She was crying.
Well, everyone was crying. So no one was really surprised to find her crying.
They all assumed she was crying for the same reason they were.
Albus Dumbledore had just been killed.
The greatest wizard of the age was dead by the hand of Severus Snape, a man he had trusted implicitly. A man he had given a second chance.
A man Harry Potter very much wanted dead.
But, that wasn't why she was crying.
Well, not at the moment at least.
Yes, she had cried over Dumbledore's passing, and she would cry much more for it in the days to come.
Now, though, she cried for herself. For the innocence she had lost.
For the crumpled note in her hand.
"Fancy meeting you here, Granger."
Hermione spun around to the voice, her eyes wide in surprise. "Malfoy."
He was there, leaning against a doorframe, his usually immaculate hair in disarray, his clothes rumpled. The moonlight flooding through the nearby window highlighted the bags under his bloodshot eyes.
The big, bad Slytherin looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks.
A lazy smirk fell across his features for a moment as he looked her over. She felt a blush at his inspection. They hadn't really spoken to each other since the episode under Hogwarts at the beginning of fifth year – before Umbridge had managed to make a mess of everything.
Now in their sixth year, Harry and Ron never spoke of it, but she had never forgotten the brief glimpse she had gotten of the man Draco Malfoy could have been, if he hadn't been a Malfoy.
She still wondered about his offer to her that day.
"You've grown up a little, Granger. Is the Weasel starting to take notice?" his drawl was more pronounced than usual, coming out as almost a slur.
Her eyes narrowed at the question. "What do you care?" she snapped.
It hurt, because Ron had decided it would be more fun to snog Lavender Brown than her.
The blond held up his hand in a pacifying gesture as he pushed off the doorframe and stepped down the empty hall toward her.
"I don't," he replied as he came to a stop just before her. "But I must reiterate that I am enjoying what I see."
Hermione felt her cheeks grow even hotter from embarrassment at the semi-lewd compliment.
She watched as his eyes closed in a blink, and was slightly startled when they didn't reopen. She was even more startled when he began to tip toward her.
Acting on instinct, she caught the boy as he fell.
Unfortunately she, being much smaller than he, wound up on the floor, pinned underneath a heavily snoring Malfoy.
She shook him lightly, hoping that would wake him, but ended up squawking in surprise and mortification as he snuggled his head into her breasts with a mumble.
Shaking him a little harder, she tried to ignore the tingly feelings she was getting from it.
Finally roused, the blond boy looked stupidly up at her, a small line of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Seeming to suddenly collect his wits, he sprang back from her and wiped his mouth, his eyes wide in fear and surprise.
"I… I haven't been sleeping well…" he muttered, quickly masking his face again as he stood up and walked off in the direction of the dungeons.
What was that about? she thought with confusion as she, too, stood and made for her common room, her rounds for prefect duty done for the night.
Hermione had received an owl the day after that had left her laughing and blushing for most of the day. His flourished writing sent tingles down her spine, and she had kept the letter, much to her chagrin.
Four simple words had her heart fluttering and a goofy smile plastered on her face for the entire day.
You're quite comfortable, Granger. – D. M.
The chestnut-haired witch had locked her (somewhat) love letter away into the darkest corner of her trunk in a trap compartment she had enchanted into it for just such things.It was the first time she had found a use for it.
Hermione found herself growing more and more worried about the blond Slytherin.
He seemed more tired every time she saw him.
It didn't help that Harry thought he was up to something.
She was finding it more and more difficult to ignore his paranoia when the snake in question was so obviously wearing himself out with some project.
So, she decided to get to the bottom of it.
The only problem was she could never seem to get him alone long enough to confront him.
Finally, she broke down and owled him.
She watched him the next day at lunch, speaking in low tones to Crabbe and Goyle. The owl landed in front of him and waited expectantly. He seemed to ignore it, until it reached out and pecked him in the head.
Hermione almost burst out laughing.
That is, until his hand shot out and closed around the bird's throat.
Its wings were beating furiously and it would have been squawking had it been able to breathe. His head turned slowly to face the feathered fiend that had attacked him before he plucked the letter out of its grasp and released it.
It flew off in a rush of feathers.
No one outside of Hermione and the few Slytherins sitting around him had seen the event, but she was sure they were all as shocked as she was.
