"Just stay away from me, Malfoy, and clean your half." Hermione and Draco
had been assigned by a gleeful Argus Filch to clean up Neville's mess in
the dungeons. Hermione was angry at the fact that she was missing so much
after-dinner study time and at simply being in the same room with 'Malfoy',
who wasn't trying to do anything but contain his happiness.
"Give me a rag, will you?" He had the good sense to duck before a rag, thrown by Hermione and dripping with Dissolving Decoction, hit him in the face. "Thank you," Draco muttered under his breath.
They scrubbed in silence for a moment. "Look, Hermione --" Draco began.
"Shut up, Malfoy." She cut him off.
He tried again. "Hermione, listen. Please?"
Hermione stared at him. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Draco Malfoy just say 'please' to a Mudblood?"
"Hermione, I'm sorry that I ever called you that."
"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy." She wasn't listening to his attempts at apology.
"Call me Draco, would you?"
It had finally occurred to Hermione that the words she was trying to block weren't exactly caustic. "What?"
"My name is Draco." He was sincerely wishing that he didn't have a surname right then.
"All right, 'Draco'. Go on. You were apologizing," she added helpfully.
"I'm sorry about today, but I wanted to speak with you, alone, and this seemed like the only way."
"You could have asked, you know."
"You would have ignored me, and besides, I have an image to maintain."
"Why you conceited--"
"Wrong choice of words. But I'm no Gryffindor; I'm not going to shout my feelings from the Astronomy Tower. I refuse to lay out my choices and let people pick them over like blueberries." Draco sat down on one of the desks. He had not realized he was pacing. "I've said too much. But I will not drag you into the hell of my life, at least not against your will."
Hermione had her head down, lips pursed, thinking very hard about Draco's almost-tirade. He mistook her response. "I didn't mean to malign your House. The Sorting Hat wanted to put 'me' in Ravenclaw."
"So why'd you say Slytherin?" Hermione thought she knew, but it seemed a subject change she could get away with.
Draco bit his lip, sticking on the easiest answer to the hardest question. "I'm a Malfoy. We've always been in Slytherin."
"Ravenclaw," Hermione mused, "That's where it wanted to put me."
Half mimicking, half earnest, Draco asked, "So why'd you say Gryffindor?"
"It seemed by far the best." Hermione looked more than a little wistful. "I was such a little goose."
"And I was such a stuck-up little prig, " Draco said, before his pride could kick in, and decided to continue with the exegesis of many, many nights that he had been too cold or too sore to sleep. "That's what started it all. I couldn't see the evil I'd been steeped in."
"And you have now?" Traces of Granger skepticism still clung to Hermione's tone.
Draco looked annoyed. "I haven't insulted you for the last hour and a half. We're having a 'conversation.' I'm vocalizing things I've never even thought about before. Aren't you the least bit suspicious?"
Hermione crossed to the desk beside Draco. "Possibly. Go on."
"I can't justify habitually tormenting you. I would like to apologize. In my family, that's customarily done by sending the person the right hand of their worst enemy. I need a name," Draco looked at her for an answer, dead serious.
"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quietly without any malice. She didn't really believe him.
Draco held his hand out in front of him, trying to look at it objectively. He examined the pale skin and the blood vessels that stood starkly blue against it. The fingers were long and fine, with only a small wand callous to mar the middle one. They ended in manicured nails that he had never dared to bite. But it was the long scar, crossing the back, that made him decide. "Ah, well, I've never liked it, anyway." Draco raised the wand awkwardly in his left hand, pointing it at his wrist. "Sev-"
Hermione grabbed his hand. "Stop that!" She noticed the scar too and drew his hand closer to look. Draco stood up. "What happened?"
Draco swallowed, forcing bile back down his throat. "An accident. When I was little." The falsehood slipped through gritted teeth and he hated himself for it.
Hermione looked up, meeting his eyes. "You're lying, "she said quietly, "about that and perhaps about the rest." Draco opened his mouth to protest and then shut it quickly. "You have never said a kind word to me in the four and a half years I have had the misfortune to know you. You cannot atone for that by merely cutting off your own hand."
Draco bowed his head. "I know. It's too easy."
"Bloody right, it's too easy. Four and a half years, remember?" A very vindictive glint had entered Hermione's eyes.
Draco would have sunk to his knees, but for the iron grip on his palm. He swallowed, his mouth like parchment. His father had never scared him like this. "What are you going to- "
"I'm not going to do anything," Hermione said, very, very low. "It's what you're going to do." If she had stopped to think about what she was saying, she would have scared herself. "You're going to apologize, verbally and sincerely, to Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter. Without lifting a finger in your own defense."
"And what if I do?" Draco had got some of his Slytherin bravado back.
"Then," Hermione said, kissing the palm of his hand, "you and I start over with a fresh slate. No surnames, no history. Is it worth your time and trouble? Your precious pride?"
Draco nodded wryly. "You would have made an excellent Slytherin, Hermione Granger." She dropped his hand and he flinched, locking his jaw against the expected slap.
It didn't come. "And you'd make an excellent human, Draco Malfoy, if you can ever get over yourself." Hermione turned away from him. "We have a classroom to clean." They got to work, neither looking at the other. When Filch came and packed them both off to their respective dorms, they went quietly, each with too much for a fifteen-year-old to think about.
