Chapter 8
Hermione was sitting in the Great Hall when the mail came flying in. She put
down her fork and knife and untied the Daily Prophet from the owl's leg, then scanned
the front page.
"Oh my goodness," she gasped. Harry looked over her shoulder and his eyes
widened too.
"Mr. Malfoy has disappeared?" he said. "But I don't get it. Isn't he working for
Voldemort?"
Coldness spread through Hermione's stomach and to her whole body. Gripping
the paper tighter she glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco was not there.
"Lucius Malfoy?" Ron asked. "Not a big loss, is it?"
Hermione was conscious of nothing but the thought she had to find Draco.
Leaving her unfinished breakfast behind one the table she rushed off.
"Where're you going?" Harry asked.
"Er – library," she answered, forgetting she had been banned from it. She dashed
out into the corridor, feeling a sick horror and sympathy inside her. Where was Draco?
He must be so afraid, and no one else knew the truth about his father…
Well, maybe Crabbe and Goyle did. Some comfort.
Hermione had not gone far when the bell rang and she had to give up. She went
back to her Common Room and set off for Transfiguration class, her head still whirling.
Ron and Harry were already in the classroom, and they gave her quizzical looks as she
entered.
She had both Potions and Care of Magical Creatures that day, and she didn't see
Malfoy in either of them. She was so distracted she failed the practice O.W.L test they
took in Charms. But she didn't care. It was only a practice.
Hermione searched after class but she didn't find him until after dinner, when she
decided to check by the lake. He was sitting on one of the rocks scattered along the edge,
his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin on his knees, glaring bitterly across the
water. He didn't look up when she approached.
"I – I heard your father disappeared," Hermione said tentatively. "It was in the
Daily Prophet."
"He didn't disappear," Draco replied shortly. "Voldemort killed him."
Hermione felt the coldness in her stomach again.
"He found out your father – your father was spying?"
"Yes," Draco answered. "I got a letter from my mother this morning. He'd owled
her before he died. He knew Voldemort had found out he was spying, and he fled.
Voldemort followed and – killed him.
"Chased him like a wild beast," he spat bitterly.
Hermione didn't say anything, just sat down beside him and wrapped her arms
around her legs too. For awhile they sat in silence. The water lapped the shore and the
sky turned purplish, then Draco began to talk. Bitterly he told her of all the things his
father had done, both good and bad, about the things he'd done for his son and the beliefs
he'd held. Hermione let him run on, inwardly deciding it would be better to let him talk.
Draco must have loved his father, how could you not love your father, though he didn't
admit it. Clenching his hands around his knees he looked across the lake, and talked.
"I just hate Voldemort," he finally burst out. "I don't know how I could have
thought I supported him. I deluded myself, priding myself on my pureblood, thinking I
was safe. I supported his killing of Mudbloods and Muggles, but – if he killed them all –
he'd kill you, Hermione. And I'd have no one to talk to now. You're the only one who
knew the truth about my father. Of course, there's always Crabbe and Goyle, but they're
so – stupid."
He looked at her and Hermione suddenly felt so sorry for him she surprised him
by giving him a hug. And when he started crying she let him, feeling extremely awkward.
She, a Gryffindor, touching a Slytherin. But not just any Slytherin.
"You're not a bad girl, Hermione," he said, looking up. Then he half-smiled and
looked across the water again. "For a Mudblood."
But Hermione wasn't offended.
*******************
"Draco's been awfully quiet lately," Ron commented one day on their way to
Charms. Hermione looked down. He had actually; ever since their conversation by the
lake he'd become quieter, more subdued, paler, and if possible, even less nasty.
Hermione could see it as he went to class, brewed potions, followed Hagrid around in
Care of Magical Creatures, and even as she watched him defeat Ravenclaw at Quidditch.
And the rational part of her brain still felt the same way about him, Malfoy the Slytherin,
the idiot, the slimy git, but the other half thrilled to see him catch the Snitch, whiz
through the air on a broomstick, give her a half-smile as he passed her in corridors, and
deep inside her her heart would give him a thump it not longer gave to Ron.
Somehow she couldn't care less about Ron anymore, and her mind came to
realize it was not Ron but Draco – Draco, Draco, Draco, whom she felt anything at all
about. No, she was fooling herself. She liked him. Loved him.
But he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor. He was a pureblood and she was
a Mudblood. Worse still, he liked Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione followed Ron into class and slammed her books on the desk. It always
came back to Pansy Parkinson.
There, how do you like my last chapter? I'm going to try to finish posting this
story before June 21, when the Order of the Phoenix comes out and tells me this is way
off track. And by the way, if there's any Harry/Cho fans out there you can try my fic
'United We Stand, Divided We Fall', which I wrote a couple years ago. It's not exactly
Harry/Cho, but it's the closest thing I've ever written.
