Chapter 18

Hermione met Draco at the foot of the stairs that led up to Dumbledore's office. She was taciturn, as was he, for they were both still in a great deal of shock over the last two day's events.

Finally, Draco spoke as they walked up the steep steps.

"I wanted to say thank-you," he said quietly, shifting his books from one side to the other. "No one else would have ever done that for me. Not even my mother."

"Don't worry about it," Hermione replied dismissively. "You would do the same thing for me, wouldn't you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

She was troubled by this, but said nothing, and when they reached the top of the stairs she muttered to the gargoyle,

"Chocolate frogs," and the door swung open.

They proceeded up the steps to Dumbledore's office, like they had not three days ago after the incident with the Doppelganger, only it felt like weeks had passed and they hadn't seen Dumbledore in ages. They found the Headmaster pacing in his study, stroking his beard absentmindedly.

"Hello Professor," Draco said politely, putting his book bag down on the floor. Dumbledore looked up and smiled; making Hermione's cares and worries melt away.

"Do sit down," he said kindly, motioning to two very comfortable looking chairs in front of his desk. "Now, Professor McGonagall insisted I see you two, and hear the story from your own mouths."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said politely. "I'll start."

She proceeded to tell the tale, and when she was finished, even Draco looked slightly amazed.

"You have indentured yourself to the Lady of the Underworld?" Dumbledore asked with wary fascination. "I wonder how that will work out? And the Furies are under the power of Voldemort?"

Draco started hearing the name, but then remembered that it was Dumbledore speaking, and that he had no reason to be afraid of the Dark Lord when within Hogwart's grounds.

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said, noting Draco's consternation. "I suppose I shall be pursuing a career in brining people back from the dead."

Dumbledore frowned, his furry white eyebrows colliding. "No, Hermione. The dead should not be stirred. I did not attempt to dissuade you from your decisions to bring Mr. Malfoy back, because I knew that it was useless. The dead keep their own, Ms. Granger. Do not disturb what nature has deemed. For all we know, Mr. Malfoy could have some strange abnormality that might surface later. It is dangerous to mess with the Lord of the Underworld, for he does not relinquish souls lightly."

As they walked down the stairs to go to class, Hermione explained what had happened to Rodolphus Lestrange.

"So, I could end up living forever?" Draco asked in disbelief, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Yes, Draco," Hermione replied coolly, not really wanting to know if he would. He looked to her.

"But, that would mean-"

"Yes, I would die, and you would remain alive."

"But-"

"It's too late now," she snapped. "I can't take back what I have done. I'm sure if you throw yourself off the astronomy tower you'd die a rather painful death."

"No, I'm not unhappy about being living again, Hermione," he replied in an anguished voice, his pale cheeks flushing slightly under her harsh scrutiny. "I don't want you to die and leave me all alone here."

"Oh, Draco," she said gently. "You're so sweet sometimes. But, we'll have to worry about that when the time comes. For the meantime, we have to help Harry vanquish Voldemort and get the wizarding world back on its feet."

"You're right," Draco said glumly. "As always, but how on earth am I going to help destroy all the people who I used to be friends with? How could I kill my father?"

"He killed you," Hermione said grimly. "Don't you ever forget that Draco. Your father was willing to sacrifice your life on the altar of power; you can kill him. No one loves him enough to sell their soul to the devil to get him back."

Draco wanted to tell Hermione how much he loved her, but it seemed that anything he said would be pale in comparison to what she had done for him. First she had saved his skin (literally!) and then she had helped him vanquish an evil doppelganger, and to top it all off, Hermione had brought him back from the dead at a rather high cost! Draco, for the life of him, couldn't figure out how to make it up to her.

He paid a call upon his now foster father, Snape, for help.

"What do I do?" he moaned, banging his head against the slimy wall of the dungeon, and then instantly regretting it. Now he had green slime in his air. He got it out, and then turned to find out what Severus had to say about the situation.

"Well, you could always tell her you love her," Severus said with a rather disgusted expression on his face. "Although, I still can't understand-"

"Oh god, not you too!" Draco snapped. "I can't stand you, the only person I trust telling me that I've screwed up. I have two friends in the world, you and Hermione, and I refuse to have you hate her."

"I don't hate her," Severus said coolly, as if he refused to say her name. "I just find her to be a repulsive pretentious little bitch. She's almost as bad as Potter."

"Potter's not all that bad," Draco said grudgingly. "He's actually a nice guy. You just don't like him because his father was a git."

"I don't hold grudges," Severus hissed, stirring his cauldron with alarming ferocity. "Potter is arrogant and self-centered."

"If he's so self-centered, then why did he help me out when Hermione was mad at me?" Draco shot back, hardly believing that he was defending perfect Potter.

Snape refused to answer, and continued to stir his potion angrily, as if the green mist floating off it could solve all his numerous problems with life.

Draco wandered up into the Owlery knowing full well that not everything was perfect in the world. His life had been flawless until Hermione Granger waltzed in and got everything right. Surprisingly enough, though he had more problems now, he was the happiest he had ever been.

"How does that work?" he muttered aloud to himself. "How could I lose everything I value and be happier than ever?"
The owls hooted softly, and his own Circe hooted louder than the rest, as if begging for him to pay some attention to her. Draco raised his arm and she flew to it. He gently smoothed her ruffled feathers and she affectionately pecked at his hand.

"You understand, don't you Circe?" Draco asked the owl. "You understand better than I ever will."