Chapter Five

Paradox

Malfoy paced up and down the length of the hospital wing. His movements were deliberate and predatory. When was Hermione going to wake up? She needed to wake soon, so they could both leave this place and he could get some sleep. He really hated what this place was doing to him, but leaving without her was simply not an option. He would not allow her to stay in the same room as that deranged sixth-year.

Malfoy glared at the unconscious young man each time he marched past him. Mr Jamison was a bit of a mystery to him. He was a quiet mediocre student with a couple of friends. The part that confused him the most was that the boy never really seemed to have a predilection for the Dark Arts. Nothing about his past behavior suggested anything unusual about the boy. Malfoy really wanted to shake the boy awake and ask him what in Merlin's name he thought he was doing. He was sure that no answer would be satisfactory to him. Nothing could possibly explain why he would attack Hermione.

Professor Granger was generally loved by her students. She was tough, but fair, and even a little fun. Her teaching style reminded Malfoy of Remus Lupin. Malfoy remembered walking into her office once while she and one of her seventh year NEWTS students slaughtered the latest article in Modern Charms Journal. Hermione convinced the young woman to write a rebuttal, and he distinctly remembered the look of pride and confidence that Hermione inspired in the girl.

Malfoy could never really inspire those looks in his own students. In all reality, Malfoy was sure that he could inspire hatred from his students much more readily than Hermione could. He could still be a snarky arse after all. And then there was Snape. That man could inspire a veritable revolution against him, but certainly not Hermione.

Hermione had never mentioned Mr Jamison or any problem students. He searched his mind for something that would explain Henry Jamison's actions against Hermione. The conclusion he wanted to find was that Mr Jamison was simply unbalanced – seriously unbalanced, and had lashed out at some random person.

But that didn't necessarily have to be the case. Malfoy knew that if his father instructed him to do such a thing in his sixth year, he would have. Well, maybe after he had gotten over his cowardice, he would have. And he hated himself for it. He hated that he had wished death upon Hermione in his former life. He hated that he was cruel to her and her friends, although, sometimes those idiot friends of hers deserved it, especially Weasley.

Sometimes, Malfoy thought of his life in two distinct stages. Life before that horrible summer, and life after. He needed that distinction. He knew that biases, attitudes and personalities do not change overnight, if at all. Once, he had locked himself in his rooms for a weekend to figure himself out, as they say. In the end, he had found more paradoxes than he was comfortable with. He seriously didn't like the fact that, as a person, he didn't make much sense. How could one person hold so many contradictory feelings? Sometimes at the same time?

When he told Hermione of his most confusing and contradictory findings, she laughed. She laughed and told him that was the way people worked. She was cooking something at her parents' house at the time, and by cooking, he meant utterly destroying the kitchen and all the food involved, so he supposed he could excuse her for not expounding. He always meant to ask her what she meant, but he never did.

But underneath it all, he was still the same human being, as Hermione had once reminded him. It was the one time he had gotten truly angry with her, if only for a few moments.

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It was five years since they had left Hogwarts as students, and now, they were back as professors. They were sitting in Hermione's cozy chambers in their comfy nightclothes. It could have been a scene of domestic bliss, but it wasn't.

Crookshanks was pouncing around like a kitten in search of imaginary mice or some other mythical creature. It was the day before the students arrived and Hermione was going over her already perfect lesson plans for the fiftieth time.

"Malfoy, it isn't like you are a new person now or anything. You've obviously changed, drastically, but you are the same human being. You're the same but different, just like everyone else. May the gods help me if I haven't changed since I was sixteen," she said laughing as though nothing could make more sense in the world. It appeared she thought nothing more could ever be said on the subject, and she returned to her notes.

"But why do you have to keep calling me Malfoy? I do have a first name you know." He was thoroughly put out and simply could not understand why she insisted on using the name she once used with malice. He knew he was acting like a petulant child, but he didn't particularly care. Foot-stamping and temper tantrums wouldn't be far away at this point.

She simply shrugged and continued flipping through her notes, "I guess I've always known you as Malfoy. Even when we were first years, you were never Draco, or Draco Malfoy, you were just Malfoy."

Just Malfoy. Merely Malfoy. Only Malfoy. Did he mean nothing to her? Was he really just Malfoy? He sincerely hoped that this was one of the rare instances when she threw words around carelessly. The petulant child was quickly replaced with an angry and very hurt adult.

"So, you think that I'm still the same snotty kid I used to be?" he asked somewhat irritably. She did not seem to pick up on his ire.

"Of course not. I mean, you're not the saaaame snotty kid, but you can't deny that you're still something of a snotty kid, in an adult body of course," she said impishly. Her mischievous grin told him that she was not really taking him seriously. He supposed that she didn't need to. She could almost always neutralize him with that grin of hers. He always thought that it was her way of keeping him from his painful thoughts, and he was generally thankful for it. But not today. Today would be different.

