Sunday, October 25th, 1998

Draco was sitting in the common area when she opened her door. He had come out after everyone had gone to bed. He needed a break from his bed staring at him, mocking him for not sleeping, so he had moved back out to the sofa where he had sat so many late nights before the rest of the school had shown up, ruining most everything.

He looked up at the noise, and she seemed to startle at his presence. "You okay," he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes, seeming to collect herself and nodded. "Yeah, of course," she told him, but her eyes were red, and her hand was shaking.

He pushed up on the arm of the sofa, and moved over to her. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She ran her trembling hand up behind her neck and took an unsteady breath. "I just … I need ... " she trailed off, staring towards the fire.

He reached out slowly, tentatively, and pushed her hair behind her ear. She seemed to crumple in response, her body deflating. "Do you want to … uh ... we could try to ... " He couldn't seem to get the words out, but she looked up at him, her eyes wet, and bit her lip. She understood.

"Out here?" Where anyone can see. He too understood. They were an anomaly. Something odd and entirely unexpected had happened, was happening, between them which none of these people would understand.

"Up to you," he said, not caring if anyone saw them. Well, this wasn't necessarily true. He might care, if it actually happened. He wasn't sure.

"Uh," she glanced back in her room, "do you want to come in here?" she asked.

"Sure," he told her. Maybe it was easier that way.

"Okay." She stepped back, making room for him to walk inside, and then shut the door behind him. His steps were careful. This was her space, and she had invited him into it even though she was clearly shaken. Hermione passed him, moving to her bed. The blankets were tangled. She crawled up beside them, still looking like a shadow of herself. Draco followed, hesitant as he sat on the end of the mattress. She hadn't bothered to turn on the light, but his eyes adjusted quickly.

"So," he said, suddenly sure that this had been a terrible idea. What did he have to offer her?

Hermione looked at him carefully, something haunting in her eyes as her teeth worked her bottom lip again. He forced himself to meet her gaze, watch her closely as her mouth opened, as she struggled for words. He was silent, waiting, his heart beating rapidly. She pulled her knees up to her chest and crossed her arms.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked, and he was suddenly able to exhale.

"Yes," he whispered. Every night.

"Do you think it will stop?" Her voice cracked.

"Yes," he lied. He had no confidence at all that his would never stop, but he sincerely hoped hers would. He wanted nothing more in that moment then to lean in, press her down to the bed, and kiss her until she forget entirely whatever, whoever, had woken her. Maybe that wrong. Maybe that was just another sign of how screwed up he was.

"It shouldn't feel like this," she said, her eyes fluttering closed.

"What shouldn't?" he asked.

She looked at him, and he was struck again by the pain in her eyes. She was bare before him. Every emotion brought to the surface and naked for him to see. "All of it. Everything. I just thought it would be easier. I thought it would be different."

"I never thought about it ending up like this," he admitted. He regretted the admission the moment it left his lips.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He considered lying, telling her something about never thinking they could ever be able to have a conversation like this, but in the end, he settled on truth. "Potter winning. I never thought it was possible. The Dark Lord … I didn't think anyone ..." He faltered, looking away from her.

"Draco," she whispered his name, and he felt dirty, undeserving.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she looked genuinely confused that he would question this.

"After all of it, everything I've done, you should have said no. You never should have started to help me." He could still remember his disbelief when McGonagall had told him that Hermione Granger was going to be the one to tutor him. It had seemed so utterly crazy that anyone would be willing to help him, but least of all her.

"I guess I thought maybe I could change you." She shrugged, as if this meant nothing, but he could see the vulnerability hidden behind the movement.

He shook his head. "I guess you have."

"I don't know about that," she said, watching him carefully. "I think I'm just here. You had already started to change, things are just settling now. You're figuring out who you want to be."

He stared at her, and she looked back, working her lip like crazy every time she stopped talking. It drew his eyes to her mouth and his mind to the greenhouse. He didn't know who he wanted to be. He had no bloody idea. His life was a mess, his family shattered, his way of living destroyed. Everything he had ever believed in went against everything she was and stood for, but he knew that he wanted to kiss her. He knew that he liked the way she made him feel. He knew that when he was with her, all of that seemed to matter just a little less. He moved, pushing against the soft top of the mattress as he climbed towards her.

"I told you I should figure out my mess," she whispered, no doubt seeing the desire in his eyes.

"I know," he said, not caring. He was on his knees before her. His hand reached out, and his thumb grazed her lips. Even this simple gesture towards her felt more intimate that nearly anything he had ever experienced. "I would never have considered this before," he told her.

"I know," Hermione repeated. "Me either."

"What is it that you are trying to figure out?" he asked.

"Why I was with him. Why I …" She just looked at him. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, just missing his thumb.

"What do you want right now?" Draco asked her.

"Right now?" She closed her eyes, thinking or deciding what to say, and then opened them again. "I want to ask you to stay with me tonight. It might help me actually get back to sleep." Draco leaned in to replace his thumb with his lips, barely grazing them across hers. She sighed against him, and he fought every urge to grip her tightly against him.

