"Here's the book I said I'd let you borrow, Harry." Hermione said monotonously, handing him her well-loved copy of Wanda's Guide to the Wonderment of the Stars. The trio had decided to bypass studying and just head back to the common room to relax before dinner, yet there was still a tension hanging between them that usually did not exist.
"You know we only told you that for your own good, right, Hermione? What we said about Malfoy?" Ron asked, looking at her with a concern that surprised even himself.
She gave him a quick glance, trying to decide how to answer that question without re-opening the very recently healed wound. "I understand that what you said afterwards, to me, was an admission of genuine concern. But before that… badgering Malfoy for no reason at all? That wasn't for anyone's good, Ron."
Ron reddened slightly, and Harry jumped in to save him. "It was a stupid thing to do, Hermione. I don't even know why we did it."
"Well, it's not like he wasn't a great bloody prat when he was alive. So who's to say that would change now, right? Really, Hermione, we were worried…" his voice trailed off, but Hermione interrupted before he could finish his thought.
"Worried? You didn't even know Malfoy and I were talking to each other until I told you! And that wasn't until after you heckled him for no apparent reason," she snapped, stopping in the middle of the hallway and folding her arms across her chest, "What you did was horrible—"
"—horribly justified!" Ron retorted, to Harry's horror. The lanky boy watched as though he were seeing a car accident; he couldn't look away, even if he wanted to, but he also couldn't help.
"Ronald, you are infuriating. When you get over yourself, let me know, and then maybe I'll forgive you." She stormed away, leaving the two boys in her wake. She'd been anticipating that they'd fight that good fight again, but she hadn't expected it to be twice in five minutes.
Harry sighed. "She's insane to trust Malfoy," he said, then paused and added, "but that doesn't mean we have the right to protect her. She's her own person, Ron. She can take care of herself."
Ron bit his lip, shuffling his feet slightly. "I know. I just… always seem to forget, or something."
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"Wanda's Guide to the Wonderment of the Stars doesn't say anything about a boot shaped cluster." Harry sighed, frustrated. "What do you think it looks like, Ron? … Ron?"
Turning to check on his red-haired, sulky companion, Harry closed his book. They'd gotten practically nothing done on their project, and it was due in two days! Hermione had been harassing them a week ago to finish it early, but she'd stopped nagging when he and Ron had had that run in with Malfoy the Ghost. She'd stopped talking to them altogether, actually. Since that point, Ron had found it as an excuse to pout and amidst all the drama Harry had forgotten about the project until only a half-hour earlier. In a mad rush, the two boys had climbed all the way to the tip-top of the Astronomy Tower, only to find it—well—occupied. So they'd gone back to the Gryffindor common room and sat on the balcony. Surrounded by trees, it didn't have nearly as good a view, but they had made do.
Trying to regain his friend's attention, Harry spoke up again. "Ron?"
Ron seemed to snap out of his reverie for a moment, then he proceeded to scowl once more. Giving a quick glance at the sky, he muttered, "Looks like a boot to me."
Exasperated, Harry stood and threw the book into Ron's lap. "I've had it, Ron!" he cried, leaving the balcony and storming into the common room. The eyes of his fellow Gryffindors followed him as he stalked up into the dormitory, quickly followed by an irate Ronald Weasley. It was a recipe for disaster, and everyone knew that it as best to stay out of the two ill-tempered wizards' ways.
Ron flew into the dormitory moments after the door had been slammed the first time, glaring at Harry with all of his might. "What in the bloody hell was that about? I'm sorry I'm not exactly enthralled at the thought of…of boot-shaped clusters!"
Harry ripped back the curtains to his bed, sitting on it and beginning to remove his shoes. "Boot-shaped… you think this is about that stupid project? You've been this way the whole week long!"
"What way!?" Ron fairly exploded.
"You've been pouting like a three year old! Honestly! It's pathetic, Ron. Just because Hermione isn't talking to us—"
"—don't mention her to me!— "
"—doesn't give you the right to act like a child! We both had it coming, hassling him like that," Harry concluded, breathing heavily in the wake of Ron's cutting glare.
Taking a deep breath, Ron spoke evenly, "She seemed alright with it at first."
