Chapter 9: Empathy

Disclaimer: Normally, I'd attempt to be amusing with this, but as it is I'm far, far too exhausted. So suffice it to say that I don't own Harry Potter and all related thingies, but J.K Rowling, long may her books be read, does. OK? Good.

Thanks for 213 reviews goes to: storm079, Go10, alexix, heavengurl899(x2), Plaidly Lush, Mandemi, awkward, Orchid6297, willowfairy, samhaincat, La Lucida Luna, KrystyWroth, mesmer, Simpson-Girl, Simrun, Pheonix, Beauty Full, Cuppy(x3), Flexi Lexi, MsLessa, taragoddess.

A/N: I think utter, complete and total exhaustion pretty much sums up my mind right now.

However, I've proven that I can actually write what I think is approximately 40 pages in a week – between this and my challenge on the Contra Veritas site – and still manage to produce something that is pretty good quality, at the expense of personal hygiene, ability to spell and sleep. Thankfully, it's my birthday party tomorrow (my actual birthday being on the 13th – my sixteenth!) So I get to kick back and relax. The challenge fic shall be coming shortly, depending how long it takes the 'secret santa' aspect of things to be worked and depending on how the contest works.

Importantly: I changed the timing of that final short scene of the last chapter so it took place at lunchtime rather than night. Only a small change… because even the best of us utterly screw things up sometimes.

Oh, and people who ask when they'll be going to Hogwarts: within a few chapters, hopefully.

It has been a very long and arduous week. Thank you all for your continued support through reviews, and special thanks to Lou, who's been an absolute angel as always with helping me, to Sigma, with apologies for doing she-knows-what in the challenge, and to Pi, for the amusing beating – that's not a typo – and for the dances.

This said, enjoy.

~*~

No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.

Aesop, (620 BC - 560 BC), The Lion and the Mouse

~*~

Hermione closed Draco's door with a sigh, wishing there were more she could do to help. Which was a strange thing to wish, she reflected, for the person who had been her enemy for five years – normally she'd have thought it served him right.

But then, by what Rita had said, he wasn't the same person who'd teased Ron and bullied Harry and called her a Mudblood. That had been his Fallen side, and now he was human. Like a person with split personalities: it wouldn't be fair to blame one mind for the actions of the other.

But how was she meant to help someone who didn't want to be helped, who refused to be helped? She could barely do anything indirectly. Unless she explained to all her friends what Draco was, and got them to appreciate what he had to be going through, which she would never do. Draco wanted it kept secret, and it was a very, very big secret to leak.

Which meant persuading people to act more kindly to him without mentioning half-Fallens. A difficult task, when the person you were trying to evoke sympathy for was Draco Malfoy…

But she would try. Turning, she walked briskly down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Mrs Weasley would be cooking in there, and not too many people should be around to impede the discussion… Now all she needed to know was what she was going to say.

Passing a pair of flustered members of the Order – 'The trial was a complete disaster, there was no evidence, those men should never have been convicted,' one of them was saying – Hermione reached the kitchen and pushed open the door. A wave of warm air, scented with the smell of cheese and pasta, rushed over her, and she saw Mrs Weasley taking a large casserole dish full of what appeared to be lasagne out of the oven.

'Hi, Hermione,' she said, beaming as she set the dish down on a wooden stand. 'You're down here early. Hungry?'

'Yes, sort of…' Hermione paused, not certain of how to bring the topic up. 'Actually… I wanted to talk to you about something.'

'Go right ahead,' she said warmly, taking out a large spatula and starting to slice the lasagne into generous portions. 'I'm all ears.'

Nervously, Hermione began rubbing the knuckle of her left thumb. 'Well…' she began, unsure of how Mrs Weasley would react, 'Its about Malfoy.'

Mrs Weasley brought the spatula down rather hard. 'What?' she asked, all concern.  'He hasn't… done anything, has he?'

'What? No!' Hermione said, startled, before she realised that she'd have jumped to the exact same conclusion a day or two ago. 'No, no, nothing like that.'

Mrs Weasley frowned, puzzled. Hermione could guess what she was thinking – what on earth could she want to say about him, if its not something bad? – and found it strange and slightly disturbing to realise how much her position had changed.

'Well… go on then, Hermione,' Mrs Weasley said, continuing to slice the lasagne.