"But?" he asked, instead.

"But, I feel like I'm not supposed to want that." Her voice was full of something that caused it to tremble.

"How about we try not giving a fuck what other people think? At least when we're alone." He kissed her again, his lips more insistent as her hands found his neck. She pulled him closer and let her body fall back until her head hit the pillow. They settled against each other, Draco slightly to the side to avoid her directly beneath him. He was very aware of what she was not offering, and he didn't think he could bare the sensations of her body completely against his. He moved his lips across her jaw and up to her ear. "Hermione," he whispered. She leaned closer, her head resting in the crook of his neck as her arms moved around his body. He breathed her in, finding comfort in her proximity, in her contact. It was embarrassing how he much he relished the sensation of her fingers on his back or her chin on his shoulder. "Ask me to stay," he told her.

"Stay with me?" she asked, and his stomach flipped as his eyes fell closed. He had to work hard to control his body which was already responding eagerly to her beside him.

"Okay," he responded. She turned beneath him, offering her back to his front. He pulled at the blankets, covering them both before his arm settled at her waist. His heart thudded heavily against his chest as he moved her hair away from her shoulder to kiss her softly one last time.

Tuesday October 27th, 1998

"Hey," Neville said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder just long enough to squeeze before he sat down beside her. She was hiding in the stands wrapped in her coat.

"Hey," Ginny said back, not bothering to look at him. Her feet were on the row in front of her, knees bent and arms crossed. She had come out here to be alone.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," she told him, staring down at her shoes. One of them had come untied.

"You looked really upset when you left breakfast," he continued, undeterred by her obvious signs that she didn't want to talk.

"I'll be okay," she told him, shrugging.

"Come on, Gin," he bumped his shoulder into hers. "What is it?"

She sighed, finally looking over at him. He was giving her that grin that had somehow become endearing over the years. She couldn't help but feel safe. This was Neville, one of her closest friends, the first boy who had ever noticed her as more than a little girl. How different would her life be if they had carried on after that ball? How much easier would it be if she wasn't in love with Harry Potter?

"My mother wrote me," she told him, patting her pocket where the letter rested.

"Did you read it?" he asked. His hesitation was evident in his voice.

"No," she admitted. "I don't know if I want to."

"You should," he told her, bumping his shoulder against her again. "You know you should."

"She was being ridiculous," Ginny insisted.

"And, it has been months. You aren't living with Harry right now," he reminded her, and she nearly laughed. She was very aware that she wasn't living with Harry right now. She was very aware that every night when she laid down something was missing, something that made her ache in a way that made her wonder if she could really make it through this year.

"I'm going to stay with him over break. What is she going to do then? Get mad at me all over again? And, what if it isn't even that she wants to put it behind us? What if she just wants to tell me I'm behaving like a child or something?" Ginny asked him.

"Seems a bit dim to wait this long to yell at you. I'll read it first if you want," he offered.

She looked at him again, considering, and reached for her pocket. The letter was folded inside. She pulled it out and handed it to him before moving her eyes back to the pitch. She could hear him open it, hear the paper crinkle as he unfolded it, hear his breath as he read it.

"She's just sending her love and letting you know that she hopes you will come home for Christmas," he said, refolding the letter.

"Okay," she said, not sure what to think.

"You should write her back," Neville urged, and she shrugged.

"Maybe," she answered, and they fell into silence. Neville stared out at the pitch with her, and she was glad that he was there, that he had read the letter for her.

"How is he?" Neville asked a few minutes later, attempting to conceal his concern.

"Not good," Ginny said, moving to stand. She didn't want to talk about Harry. It hurt too much to think about it. Every time she saw him, he looked worse, and she was going to see him this weekend. She was equally looking forward to and dreading the visit. They would talk and be together and avoid the things he wouldn't talk about which stood between them, keeping them from making any real progress. She hated it, and she loved it because she had chosen him. She had fallen for him so utterly completely, and she didn't care that it had turned her into this mess. She just wanted to be able to help him, to fix him. He deserved to be happy, and whole, and sleeping.

"Gin," Neville called, standing to follow her, but she just ignored him and started down the stairs two at a time.


A/N: I continue to adore each and every one of you. Props to Guest who imagines "Ben as Bradley Cooper with a mustache." Hilarious. I am dying over these Ben reviews so very much.

I hope this chapter finds you well and warm because it was 4 degrees here today and that is super gross. I'm going to try to keep up with updating twice-ish a week over the next couple weeks, but it's the holiday nonsense you know so no promises.

I'm going to go ahead and tell you that I am DYING to post the next chapter, but it isn't quite ready so hopefully the wait won't be too long.

Also, I've been updating my Pansy/Neville story, Unworthy every day with super short chapters, and it will be done on Christmas Eve if you want to read it and fall in love with them because I did, and now I need everyone to ship them.

Alsooooo, I help admin a FB group called Quills & Parchment, and we have an Under the Mistletoe OS competition going on right now over on AO3. If you are interested in reading those come find us on FB or message me for a link. I'm sure the authors would love extra support!

xoxo

Meg