"Yeah," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "Until we started walking back to the common room, and you began going on about how right you were, and telling her that he was such a prat and… geez, Ron. You acted like a jerk. A huge jerk! You should have just let it be, and she would have been okay."
Ron, visibly calmed, softened his gaze. "I know," he whispered, defeated. "I just…I want to protect her, sort of. I don't know. It's confusing."
Harry sighed, throwing himself back on his pillow and closing the curtains sharply. "Oh, bloody hell…" he muttered, causing Ron to worry. He'd been reasonably sure they weren't fighting anymore.
"Harry?" he said questioningly, stepping to the side of his bed and pulling back the curtains, revealing the green-eyed boy to be giving him a very impatient glance.
"You're so slow," proclaimed the annoyed raven-haired boy, rolling away from Ron and making him even more curious.
"What?" he asked defensively, grabbing Harry's shoulder, forcing him to turn over into his previous position.
Closing his eyes in exasperation, Harry shook off Ron's hand. "You like her, idiot," he said impatiently, reaching up to catch the curtains and pull them to a close.
"… Oh."
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"So do you think I should forgive Ron?" asked Hermione, her back resting against the wall of the broom closet. Ever since the day that he had encountered Pansy, Harry and Ron, Draco had refused to emerge from it. She pushed one of the long-forgotten brooms away from her, partly for more room and partly because it stank to high heaven.
Draco floated across from her, shrugging lightly. "I thought you two made up or something, after I left."
She shook her head. "He seemed okay at first. Then as we were walking back he just started to pick a fight. I hate it when he does that! I can't stand to be provoked because I don't have the will power to stop myself." She sighed. "Anyway, he said some very prat-ish things and I haven't talked to him in a week."
"Was I a prat?" he asked, an almost teasing tone to his voice.
Raising an eyebrow, she sensed herself falling into a trap yet couldn't stop herself from answering. "No…"
"Because you haven't talked to me in a week, either," he concluded, trying to act as though he did not care at all.
Struck by a sudden onset of guilt, Hermione avoided his eyes. She hadn't meant to upset Draco, she had just needed time to think about everything. Their sudden friendship, the strain on her relationship with Harry and Ron…it was all very befuddling. Plus she had been terribly embarrassed by her friends' behavior. "I've just been… thinking. About everything that's happened. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore you." She paused, then scrunched her nose, "Well, yes, I did… but not because I was angry with you! You bowed out very gracefully," she added appreciatively.
He glared at the wall with an intenseness she had not expected. "Yes, I did. But if I had had my body, those two would still be in the hospital wing…" he muttered to himself what sounded like death threats, then continued, "Anyway, it's not as though I could do anything to them." His hand shot out, causing her to jump and bump her head slightly on the hard stone. It approached her face deliberately, and then passed softly through it. She exhaled slowly; she hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath.
"You can't exactly fight when you're a ghost."
Hermione glanced at him sympathetically, before perking up. "Of course! I meant to tell you!" she stood up, sticking her hand deep into the pocket on her robes, producing a small piece of paper. "Over the past week, I thought of something."
Interested, Draco glided next to her, half of him hanging through the wall. "What is it? " he questioned, leaning in closer to see what was written on the parchment.
"It occurred to me that you haven't really been taught about you know… how to be a proper ghost, so—"
Draco interrupted. "You mean they have an etiquette?" Her glare silenced him.
"As I was saying, you haven't been taught to haunt or even been informed of what kind of ghost clubs you can belong to—"
"—they have clubs?" He closed his mouth at the furious glance she shot him. "Sorry."
"So I asked Nearly Headless Nick to show you the ropes." At his crestfallen look, she continued, "Oh come now, it won't be so terrible. Nick is lovely to talk to, and he know all about being a ghost."
Draco drifted through her and back to the other side of the closet. "Of course he does! He's been one for hundreds of years!" At her impatient look, he shook his head, "It's not happening, Granger. Sorry. It's bad enough being a spirit in the first place, but I'm not going to take lessons from some Gryffindor Ghostie who couldn't even manage to get his whole head chopped off!"
Hermione seethed. "What exactly is your problem? I'm doing you a favor!"
