Draco strode through the students in the common room, not-noticing them
with the same purpose they ignored him. Slytherin had no room for traitors.
He blew into his dormitory like winter rain and began moving clothes from
the wardrobe in to his trunk.
"I didn't think you were coming back." Draco avoided looking at Blaise, perched on his bed, and continued packing. "Did she talk you into it?"
Draco laughed shortly, without humor. "No. She wanted to transfer to Slytherin."
"You're joking."
"No, that's Hermione." Sometimes Draco wished it weren't.
"They'd eat her alive." Blaise thought of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode next to slender, bookish Hermione and shuddered.
"I know." Silence. Snapshots from Hogwarts spooled through Draco's head. The very first Potions class, when Hermione had known all the answers. Calling her Mudblood and being jumped by half Gryffindor House. The look of disgust on her face when he told the trio to get her out of the woods the night of the World Cup. The two of them, meant to be cleaning the dungeons, hashing out the confines of their 'relationship.' The last dance at the Yule Ball. And Hermione, standing up to his father because Draco hadn't the spine. "Watch her for me, will you, Blaise? Be there because I can't?"
"What do you mean, 'because you can't'? You're both Ravenclaws now. You've got all the speccy little gits on your side."
"They're not all speccy little gits. 'Mandy Brocklehurst' isn't a speccy little git, is she, Blaise?" Draco asked savagely. Blaise went pink, mumbled something, and bent his head. Draco had known about the pile of letters under Blaise's pillow for some time, but hadn't deigned to mention them before. He continued, "You don't have to disapprove of Hermione and me anymore: she's going back to Gryffindor, and I'm off to Durmstrang." Draco kept his voice false and light and very cold as he banished the last of his things to his trunk and sat on his bed opposite Blaise. "Buck up, Lucius will be here soon. Wouldn't want him carrying tales to your mum."
At that, Blaise sat up, his eyes red. "I never disapproved of you two." His words sounded raw. "I carried notes, and I'd do it again."
"Yeah, it was all very sweet. But now you're free to arrange your own trysts." Draco couldn't honestly imagine Blaise snogging anyone, but there you had it.
"Mandy and I," Blaise took a deep breath, "are friends. Just friends. Like we were, Draco."
"Be a Slytherin." Draco lifted his chin. "We don't need friends." Especially out-of-House friends.
"I needed you," Blaise whispered.
"What?"
"I needed you," he repeated, almost shouting. "Three years. You were the only one who saw past the nightmares."
"I've heard," Draco said in a conversational tone, "that girls don't like boys who scream in the night and wake them up." Blaise lunged at him, and Draco ducked. "Good. Now you're mad; you won't miss me. Give Sebastian my regards, and tell Pucey good luck finding another Seeker."
Blaise seemed to have forgotten all of Draco's self defense lessons and was merely flailing at him. "You idiot, Draco Malfoy. You sodding blond idiot. I've missed you all summer, and you think-" Draco left.
He marched out of the Slytherin common room, out of the dungeons, and out Hogwarts' front gate. His high head and carefully blank expression covered unspeakable pain. Draco's trunk floated along behind him, and he banished it to the top of the black coach and four before stepping in himself.
Some people, when they have taken too much and have been driven beyond the point of endurance, simply crumple and give up. There are others, though they are not many, who will for some reason always be unconquerable. You meet them in time of war, and also in time of peace. They have an indomitable spirit and nothing, neither pain nor torture nor threat of death, will cause them to give up. Hermione Granger was one of these.
She climbed out onto the sloping, conical roof of Gryffindor tower, planting her feet on the pinnacle. Not caring if she fell but knowing she wouldn't, Hermione sent phoenix red and gold fire up from her wand into the September dusk. And then twining with them, green and silver sparks, so that Slytherin and Gryffindor colors spiraled over Hogwarts. The symbolism was not lost on anyone who saw the display, least of all Lucius Malfoy and his son.
End Year Six
"I didn't think you were coming back." Draco avoided looking at Blaise, perched on his bed, and continued packing. "Did she talk you into it?"
Draco laughed shortly, without humor. "No. She wanted to transfer to Slytherin."
"You're joking."
"No, that's Hermione." Sometimes Draco wished it weren't.
"They'd eat her alive." Blaise thought of Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode next to slender, bookish Hermione and shuddered.
"I know." Silence. Snapshots from Hogwarts spooled through Draco's head. The very first Potions class, when Hermione had known all the answers. Calling her Mudblood and being jumped by half Gryffindor House. The look of disgust on her face when he told the trio to get her out of the woods the night of the World Cup. The two of them, meant to be cleaning the dungeons, hashing out the confines of their 'relationship.' The last dance at the Yule Ball. And Hermione, standing up to his father because Draco hadn't the spine. "Watch her for me, will you, Blaise? Be there because I can't?"
"What do you mean, 'because you can't'? You're both Ravenclaws now. You've got all the speccy little gits on your side."
"They're not all speccy little gits. 'Mandy Brocklehurst' isn't a speccy little git, is she, Blaise?" Draco asked savagely. Blaise went pink, mumbled something, and bent his head. Draco had known about the pile of letters under Blaise's pillow for some time, but hadn't deigned to mention them before. He continued, "You don't have to disapprove of Hermione and me anymore: she's going back to Gryffindor, and I'm off to Durmstrang." Draco kept his voice false and light and very cold as he banished the last of his things to his trunk and sat on his bed opposite Blaise. "Buck up, Lucius will be here soon. Wouldn't want him carrying tales to your mum."
At that, Blaise sat up, his eyes red. "I never disapproved of you two." His words sounded raw. "I carried notes, and I'd do it again."
"Yeah, it was all very sweet. But now you're free to arrange your own trysts." Draco couldn't honestly imagine Blaise snogging anyone, but there you had it.
"Mandy and I," Blaise took a deep breath, "are friends. Just friends. Like we were, Draco."
"Be a Slytherin." Draco lifted his chin. "We don't need friends." Especially out-of-House friends.
"I needed you," Blaise whispered.
"What?"
"I needed you," he repeated, almost shouting. "Three years. You were the only one who saw past the nightmares."
"I've heard," Draco said in a conversational tone, "that girls don't like boys who scream in the night and wake them up." Blaise lunged at him, and Draco ducked. "Good. Now you're mad; you won't miss me. Give Sebastian my regards, and tell Pucey good luck finding another Seeker."
Blaise seemed to have forgotten all of Draco's self defense lessons and was merely flailing at him. "You idiot, Draco Malfoy. You sodding blond idiot. I've missed you all summer, and you think-" Draco left.
He marched out of the Slytherin common room, out of the dungeons, and out Hogwarts' front gate. His high head and carefully blank expression covered unspeakable pain. Draco's trunk floated along behind him, and he banished it to the top of the black coach and four before stepping in himself.
Some people, when they have taken too much and have been driven beyond the point of endurance, simply crumple and give up. There are others, though they are not many, who will for some reason always be unconquerable. You meet them in time of war, and also in time of peace. They have an indomitable spirit and nothing, neither pain nor torture nor threat of death, will cause them to give up. Hermione Granger was one of these.
She climbed out onto the sloping, conical roof of Gryffindor tower, planting her feet on the pinnacle. Not caring if she fell but knowing she wouldn't, Hermione sent phoenix red and gold fire up from her wand into the September dusk. And then twining with them, green and silver sparks, so that Slytherin and Gryffindor colors spiraled over Hogwarts. The symbolism was not lost on anyone who saw the display, least of all Lucius Malfoy and his son.
End Year Six