"Is that all you think of me? Just some snotty arse? It must be! Because I'm just a Malfoy," he said venomously. He surprised himself with the malice in his thoughts and voice.

Her eyes were wide with. . . it couldn't be fright, could it? "Malfoy I didn't mean-"

He cut her off. "You think that I'm just like all the other Malfoys out there – bigoted, self-righteous, cruel fuckers. That's it, isn't it? Well, maybe you should start calling me Lucius because I'm just a Malfoy. I can't be your good friend Draco, because I'm just a Malfoy." He knew he was being unreasonable. He knew she didn't feel that way about him, but he really didn't know what else to do with the hurt he was feeling.

"You know I don't think of you that way. How could you say such a thing?" There was a certain hard quality to her voice.

"You just said that I'm still the same person I was before," he shot back. Crookshanks was now watching them with narrowed eyes, his tail swishing menacingly.

"You misunderstood me. I said that you are the same human being, you have the same body and the same brain and everything, but you are a vastly different. . ." she searched for the right word, "person. I don't know how to explain it. These new attitudes of yours didn't come out of nowhere; you just hid them before. You were given new information and you changed what you believed. Only a fool wouldn't do what you did. You've. . . grown up." Her expression suggested that this would placate him. She was wrong.

"So all those evil little parts of me are just lying dormant now? Is that what you mean Hermione? Because according to you, they are still a part of me." His eyes blazed with fury. "That's why you make excuses to get away from me and spend time with Potter and Weasley, isn't it?" He spat out the name of the latter. At this moment, he really hated Weasley. "You just can't stand to be around me and my dormant evil, can you?"

She looked up at him now, her expression shocked and saddened. Funny, he was expecting rage. She moved to stand next to him and took his hand. He immediately jerked away from her and regarded her worried expression.

"Is that what this is about? Spending time with you?" She was genuinely concerned. Her little back-up tactic of taking his hand didn't work either. "You know that you are one of my closest friends Malfoy." She looked so sad and for a brief moment, he was sorry that he was the cause of her anguish. "I'm sorry if I haven't been spending enough time with you, but you know how it is, what with getting ready for classes and everything. I would never do anything to hurt you."

He snorted. Never do anything to hurt him. Ha! He was no longer sorry to be causing her pain. Just yesterday, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had announced their engagement to the wizarding world. Malfoy knew it was coming. Everyone knew it was coming. He thought he had prepared himself, but it had hit him harder than expected.

If she never meant to hurt him, she never would have gotten engaged. To anyone. Except himself of course.

Malfoy's love for Hermione had sort of. . . seeped through his being. He never had any great revelatory moments concerning Hermione. He had grown irreversibly close to Hermione in their seventh year, and he supposed he knew that he would one day love her as no other. But his heartache grew at the same time as his love. It was common knowledge that Hermione and Weasley were disgustingly in love. So much so, that it made him want to vomit at times.

It was a funny thing really; Malfoy loved her with all of his broken, battered and confused heart. He should not be taking his anguish out on the one person who truly cared for him. It was not her fault that he felt more strongly for her than she did for him, but that didn't mean he didn't want to blame her for it.

He let himself slump into a chair by the fireplace and held his head in his hands. The fire crackled and popped. Why was he doing this? Why was he hurting the one he loved most in the world? Why was she doing this to him? She was smart - she had to know how he felt about her. He heard her softly tread toward him and sit at his feet.

"What's going on? There's something you're not telling me." Her voice gently cascaded over him. He wanted to melt into that voice, into her being.

What was going on? What was it that he wasn't telling her? He didn't know anymore.

Malfoy said nothing. The deafening silence settled itself like a brick wall in between them. He didn't want that. Not with her of all people.

Jumbled thoughts bounced through his head – Hermione, his father, his new position as a professor, his undeniable loneliness, tortured bloodied people, Weasley - he swore he could feel the ricochet action. He needed to grab something quickly, but found that he didn't have the energy to do such a thing.

He didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted to hurt her. Deeply. He wanted to hate her. And yet he didn't. He wanted to rant and scream and break things and scare Hermione and Crookshanks. He also wanted to sit silently and let Hermione believe that his sanity had left the building.

She moved to lean against his leg and rested her head on his knee. Her touch and her gentle voice soothed him in ways he did not understand. "You don't have to tell what's wrong. I'm always here for you. You know that right?"

A strangled noise escaped his throat. She must have taken it as an affirmation.

"Good." A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. "I hate seeing you like this. I just want you to be happy."

Silence. He couldn't possibly tell her what would make him happy. He didn't want her to think he was crazy. And he certainly didn't want to tell her that he would never be happy. He didn't want her pity.

"Would it make you happy if I called you Draco from now on?"

More silence. He never really liked his first name anyway. Who names their kid Draco anyway? Draco-co-co-co-co-co.

"Would it make you happy if I called you Bouncy, the amazing ferret boy?"