Hermione took a breath. 'To put it simply… I guess I'm worried about him.'

Mrs Weasley interrupted, looking more puzzled than ever. 'Why?'

'Because… well, I was trying to consider things from his point of view, and I think… we know he wouldn't come here unless he absolutely had to. Everyone here either hates him or doesn't know him at all…'

Mrs Weasley nodded, frowning. 'Go on.'

'So we know that something bad must have happened to him, something that made it necessary for him to come here,' Hermione said, watching what she said to make sure she didn't mention what she knew about him. 'Then he's surrounded by people who hate him. I mean… even for someone like him, it's not a nice situation.' A flash of inspiration struck her. 'I think it might make him more aggressive too. I mean, in a difficult situation like this, with no one to turn to… any issues he has are likely to come out violently.'

Mrs Weasley looked conflicted for a moment, doubtful and unsure.

'I mean, I'm not saying we should do anything special, just… try to be a bit nicer to him, that's all,' Hermione quickly said. Mrs Weasley seemed hesitant, and then she smiled weakly, shaking her head as if in disbelief.

'You're always championing other's rights, it seems,' she clucked, serving the lasagne onto plates, 'First House Elves, now Draco Malfoy… Alright then, I'll try and be a little nicer to the boy. But only because I don't want him being violent.'

She handed Hermione a plate of lasagne with a smile, and Hermione's heart leapt. Had she really just done it? She grinned, and accepted the plate.

'Thanks,' she said – for more than the lasagne – and took her food to the table, smiling widely. She had just won a minor victory, it seemed.

She began eating the lasagne – it was excellent, as usual – and wondered who she should speak to next. The boys, probably: Ron and Harry. They would be difficult too, and she didn't want to mention Malfoy to Harry in his current mood… But Ron, she could speak to. It would be difficult to persuade him to even consider being civil to Malfoy, she knew, but Ron was also the person most likely to argue with him. Harry she could leave till later. Ginny – now she was an idea: if she persuaded her well enough, she might even help…

'Hey,' came a familiar, cheerful voice, and Ginny herself fell into the seat beside her, beaming brightly, with a double helping of lasagne. 'Guess what?'

Hermione never tried to guess. 'What is it?'

'I was just talking to Harry,' Ginny told her, 'and he was almost…well, normal. I don't know why.'

'Normal? How do you mean?' Hermione asked. 'Normal as in…?'

'As in chatting and laughing, yes.' Ginny took a large forkful of lasagne and bit into it.

Hermione felt a smile spread over her face. 'Why? What happened?'

'I don't know,' Ginny replied, chewing thoughtfully. She swallowed. 'And I don't think it's going to be permanent, just…a bright patch. But it's brilliant! It means he's going to get better. And he will get better.'  She sounded determined.

'He will.' Hermione nodded. 'What happened? What did you talk about? Why isn't he here yet, I want to see…'

'He went to the toilet,' Ginny informed her cheekily. 'And we just talked about anything, really. Funny stories, Dean… oh, and romantic affairs with Voldemort.'

Hermione nearly choked on her food. 'What?'

Ginny laughed. 'I was saying how horrified Ron was, and he couldn't react worse if Dean had been Voldemort, and it kind of spiralled off from there. Absolutely hilarious…'

'Absolutely disturbing, in my opinion,' Hermione shook her head. 'I mean… Voldemort… that's just…'

'Hilarious,' Ginny grinned.

Hermione might have had something more to say on the topic, but at that moment, Harry walked in. Hermione looked up, her breath catching in her throat. Was Harry really better? He didn't look it, at first, he just looked the same as usual – distant and detached – but then he looked up, saw them, and smiled, a brave, warm smile, and Hermione beamed back.

He sat with them for lunch – Ron joined them a minute later – and they had an almost normal conversation again. Sometimes, she caught a soft, sad look on his face, but he brightened up again when spoken to. He was trying more, Hermione noted with glee, actually trying to feel better, and she didn't know how long it would last, but it was a start.

And Mrs Weasley actually managed to smile at Draco when she gave him a plate of lasagne.

Hermione glowed with happiness. Things were going right.

~*~

After the lunch, Ginny had announced that she was going to write a letter to Dean. Ron, with a brotherly over-protection, had insisted on going with her to ensure she didn't write anything he didn't approve of. This had led to a minor argument between the two, but Ron was far too stubborn and too concerned about her to back down, and even Hermione and Harry hadn't been able to talk him out of it.