He had been wearing a look of the utmost loathing as he choked the owl.
But Hermione had seen the look of utter surprise and confusion the instant before he had attacked.
He was out of it, his mind on something else entirely. That wasn't like him.
No one was ever able to sneak up on the blond snake.
He looked up at her and nodded once before going back to his discussion.
Hermione met him that night in the library, the both of them having special privileges to be there after dark, considering the inordinate amount of time they spent there.
"What do you want, Granger?" he asked tiredly as he sauntered in a half hour late.
Standing from her seat at one of the tables, she walked over to him and looked up into his eyes.
The silver in them seemed dead, as if the life had been sucked out of them little by little. "Why are you killing yourself?" she asked quietly, near enough to him that she didn't need to speak any louder.
He looked back into her chocolate eyes for a moment before brushing past her and occupying the seat she had previously resided in with a sigh.
She turned to watch him, but did not follow.
The imperturbable Draco Malfoy looked weak, tired and ill.
His eyes met hers again.
He looked defeated.
"I… have a lot going on," he muttered, tearing his gaze from hers. "Schoolwork, my duties as prefect, my duties within Slytherin House, my family's businesses… It never stops."
With a sigh of her own, Hermione walked over to the Slytherin Prince and wrapped him in a hug.
He stiffened, obviously uncomfortable with any touchy-feely contact.
"Harry thinks you're up to something," she whispered. "He thinks you're a Death Eater."
She didn't let go of him when he snorted and shook his head lightly. "That prat is always trying to find an excuse to play hero," he muttered angrily as he finally relaxed into her embrace.
"You shouldn't talk about him like that," she snapped back.
After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he responded to her.
"Malfoys do not apologize."
The Gryffindor smiled in spite of herself. "Of course not," she sighed, knowing it was the closest he would ever come to saying 'sorry.'
After that, Hermione found she didn't want to let go of him. It was nice and comfortable to be needed like he so obviously needed someone now.
They were quiet for a long time after that, just enjoying the silence of each other's company.
A question popped in her mind suddenly, but when she pulled back to look at him, he was dozing again.
As Hermione sat on her bed, now clutching her pillow and staring at the crumpled note that lay in a ball on the comforter, she ran through these memories, and more.
She thought she had been getting through to him.
He had broken down and asked her for help. She had helped him with his homework – sometimes outright doing it herself, something he would never do for Ron or Harry.
The difference being, of course, Ron and Harry didn't have the same grasp of the subjects as Malfoy did.
With a sigh, Hermione climbed off her bed and walked over to her desk, opening the book lying there.
He had given it to her for Valentine's Day, though he wouldn't admit it. He simply said it was the most convenient time to give it to her.
She smiled lightly as she read through it again.
It had definitely helped her silent magic. And wandless magic.
But, that was only one of their secret meetings.
There were several after that, and each one stranger and stranger until things had come to a head for them.
She tried to lose herself in its pages, feeling the memory of a few weeks ago bubble up.
Hermione was meeting him again and she was going to put an end to it now.
She was with Ron – not with Malfoy.
I can't even call him by his first name!
Such had been her thoughts over the past several weeks.
She had finally obtained what she had wanted since third year – a relationship with Ron Weasley. Never had she been happier.
Except with him.
And she was going to end it, because it was wrong, and they couldn't be together, because he had made it very clear that she was the exception, and that he very much held his father's opinions on the state of the world, if he didn't quite agree with his methods.
He still screamed and yelled at her in the halls, and she screamed and yelled back.
Their arguments had become something of a spectacle. They usually began as good-natured, if heated, debates. When they gathered an audience, however, things spiraled out of control.
He had refrained from calling her that disgusting name, however.
They had screamed and argued with each other for hours, and sometimes, Ron and Harry had to physically drag her away.
This would ruin it anyway for them, because the Slytherin's eyes would narrow, his lips would purse in annoyance and he would storm away without another word.
He had told her, in one of their quieter moments, that he didn't like them interfering in things they didn't understand
And then, a month ago, it had happened.
It was a night like tonight, where she had met with him to tell him she couldn't see him anymore, because she was dating Ron now, and he would see it as betrayal if he ever found out.
That had started one of the biggest rows they had ever had.