"Well, I didn't ask you to do it, did I?" He shouted back, rising higher and higher into the air.
"No, you didn't. I did it because we're friends and that's what friends do!"
There was a long, awkward pause. They stayed still, staring at each other defiantly, daring the other to look away. To her surprise, he shifted his gaze first.
"Look, Granger," he stated, realizing that he'd gone back to saying her last name but not consciously recognizing it, "It's not as though I don't appreciate what you've done. You kept my secret, you told Dumbledore, you stood up for me. You've been the good guy here. But I'm not a good guy. I don't want ghost lessons, I don't want a friend. It's not that I don't think it's nice of you, it's just… I'm not nice. So this isn't a conversion to the side of all things good and happy. I'm just lonely and you're the only one who will treat me like I'm still me. That's it."
Hermione refused to let her eyes drop. She wanted to, but she feared that moving them, let alone blinking them, would cause the tears of hurt to spill out over the edges and down her cheeks. And that just wouldn't do. She would not cry in front of him, if at all. He was not worth it. He wasn't!
"Thank you," she said, quietly, resolved.
He made a face of confusion. "What?"
"I said 'thank you'. Thank you for reaffirming my previous thought that there is no good inside of you." She paused, not daring to breathe, then added boldly, "In fact, there's nothing inside of you at all." She passed her hand through his transparent middle, meeting no resistance.
Dropping the piece of paper in her hand and letting it flutter to the ground, Hermione turned the knob and let herself out, walking with a straight back and a head held high the entire length of the corridor.
Draco was fuming. Who had given her the right to invade his personal afterlife like that? She had been a companion, and a good one, but only until he would have been able to stand on his own two feet. He frowned at the expression he had used, then shook his head. Had he given her the impression that they were friends?
He sighed. Yes, and that was because he, too, had thought of them as such.
It scared him, he realized, to think that this girl was his friend. Or had been, until he had pushed her away. It was his Malfoy upbringing, he decided. The biases he had grown up with still haunted him, even when he was the one who was supposed to be doing the haunting.
But now, none of it mattered. He was exactly what Ron Weasley had called him that fateful week ago. Transparent. There was nothing holding him to anything anymore. No blood to link him to his father or other purebloods, no house that he belonged to which demanded his loyalty, no money that he could spend. He had absolutely no ties, no responsibilities to anyone or anything.
A new sense of freedom dawned on him; he was exonerated. He had a clean slate, a chance to start over. He could be whatever type of ghostly person he wished because there was no one to honor, or to please. He was going to finally start living for himself, listening to his heart more than the voices his parents had implanted in his mind.
Through death, he had gotten a new lease on life.
Had he been able to bite his lip, he would have done so. What would he do with this new found freedom, now that he had it? Could he change the general perception that everyone had of him? No. And he didn't especially want to, either. Being freed from his duties as a Malfoy didn't change the fact that he was still himself. There was no sudden need to be best friends with the Boy Who Wouldn't Die and his faithful sidekick Weasel the red-haired Wonder. He had no amends to make.
But he could be better. At least in a small number of ways.
"Hermione!" he suddenly remembered, cursing at the way he had treated her. Perhaps he could apologize to her publicly, he thought; his nose crinkled. Really, alone would do just fine. But he needed to find a specific way to win her back. He had a feeling that a mere apology would not mend the mess he'd made, no matter how sincere.
A small smile crept to his face as he looked down at the ground, directly at the piece of parchment Hermione had dropped in her hurry to get away. The ghost lessons, of course! Perhaps if he attended and showed that he really appreciated her efforts, she would be more open to hearing him apologize.
Drifting downwards, he thanked his lucky stars that it had landed face up. He read it slowly.
Ghost Lessons
Sir Nicholas
Sunday's at 8 o clock outside of the Room of RequirementDraco floated easily through the door, slipping out into the quiet hallway noiselessly.
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Ron's mind reeled. He liked Hermione. He. Liked. Hermione. When had this happened? How had Harry known before even he had? How had this come to be? He fought with Hermione constantly! Could affection be born from arguments?