So now, the two siblings were off in Ginny's room, probably bickering, leaving Hermione and Harry to chatter the time away. Hermione had instantly demanded what on earth they'd been thinking of when they'd started talking about relationships with Voldemort, which had rapidly led to a competition to discover the most disturbing, insane and humorous couple possible.

'Umbridge and Snape,' Hermione suggested, then almost choked at the thought. 'Oh Merlin, imagine the children…'

'Imagine the psychiatrists fees for giving the children counselling,' Harry remarked. 'Any children with them for parents would be seriously messed up…' He paused for a moment, considering, then his eyes flashed mischievously. 'Trelawney and either Lavender or Parvati,' he declared, whereupon Hermione collapsed, half from giggles, half from horror.

Harry watched this in amusement. 'Just be thankful it wasn't both…' he said, with another grin, which made Hermione even worse.

'You have a disturbed mind,' Hermione informed him when she managed to control herself. Harry shrugged.

'Maybe.'

Hermione frowned, then picked up the topic of conversation. 'Lucius Malfoy and Filch.'

Harry didn't bat an eyelid. 'Draco Malfoy and Filch,' he suggested, which turned Hermione white.

'I think I'm going to declare you the winner,' she said weakly, making him grin. 'I cannot compete with your… ability to consider the most disturbing things without flinching.'

'Do you bow before my superiority?' Harry asked cheekily.

Hermione remained dignified. 'No, I don't, because I don't see how the ability to consider the most sickening things is superiority.'

He laughed. 'Its superiority in the area of considering sickening things.'

She changed the subject quickly. 'So, Malfoy…' she began, thinking this was as good a leap as any onto the topic. 'Why do you think he's here?'

Harry shrugged. 'Haven't a clue. I've not really thought about it much, to tell the truth.' He looked thoughtful, then laughed. 'Maybe his dad was forcing him into an arranged marriage with Filch.'

Hermione buried her face in a pillow, trying not to scream at the image. 'Any sensible reasons that might actually happen?' she asked eventually.

He considered this. 'No.'

Of course, Hermione knew the answer to her question, but she didn't let on. Deep down, she felt a little guilty at what was basically manipulating her friend… but it was for the good of both the boys, she reminded herself; arguments were beneficial to neither of them.

'Well… something bad must have happened to him,' she hypothesized. 'Something that meant he couldn't stay at his home… something that meant he had to run to the other side of the war for protection…'

Harry frowned. 'Yeah, I guess… It must have been something pretty bad.'

Hermione nodded, glad that he appeared to be in agreement. 'Poor guy…'

He looked at her sharply. 'Did you just pity Malfoy?'

Or not in agreement… 'I guess so,' she replied. 'I mean, things must be difficult for him…'

Harry shrugged.

'And its not like he has any friends here… in fact, its pretty much all enemies…'

Harry appeared to think about this. 'Well, when you put it like that… But he still argues with us, he still fights…'

'What would you do if you had to stay at Malfoy Manor for a few weeks?'

'Die, most probably,' Harry pointed out. 'And I mean that literally. With torture and great pain.'

'You know what I mean!' she said, shaking her head with a smile. 'You'd start fighting with him too. It's defensive…'

Harry looked abashed suddenly. 'Last summer, I guess I did that same thing… with Dudley,' he admitted

'It's a natural thing,' Hermione shrugged. 'Everyone does it… I guess I feel kind of sorry for Malfoy. He must feel awful.'

Harry didn't reply. She glanced at him, realised he looked pensive, and decided to change the topic. He'd probably choose to be nicer on his own, she knew him well enough to predict that much.

Daringly, she tried a risky topic. 'So… you've seemed like you've been a lot better lately…'

Harry stiffened. 'Yeah,' he replied casually, 'I was being stupid before, I guess…'

'You weren't,' she told him, trying to be supportive,' Do you want to talk about anything…?'

'No,' Harry said sharply. 'I'm fine.'

Hermione frowned, not wanting to press the topic, but worried about her friend. If he was still bottling everything up… But where would pushing the issue get her? Precisely nowhere.

She changed the topic again.

~*~

Dear Dean,

Ron's reading this over my shoulder, making sure 'you don't write anything you shouldn't', as he puts it. You know what he's like… So I'm sorry if anything in this letter sounds a little odd.