She couldn't remember half of what was said, but she did remember these words.
"How can you ever be happy with someone so inferior?" he had screamed at her.
She had leveled her most lethal glare upon him. "Inferior to you?"
Returning her glare, his lip curled in anger. "While poor boy is inferior to me, I was speaking in regards to yourself."
That had left her speechless.
He had a bad habit of doing that to her.
Then she had picked up again, screaming about the fact he couldn't be trusted – with anything – because he wouldn't open up and let himself be known.
Hermione had made for the door then, and jumped in surprise when a pale hand slammed upon it just as she reached for the handle.
She turned to see him inches from her face, his furious eyes boring into her.
From this close, she could see the bags still under his eyes, and the red around his irises. Neither of them moved for several minutes, and during that span, something remarkable happened.
His eyes changed.
Not as in changed color or shape, but they changed, nonetheless.
They went from angry to confused to craving… something.
She quickly found out what when he leaned in the last few inches and captured her lips.
Her eyes widened in alarm, and she pushed back on his chest with all her strength.
It was the first time she had been scared to be alone with him, because, for all her pushing, he didn't budge. He could overpower her in an instant.
He just continued to kiss her.
And without her realizing it, her arms had snaked behind his head to pull him closer, and she was kissing him back.
They broke the kiss tenderly, and, for once, she looked into his eyes and they were unguarded, raw, and out there for anyone to see.
Tears welled up at the pain she saw there.
"I'll see you Friday," he whispered.
Then he was gone; out the door before she could react.
And she had. She had seen him Friday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday every week since then.
Today was Wednesday.
Today it was over.
I hope, she thought, steeling her will against her greatest weakness before pushing her way into the classroom they always met in.
Hermione had awoken before the sun rose on Thursday, wrapped in the arms and soft silk sheets of one Draco Malfoy.
She had quietly slipped out of bed, gotten dressed and left him a simple two-word note on the pillow she had used.
It's over.
He hadn't so much as looked at her since then.
Sighing, she closed the book, her mind refusing to cooperate with her. She sat and stared at the ceiling for several minutes, lost in thought.
Finally, deciding she had cried enough for the day, she stood and gathered her shower things and made for the Prefect's bathroom.
Showers always made her feel better; more refreshed.
She didn't feel like wallowing anymore.
He ran by her in such a hurry that she wasn't sure it actually was him.
Then, Harry ran by and she knew.
She had been wrong.
Malfoy had been up to something.
Of course, the fact she was fighting a slew of Death Eaters lent credence to that idea.
She tried to follow him, to help Harry.
The Gryffindor had to convince herself that it was just to help Harry.
But, she couldn't follow anyway, as the battle raging around her kept her attention.
When she found Harry that short time later, he was kneeling next to Dumbledore's broken body.
That was when the first of her tears had fallen.
When Harry told them what Malfoy had done, more tears came, but not for the reasons everyone suspected.
Malfoy wasn't a killer. He couldn't do it. But he had allowed killers in the castle.
But he was only trying to save his family.
She had retreated to her dorm then, and pulled the curtains closed around her.
The boy she had come to know was more like Harry than he would ever want to hear
He was loyal. He couldn't turn his back on his father and mother, no matter the consequences.
He was headstrong. He would never ask for help when he felt it was too dangerous.
He was a victim of circumstance. His birth had made his life dictated. He could no more get away from the fact he was a Malfoy than Harry could get away from being the Boy-Who-Lived.
Then, she noticed it.
A small scrap of parchment.
Three little words.
Eight letters.
Hermione met Harry in the common room and walked with him down to Dumbledore's funeral.
As the remarkable service went along, she thought of all the things that had happened through this year, and all the years past.
How chance meetings and strange coincidences could lead to the most profound experiences.
So many things that couldn't have happened, that they shouldn't have lived through.
But, they had.
And so, here they were.
Remembering one of their fallen.
Under the pretense of reaching for another tissue, she pulled out the note again, bearing words she never thought she'd see or hear from his hand or mouth.
I am sorry. – D.M.
A/n
Short for me, I know, but I felt that this chapter was god like this.
I know I said I wouldn't continue this story until Repercussions was done, but this idea has been nagging at me for a week and a half.
And, yes, there will be more to this.
thank you as always,
Damien J. Frost