Comments? Questions? Is Hermione too tough/OOC? Is Draco too fluffy/OOC? How do you think his hand got scarred?
OOC: out of character
"Give me a rag, will you?" He had the good sense to duck before a rag, thrown by Hermione and dripping with Dissolving Decoction, hit him in the face. "Thank you," Draco muttered under his breath.
They scrubbed in silence for a moment. "Look, Hermione --" Draco began.
"Shut up, Malfoy." She cut him off.
He tried again. "Hermione, listen. Please?"
Hermione stared at him. "Do my ears deceive me, or did Draco Malfoy just say 'please' to a Mudblood?"
"Hermione, I'm sorry that I ever called you that."
"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy." She wasn't listening to his attempts at apology.
"Call me Draco, would you?"
It had finally occurred to Hermione that the words she was trying to block weren't exactly caustic. "What?"
"My name is Draco." He was sincerely wishing that he didn't have a surname right then.
"All right, 'Draco'. Go on. You were apologizing," she added helpfully.
"I'm sorry about today, but I wanted to speak with you, alone, and this seemed like the only way."
"You could have asked, you know."
"You would have ignored me, and besides, I have an image to maintain."
"Why you conceited--"
"Wrong choice of words. But I'm no Gryffindor; I'm not going to shout my feelings from the Astronomy Tower. I refuse to lay out my choices and let people pick them over like blueberries." Draco sat down on one of the desks. He had not realized he was pacing. "I've said too much. But I will not drag you into the hell of my life, at least not against your will."
Hermione had her head down, lips pursed, thinking very hard about Draco's almost-tirade. He mistook her response. "I didn't mean to malign your House. The Sorting Hat wanted to put 'me' in Ravenclaw."
"So why'd you say Slytherin?" Hermione thought she knew, but it seemed a subject change she could get away with.
Draco bit his lip, sticking on the easiest answer to the hardest question. "I'm a Malfoy. We've always been in Slytherin."
"Ravenclaw," Hermione mused, "That's where it wanted to put me."
Half mimicking, half earnest, Draco asked, "So why'd you say Gryffindor?"
"It seemed by far the best." Hermione looked more than a little wistful. "I was such a little goose."
"And I was such a stuck-up little prig, " Draco said, before his pride could kick in, and decided to continue with the exegesis of many, many nights that he had been too cold or too sore to sleep. "That's what started it all. I couldn't see the evil I'd been steeped in."
"And you have now?" Traces of Granger skepticism still clung to Hermione's tone.
Draco looked annoyed. "I haven't insulted you for the last hour and a half. We're having a 'conversation.' I'm vocalizing things I've never even thought about before. Aren't you the least bit suspicious?"
Hermione crossed to the desk beside Draco. "Possibly. Go on."
"I can't justify habitually tormenting you. I would like to apologize. In my family, that's customarily done by sending the person the right hand of their worst enemy. I need a name," Draco looked at her for an answer, dead serious.
"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said quietly without any malice. She didn't really believe him.
Draco held his hand out in front of him, trying to look at it objectively. He examined the pale skin and the blood vessels that stood starkly blue against it. The fingers were long and fine, with only a small wand callous to mar the middle one. They ended in manicured nails that he had never dared to bite. But it was the long scar, crossing the back, that made him decide. "Ah, well, I've never liked it, anyway." Draco raised the wand awkwardly in his left hand, pointing it at his wrist. "Sev-"
Hermione grabbed his hand. "Stop that!" She noticed the scar too and drew his hand closer to look. Draco stood up. "What happened?"
Draco swallowed, forcing bile back down his throat. "An accident. When I was little." The falsehood slipped through gritted teeth and he hated himself for it.
Hermione looked up, meeting his eyes. "You're lying, "she said quietly, "about that and perhaps about the rest." Draco opened his mouth to protest and then shut it quickly. "You have never said a kind word to me in the four and a half years I have had the misfortune to know you. You cannot atone for that by merely cutting off your own hand."
Draco bowed his head. "I know. It's too easy."
"Bloody right, it's too easy. Four and a half years, remember?" A very vindictive glint had entered Hermione's eyes.
Draco would have sunk to his knees, but for the iron grip on his palm. He swallowed, his mouth like parchment. His father had never scared him like this. "What are you going to- "
"I'm not going to do anything," Hermione said, very, very low. "It's what you're going to do." If she had stopped to think about what she was saying, she would have scared herself. "You're going to apologize, verbally and sincerely, to Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter. Without lifting a finger in your own defense."
"And what if I do?" Draco had got some of his Slytherin bravado back.
"Then," Hermione said, kissing the palm of his hand, "you and I start over with a fresh slate. No surnames, no history. Is it worth your time and trouble? Your precious pride?"
Draco nodded wryly. "You would have made an excellent Slytherin, Hermione Granger." She dropped his hand and he flinched, locking his jaw against the expected slap.
It didn't come. "And you'd make an excellent human, Draco Malfoy, if you can ever get over yourself." Hermione turned away from him. "We have a classroom to clean." They got to work, neither looking at the other. When Filch came and packed them both off to their respective dorms, they went quietly, each with too much for a fifteen-year-old to think about.
Comments? Questions? Is Hermione too tough/OOC? Is Draco too fluffy/OOC? How do you think his hand got scarred?
OOC: out of character