Well, he mused, I do rather like the way she looks when she's upset. All wild and yet strangely contained. Like one big contradiction…
"Stop it, Ron!" he said to himself, aloud, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had heard him. Everyone was scratching away at parchment, trying to finish essays as quickly as possible so as to go outside and enjoy the day, or chatting with friends. It was a lazy Sunday morning, one which he spent lounging about in one of the overstuffed armchairs that populated the Gryffindor Common Room. He paid no mind to the fact that he had a huge project due the following day, which he had not yet started. He was much more preoccupied on a certain subject that the school didn't teach…
"Ronald!" came the shrill cry to his right, causing him to jump out of his trance. As startled as he was to begin with, he thought his heart was about to stop when he found that it was Hermione.
He took a deep breath. "So… you're talking to me again?'
She sniffed. "Not that you deserve it."
"Touché." He laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry about what I said Hermione. I just… worry. I can't help it. You mean a lot to me and I'd hate to see you get hurt by getting into some weird ghost and human, cross-house friendship."
Hermione softened at his admission, scooting her chair closer to his and placing her palm lightly against his forearm. He was silently thankful she didn't notice him flush as she did that. "I can understand you wanting to be protective. And if it makes you feel any better, you were entirely correct. He really is just a git."
Alarmed at the sadness that had suddenly flooded her tone, Ron covered her hand with his own. "What did he do? Did he say something to you? I swear I'll—"
"You'll do nothing, Ron." She sighed, pulling away her hand and curling into a ball in her chair. "I know you mean well, but I'm a big girl. It was my own fault I got hurt, so there's no reason for anyone but me to deal with the consequences of my actions. Got that?"
He nodded in a pacified manner, which surprised her. Inwardly, he was screaming. He wanted to do something, to help. But Hermione didn't want that, and whatever she wanted, he was more than willing to obey. Anything to make her notice him as he now realized he'd been noticing her.
She smiled genuinely, patting his cheek once and then standing. "Thanks, Ron," she half-mumbled quickly, before turning and heading towards the corner where Harry was bent over a pile of schoolbooks. Ron watched her retreating back, heaving a great sigh as he turned back to the fire.
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Draco didn't know what time it was. It most likely was not eight o'clock, which was the time he was to meet Nearly Headless Nick, but he'd lost all concept of timing when he'd stopped having to sleep. He figured Nick probably had the same problem, however, and it was possible that the ghost was already waiting outside the Room of Requirement for him. It was more likely that he'd be waiting for hours on end, but really, he had all the time in the world. A few measly hours spent doing nothing? No problem at all.
He floated down the endless hallways, turning here or there, trying to remember the correct way to the room. He'd only been there a few times, and Hogwarts was so large it was hard to remember which way was what. Somehow, he'd managed to go past the Great Hall three times, and he could have sworn he'd seen that painting before…
Finally reaching one of the main staircases, Draco used it to guide him up two floors to ground level. He did a quick scan of the surrounding foyers to make sure that Hermione was not there. He still had his pride; he didn't want her to know he was attending the lessons until he was ready to tell her himself. He was about to float back towards the staircase when he heard a sympathetic cry. At first, he was convinced it was another simpering first year, yet the whimper had been strangely familiar. Then it hit him…
His mother.
He turned to find both of his parents, standing in the main hall, accompanied by Dumbledore.
He could have sworn he'd told William he didn't want to go to Hell.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the characters, etc. etc.
A/N: Sorry this took me so long. I wasn't sure what I wanted to happen. I know where this is going, I just didn't know how to get there. Heh.
I'd like to thank EVERYONE who reviewed the last chapter. It felt absolutely amazing to finally have this story get some more credit. Thank you's go to: Slyvan Tears, WolviesLover, aku-neko, Lyansidde, ava gurley, dawn1, Angie, taffi, Karana Belle, Slindy, Sanna, and especially Jessabel, who rec'd me to her Yahoo D/Hr group, which probably accounts for all the new reviews. I really, really appreciate it. Thank you, guys.
As always, thank to my lovely beta, Aria, as well. :D
My favorite musical is Les Miserables, if any of you were wondering.
If you don't feel like writing much in a review about my story, how 'bout you tell me your favorite movie? Please review, though. I really appreciate it. See you in chapter six!