"Only if I get to call you Hermy," he smiled. How did she make him smile?

"Okay, so Bouncy is out." She leaned her head back to look at him revealing an expanse of her luscious neck. "You have to help me out here. The only names I can come up with are equally horrendous, and I don't want you to hate me for ever and ever. I mean I could deal with you temporarily hating me and all, but not so much for all time."

"Hmph." What else was there to say? She really had to look away; the sight of her neck made him want to do something impulsive that would no doubt ruin their friendship.

"See, if we hated each other for a little while, I could use some of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products against you. I hear they have some new products that are most exciting. And then we would make up of course, and you could buy me some ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream."

"I thought you were the one who is supposed to be at fault here." He wondered if her neck was as soft as it looked.

"Oh Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy," she sighed, mocking exasperation. "Don't you know that it's always the man's fault in cases such as these? Really, I'm shocked at you. I thought you were a bit more knowledgeable about women."

"Ah, my dear Hermione, but that only works in romantic relationships." Still that neck was torturing him.

"Oh pish posh, there is no such disclaimer to male-female relations of any kind. Besides, why wouldn't you want to buy me ice cream?"

"Why indeed," he said quietly and looked away from her and watched the flames as they licked the firewood.

Her voice changed. "I will call you Draco if you want me to."

"No, it's alright," Malfoy sighed, refusing to force any sort of intimacy upon her. He moved away from her and her neck and walked to the window. A few friendless stars poked through the black of the night sky.

Once again, she moved toward him and took his hand, and intertwined her fingers with his. Why must she keep touching him? Did she want him to push her against a wall and attack that lovely neck of hers?

"Malfoy. . ." she began uneasily, "what brought all this on? Please talk to me. Tell me everything will be alright and you'll be okay."

Nothing would be okay. Nothing would ever be okay. He knew that once she actually married Weasley, he would be less than alright for the rest of his life. Who was he kidding? He had been less than alright since that summer. He was just lucky to have her as a friend.

"Hermione-" What could he say? He didn't want to lie to her. He turned to look at her. Worry lines etched her forehead.

"Everything will not be alright and I may not be okay, but I will live." The quiet strength and conviction in his voice surprised him.

Her chin quivered and tears filled her eyes.

"Just promise me that when you marry Weasley, that you won't forget about me," he said, brushing a few stray hairs from her forehead.

"Oh Malfoy, how could I forget about you?" She wrapped her arms tightly around him and rested her head on his chest. Tentatively, he snaked his arms around her and pulled her closer, reveling in her scent.

"I will see you happy one day," she whispered barely audible. "Really happy, not sad happy, or fake happy, but really and truly happy."

He seriously doubted her.

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Mafloy's breath caught in his throat. The doorknob to the hospital wing slowly turned. Malfoy quickly and quietly crouched against the wall and scrambled to get his wand out of his pocket. Perhaps Mr Jamison had an accomplice, and he was coming to finish what was started yesterday.

It seemed an eternity before the door actually opened. Crookshanks darted through the narrow opening and bolted to Hermione's bed. He jumped on her bed and started kneading at Hermione's shoulder, meowing loudly. Hermione groaned and shifted a bit. This seemed to satisfy the mangy cat, and he curled up next to her head.

Whoever let Crookshanks in continued trying to covertly open the door. Malfoy's jaw clenched and he could taste bile. He would have no qualms in destroying anyone sent to harm Hermione.

His eyes darted over the entrance. Malfoy could hear quiet uneven footsteps, but could see no one. Whoever it was briefly paused at Jamison's bed and continued on to Hermione. The intruder's footfalls gave Malfoy a good idea of this person's location. Malfoy readied himself to pounce. Every muscle in his body tensed. He could hear nothing but those footsteps. He focused his entire being on stopping this person from getting to Hermione.

When the intruder stepped in front of Malfoy, he burst away from the wall and attempted to grab this person around the middle. He was somewhat successful; he got a wrist. A distinctly male voice cursed loudly and the invisible man tried to thrash away from him, but Malfoy held fast and quite awkwardly got his arms around the intruder's middle and pushed with as much strength as he possessed. The force of Malfoy's action landed them both on the ground.

Malfoy would later reflect on the fact that it was really quite difficult fighting an invisible person. One had little idea what one was dealing with. Arms and legs appeared from underneath some sort of cloak. The intruder was a squirmy fellow, and Malfoy had a difficult time subduing him. They wrestled on the floor, each fighting for dominance. Malfoy took a fist to the jaw, while his opponent took one to the temple, or what he assumed was the temple on his invisible foe. With much effort, Malfoy finally got the upper hand, and pinned the defeated intruder to the floor.

Rage coursed through him for the second time in twenty-four hours. He had an arm across the intruder's throat and had his wand pointed at his face. "Who are you?" he seethed.

"Is that you Malfoy?"

A disconnected hand reached up to pull the cloak off revealing the face of the intruder.

"Potter?"