Title: Apathy (2/?): Chapter One: Proposition

Author: Eleret

Author E-mail: Eleret@aol.com 

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama

Keywords: Hermione Harry Draco Apathy Love Hate

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Post-OotP! "He never smiles. He never laughs. He never frowns. He never does goddamn anything anymore. He's blank. He doesn't even look or feel like a person anymore. Just some sort of blank…nothing." Harry's apathetic. Hermione's determined. Draco's scared. Slash.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: So, here's chapter one. Sorry it took so long to get out. I've actually had it finished for a while, but I was thinking about other stories too and about how this plot was going to go, so I left it for a while. Now, however, here it is. Hope you enjoy and please leave a review with a comment, criticism, or whatever.

Chapter One: Proposition

Hermione had been thinking for quite a while on just how exactly to get Harry to feel again. She had run all the options through her head. She'd thought about all the times when he had seemed at his most alive. And she had come up with a list, which she was now scribbling down as she sat in the empty common room at five o'clock one Monday morning.

When he was flying When we started going through the obstacle course to find the Philosopher's Stone in first year When he started hearing the Basilisk in second year When he found out about what we thought Sirius had done in third year When he fought off the Dementors in third year When he found out Sirius was innocent in third year When we went to the Quidditch World Cup summer before fourth year When he was doing the three tasks in fourth year When he fought the Imperius Curse in fourth year When he came to Grimauld Place summer before fifth year When he started playing Quidditch again in fifth year When he was teaching the DA in fifth year When he was fighting the death eaters at the Department of Mysteries in fifth year During all of his fights with Malfoy

Hermione had been mulling these events over and over in her mind for a long time. She had created theories and backup theories and counter theories and plots and counter plots. She had worried over it during Charms and Potions and Transfiguration. And she had come to a conclusion which she did not like in the least.

Hermione had decided that she was going to have to involve Draco Malfoy, something with she sincerely did not want to do.

***

It was a bleak morning, gray and cloudy and generally boring. Draco Malfoy didn't mind if the sky was stormy. He didn't hate clouds. He did, however, hate the unimaginative bleakness that hit Hogwarts every November. There weren't any colors or differences or textures in November – it was all the same; all blank and boring. Draco Malfoy hated things that were blank and boring.

The one nice thing about November was how it seemed to come straight out of a poem. The cold settled in your bones and the dry wind blew brown leaves across your path and everything was dry and cold. Draco was a fan of poetry, although he didn't write any himself. He had a policy of not doing anything unless he had a chance of doing it well, and he had long since decided he had no chance of writing poetry well. But that didn't mean he couldn't read it and appreciate it.

Unfortunately, some of the greatest poets were Muggles, of all things. Draco Malfoy did not really hold much respect for Muggles, but he considered poets to be an exception. Really, since poetry was a sort of magic all itself, he reasoned, they weren't really real Muggles. So it didn't count.

It was that reasoning that had gotten him in trouble with his father, the previous spring. It had happened over Easter vacation. His father had found Draco's large collection of Muggle poetry books that he'd bought from some of the Ravenclaws, and what had ensued had been the first real argument his father and he had had in ten years. His father had threatened to burn the books; Draco had threatened to burn the portrait of Salazar Slytherin that hung on his wall, a family heirloom.

It would have been quite comical had he not been a part of it. They had stood, their wands at the ready, yelling at each other that the other had better not burn that or there would be serious consequences. In the end, nothing had been burned. Draco had been allowed to keep his poetry and Lucius had been allowed to keep his heirloom. Neither of them had talked since, however, because later that spring Lucius had been sent to Azkaban for the breaking into The Department of Mysteries and for being a Death Eater.

Draco did feel some remorse over the fact that that had been their last discussion, or at least he liked to think so. In reality, he really only felt remorse that he hadn't figured out how to make Potter feel sorry about it without showing any remorse or sorrow. Draco Malfoy really loathed when people knew what he was feeling.

Actually, that wasn't quite true, he mused to himself. He didn't mind them knowing he was happy or angry. He only minded if someone, especially Harry Potter, knew he was sad, humiliated, remorseful, or something of that sort. He wasn't quite sure why this was, and frankly he didn't really care.

He kicked a clump of leaves to emphasize this point and then continued his bored stroll around the lake. And that was when Hermione Granger caught up to him.

"Hey, Malfoy!" she had said, her voice rose not quite to a yell but loud enough to be heard.

Draco Malfoy winced slightly and turned around. Bugger off, Granger. He thought, but didn't say; after a while even the thickest realized that insulting someone like Hermione Granger just meant a sharp slap in the face. Instead, he said nothing but just waited. It wasn't that he wanted to wait for her. It wasn't even that he was interested in what she had to say. It was simply that he didn't have another choice. There was no running away from her without looking like an idiot and there was nowhere to go, anyway. And even if he had felt like paying the price to insult her, insults didn't seem to deter the determined muggle-born when she wanted something. It was a trait Draco found most annoying.