How's Spain? I hear it's really hot over there. Sultry. Sticky. Sweaty, even. Just the kind of temperatures you know I love…

Oh, and how did that Quidditch mini-tournament go? Bet the Bludgers are sore after getting Beaten so much. Playing with balls is fun, I know, but they should always be treated with care.

And while there's always going to be competition over broomsticks – whose is the longest, the most powerful, so on – I always think the real key to being a Quidditch champion is how skilfully you can get the Quaffle through the goal hoops. Or Beat the Bludgers, or catch the Golden Snitch, whichever way you're personally inclined.

Ginny wasn't even halfway through her letter, and already Ron was looking quite sickened.

'If you think I'm letting you send that…' he began, but Ginny cut in, smiling innocently.

'Why, Ron, what's wrong with it?' she asked, opening her eyes wide in surprise. 'All I've done is talk about Quidditch and the weather…'

'You know very well you've filled it with…' Ron glowered, reaching for the right word. 'Hidden meanings.'

Ginny pulled off a passable imitation of guileless confusion. 'What kind of hidden meanings?' she asked. 'Please, dear, sweet brother, explain yourself. Because of course, I'm far too young and innocent to know anything about adult things…'

'Okay, okay, I get your point!' Ron moaned. 'I just don't want you… doing anything stupid, that's all.'

Ginny dropped the innocent act. 'Ron, I am old enough to take care of myself,' she pointed out gently. 'I understand that you worry about me, but reading my private letters is going a little too far, don't you think?'

'No, I consider it a perfectly sensible measure.' Ron defended himself.' How am I to know you're not writing…'

'Ron,' Ginny cut in sharply, 'either you stop looking over my shoulder and let me carry on normally and without sexual innuendo, or the letter will quickly get more graphic.'

Ron looked deeply torn. 'Okay,' he gave in eventually, 'I'll let you write it. Just don't say anything stupid…'

Ginny grinned and gave her brother a hug.' Thanks. And you know I won't. It's not like I can do anything through a letter, is it. Well, I could probably charm the parchment to…'

'Ginny?' Ron cut in, 'Don't push your luck.'

She grinned, promised she wouldn't, and went back to the letter.

~*~

Later that evening, Hermione left the table early after tea – claiming that she wanted to do some studying – and crept slowly up the stairs to Draco's room. She looked around cautiously, checking that no one was approaching on either side. She was safe. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slipped inside.

'Rita?' she asked, her voice a whisper by accident rather than intent. It was the sneaking around; it made her cautious. She spoke again, in a normal voice this time, 'Rita?'

'Is that you, Hermione?' came Rita's voice. 'Oh, but it feels like I haven't spoken to anyone in decades. Draco's not talking to me,' she added, rather petulantly.

Hermione gave the mirror a sympathetic smile, pushed the door almost shut – she left it open a crack, so she could hear if anyone was coming - and crossed the room. 'Is that because you told me…'

'About Draco being half-Fallen? Yes.' Rita replied, sighing. 'Don't worry yourself about it, dear, he'll get over it as soon as he realised that I did him a favour.'

'Hopefully,' Hermione smiled. It felt rather odd to be talking to her reflection, but she ignored the feeling. 'I can't stay long, he could come back at any minute… Has anything happened? Or is there anything you can tell me?'

Rita appeared to think for a minute. 'He got a letter last night, and he seemed to be spending quite a long time replying,' she remarked eventually.

'Who from?'

'Dunno, I didn't see it,' Rita told her. 'But he left it on his desk…'

Hermione looked uncertain. 'I can't go and read someone's private letters…'

'Yes, you can. Its for his own good, the sweetheart,' Rita replied, 'just take a little look…'

She was conflicted for a moment – should she or shouldn't she? – but at that moment, she heard to her horror the sound of footsteps on the stairs, growing closer. Whose footsteps, whose footsteps? None of her friends – they'd come in a group – and most of the adults went to their rooms a different way, so that meant…

Hermione had barely a second, nowhere near enough time to hide, before Draco Malfoy walked in.

~*~

A/N: And if you want to know what happens next, review. I stand, or more probably lie, before you in a state of incredible exhaustion, kept awake only by the workings of miraculous, holy, worshipful caffeine, and beg you to review. And then I fall asleep.

Sleep is good. Reviews are better.