Hermione was sitting in the Great Hall when the mail came flying in. She put
down her fork and knife and untied the Daily Prophet from the owl's leg, then scanned
the front page.
"Oh my goodness," she gasped. Harry looked over her shoulder and his eyes
widened too.
"Mr. Malfoy has disappeared?" he said. "But I don't get it. Isn't he working for
Voldemort?"
Coldness spread through Hermione's stomach and to her whole body. Gripping
the paper tighter she glanced over at the Slytherin table. Draco was not there.
"Lucius Malfoy?" Ron asked. "Not a big loss, is it?"
Hermione was conscious of nothing but the thought she had to find Draco.
Leaving her unfinished breakfast behind one the table she rushed off.
"Where're you going?" Harry asked.
"Er – library," she answered, forgetting she had been banned from it. She dashed
out into the corridor, feeling a sick horror and sympathy inside her. Where was Draco?
He must be so afraid, and no one else knew the truth about his father…
Well, maybe Crabbe and Goyle did. Some comfort.
Hermione had not gone far when the bell rang and she had to give up. She went
back to her Common Room and set off for Transfiguration class, her head still whirling.
Ron and Harry were already in the classroom, and they gave her quizzical looks as she
entered.
She had both Potions and Care of Magical Creatures that day, and she didn't see
Malfoy in either of them. She was so distracted she failed the practice O.W.L test they
took in Charms. But she didn't care. It was only a practice.
Hermione searched after class but she didn't find him until after dinner, when she
decided to check by the lake. He was sitting on one of the rocks scattered along the edge,
his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin on his knees, glaring bitterly across the
water. He didn't look up when she approached.
"I – I heard your father disappeared," Hermione said tentatively. "It was in the
Daily Prophet."
"He didn't disappear," Draco replied shortly. "Voldemort killed him."
Hermione felt the coldness in her stomach again.
"He found out your father – your father was spying?"
"Yes," Draco answered. "I got a letter from my mother this morning. He'd owled
her before he died. He knew Voldemort had found out he was spying, and he fled.
Voldemort followed and – killed him.
"Chased him like a wild beast," he spat bitterly.
Hermione didn't say anything, just sat down beside him and wrapped her arms
around her legs too. For awhile they sat in silence. The water lapped the shore and the
sky turned purplish, then Draco began to talk. Bitterly he told her of all the things his
father had done, both good and bad, about the things he'd done for his son and the beliefs
he'd held. Hermione let him run on, inwardly deciding it would be better to let him talk.
Draco must have loved his father, how could you not love your father, though he didn't
admit it. Clenching his hands around his knees he looked across the lake, and talked.
"I just hate Voldemort," he finally burst out. "I don't know how I could have
thought I supported him. I deluded myself, priding myself on my pureblood, thinking I
was safe. I supported his killing of Mudbloods and Muggles, but – if he killed them all –
he'd kill you, Hermione. And I'd have no one to talk to now. You're the only one who
knew the truth about my father. Of course, there's always Crabbe and Goyle, but they're
so – stupid."
He looked at her and Hermione suddenly felt so sorry for him she surprised him
by giving him a hug. And when he started crying she let him, feeling extremely awkward.
She, a Gryffindor, touching a Slytherin. But not just any Slytherin.
"You're not a bad girl, Hermione," he said, looking up. Then he half-smiled and
looked across the water again. "For a Mudblood."
But Hermione wasn't offended.
*******************
"Draco's been awfully quiet lately," Ron commented one day on their way to
Charms. Hermione looked down. He had actually; ever since their conversation by the
lake he'd become quieter, more subdued, paler, and if possible, even less nasty.
Hermione could see it as he went to class, brewed potions, followed Hagrid around in
Care of Magical Creatures, and even as she watched him defeat Ravenclaw at Quidditch.
And the rational part of her brain still felt the same way about him, Malfoy the Slytherin,
the idiot, the slimy git, but the other half thrilled to see him catch the Snitch, whiz
through the air on a broomstick, give her a half-smile as he passed her in corridors, and
deep inside her her heart would give him a thump it not longer gave to Ron.
Somehow she couldn't care less about Ron anymore, and her mind came to
realize it was not Ron but Draco – Draco, Draco, Draco, whom she felt anything at all
about. No, she was fooling herself. She liked him. Loved him.
But he was a Slytherin and she was a Gryffindor. He was a pureblood and she was
a Mudblood. Worse still, he liked Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione followed Ron into class and slammed her books on the desk. It always
came back to Pansy Parkinson.
There, how do you like my last chapter? I'm going to try to finish posting this
story before June 21, when the Order of the Phoenix comes out and tells me this is way
off track. And by the way, if there's any Harry/Cho fans out there you can try my fic
'United We Stand, Divided We Fall', which I wrote a couple years ago. It's not exactly
Harry/Cho, but it's the closest thing I've ever written.