"What?" he asked, attempting a cool tone of voice, as she stopped a few feet in front of him.

Either the tone of voice hadn't worked or Granger simply didn't care. She rolled her eyes and said, "Malfoy, I'd like to make a deal with you." She sounded so serious and so much as if she would rather be saying, "Malfoy, I'd like to strangle you and wipe that smug smile off your face," that he had to try very hard to fight amusement.

"Oh?" he asked instead, raising one eyebrow in skepticism. "What is it? Finally decided to admit I'm gorgeous, Granger?" he had to admit, that wasn't exactly the strongest come-back he'd ever had, but she'd caught him unawares. What on earth would she possibly want to bargain about with him?

Hermione Granger scowled fiercely at him and gave him a very superior look. "Malfoy," she said, her voice dripping scorn, "if I were to admit that you were gorgeous, I would also have to say that Neville Longbottom is gorgeous. You two really are built quite along the same lines, aren't you?"

He gave her a scowl and snapped back. "You wish, Granger. If only your little boyfriend were so good looking as I!"

Hermione looked as though she were attempting to count to ten. Finally, she simply shook her head, sighed and said, "Enough, Malfoy. I didn't come here to trade insults. I came here to ask you to do something."

"What is it already?" he asked, a touch impatient.

"Well, I assume you've noticed that Harry hasn't been his usual self lately," she said slowly, as if she were trying to figure out how to phrase what she was trying to say.

"Yeah, it's a nice change, isn't it?" he asked lightly, wishing the words could be true. The truth was that, however much he might hate Potter, hate his smug smile and his laughing eyes and his liveliness, he found himself missing it all, and especially missing the fights. He goddamn bloody missed seeing Potter yell, seeing that look of triumph when he won, seeing his face flushed in anger or embarrassment. It wasn't bloody fair how life always played you like that.

Hermione Granger was apparently, among other things, a mind reader. She smirked (Smirked! Draco thought, outraged) and said, "That's what you'd like to think, isn't it Malfoy? You'd like to believe you like it better now that he completely ignores you. But you don't, Malfoy, because you can't stand it when people ignore you, especially him. And you find yourself outrageously missing the way he used smirk and yell and blush and grin, don't you?" the expression on his face must have given him away, for she smiled and said, "Yes, I thought you might. So, what do you think about helping me get him to feel again?"

Draco looked incredulously at her. "You want me to just help you? I'm a Slytherin, Granger. I don't just do things out of the kindness of my bloody heart!"

Hermione Granger gave him a set look. "Name your price."

Draco had to think about this. If she was telling the truth, this was a wonderful opportunity. But first he had to specify the rules. "How, exactly, am I helping you? What will I have to do?"

"Anything you like," she answered, "within reason, of course. I just want him to start acting like a human being again; I don't care how you do it, short of killing him, throwing him or any of his friends to Voldemort, or causing serious harm."

Draco perked up at this. "So, I could, say, punch him?" a nod. "Or insult you?" another nod. "Or…insult his parents and all his friends and this school and the old idiot who calls himself Headmaster?"

"Whatever you think will work, within the previous specifications."

"Good. Now, back to what I get."

"Do you even need anything aside from a free pass to insult him and the rest of us for as long as he remains a human robot?" She asked skeptically.

He looked mildly affronted. "Just because I hate you lot doesn't mean that's the only thing I need! I'm not shallow, you know. I'll have you know I'm in need of many things – money," she snorted and he scowled, "fame, a personal library, a life's supply of chocolate pudding, a passing grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts…" he looked pointedly at her.

She sighed. "What do you want me to do? I can do your homework, but I won't make it perfect – Tonks knows my style and she'll know it's not you writing it. I can tutor you in it, if you like, but I'm not as good as, say, Harry." There was a gleam of a plot in her eye.

Draco caught on quickly. "You think that he might be startled enough by your request to break out of his shell a bit."

"You never know, but it would be convenient, you must admit. We could kill two birds with one stone."

"We'll try. I'll be in the Charms classroom on the fourth floor at two o'clock. Can you get him there?"

Again there was an extremely determined expression on the girl's face. "I'll give it my best. You just figure out how to startle him. If he doesn't startle, then just do whatever you think is best. I'll see you then, Malfoy."

And with that she went walking back up to the castle, leaving Draco Malfoy to again ponder November. Except that now it seemed far too dull. With a sight of frustration and a half-hearted kick at a pile of leaves, he headed up to Hogwarts after Hermione Granger, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. He had a very bad feeling about all of this.

***