Author's Note: Finally, my very first Harry Potter story! Hooray! Now I have truly written past my limits… Enjoy reading! (,)
Warnings: Spoilers for Half Blood Prince, some plot and detail mistakes, slight AU, and mild OOC behavior (the good kind, I tell you)
Dedicated To: 1) My best friend by the pseudonym of Amaranth892 (yeah, I know your OTP is Harry/Hermione, but you'll have to make do with this. Well, HP is HP, right? And btw, don't kill me, dude); and secondly, to my favorite in American Idol, Chris Daughtry (now a fallen Idol, I'm afraid) which is why I used some lyrical quotes from a song by the band was in before going to AI. Love you guys!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or the song 'With Me In Mind' by Absent Element.
«§ψ§»
Take this pain away from me, as selfish as it sounds
Farther from the light is where I am; I don't want to be
It's gonna bring me to my knees, bleeding here alone
But I know that none of this compares
To the torture that you felt
With me in mind…
-Absent Element, With Me In Mind
«§ψ§»
Draco Malfoy had never been the same.
It proved to be a shock for everyone when it was announced that the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry would open again the next school year, especially because of the death of the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, but also because it was clear in everyone's eyes that the war waged by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was already far too dangerous for such trivialities.
Nevertheless, her parents had given her permission to attend Hogwarts once again and no sooner had she boarded the Express at Platform 3 and 1/4, she found herself among those in the Great Hall. After the Sorting Hat ceremony and the speeches and formalities, she and the rest of Gryffindor found out that she, Hermione Granger, was anointed as the Head Girl, and the announcement was welcomed with great aplomb and cheering. It wasn't long-lived, however.
No sooner had McGonagall proclaimed her new position did she quickly add who would be her male counterpart: Draco Malfoy.
A hush immediately swept over the occupants of the Great Hall, and even his fellow Slytherins could only muster a few hesitant hoots and some silent applause.
Draco Malfoy stood up from his place, noticeably different from when she last saw him. What body fat that was left of him in sixth year had now faded away, for he was merely skin and bones and looked like an unstuffed scarecrow; the grayish tint his skin had took on had now evolved to a near-white, like there was moonlight in his veins instead of blood; his shining platinum hair had lost almost all its luster and was long and unkempt, hanging like a dead man on a noose around his hollow cheeks; his face was no longer what one would call handsome, rather, haunting, compelling, and clutching onto what was only a remnant of the formerly good-looking features.
But the biggest change of all wasn't in his appearance; at least, not fully. It was his composure, the way he held himself that greatly differed from the Malfoy she knew.
After that severely butchered attempt to murder Dumbledore that Severus Snape had to do it for him, the previous Potions teacher had fled, taking him with him. Some Aurors had found them in an abandoned shack that seemed to be falling apart; Snape had escaped yet again, this time leaving Draco behind. The proper punishment for accomplice assassins was an immediate trip to Azkaban, but Draco was such in bad shape nobody had the heart to imprison him, settling for the explanation that all his crimes were forced, blackmailed and that he was just confused. They left him in the care of the Hogwarts staff, seeing no one else to turn to. Security was granted in exchange for any information he might provide, but he was still too shaken, but he was still under some special Witness Protection Program against the Dark Lord. Snape was captured and shipped to Azkaban a few days later and his mother, Narcissa, had vanished from Malfoy Manor.
Now, Draco Malfoy no longer raised his chin defiantly and arrogantly; all the semblances of his Pureblood persona had left him. The once eerie, self-assured silver eyes were now empty and hardened like a grey stone, but looked fragile, like the emotions piling up behind them were unbearable. Trauma, Hermione thought, left no room for pride.
Nevertheless, the pity she felt for Malfoy didn't rid her of the disgust she had at the idea of sharing a Tower with him. It was logical that he was Head Boy; all those years of being a Prefect, having the second-best grades in the entire school (next to her, of course), the couple of years he's spent on the Slytherin Quidditch team, and yet it didn't: that ugly symbol of darkness forever scarred into his left arm was proof enough of that.
But somehow, despite the circumstances, he had managed to be appointed Head Boy. Draco Malfoy, the Walking Paradox. Brilliant.
That first night living with only a wall separating her from Malfoy was… mystifying. As she was unpacking and settling into her dorm, she heard what sounded like chuckles from the next room. Malfoy's room. Wondering what the heck he thought was so funny, she pressed her ear against the partition to the adjoining room. They weren't chuckles, she soon discovered. They were muffled cries.
She sat down on her bed and rested her forehead in her palm. She just stayed like that until lights out was called, but when she lay down to sleep she found out she could not. There was too much on her mind. Too much Malfoy.
Undoubtedly, there were nights when she'd slightly speculate that latest prank Malfoy pulled on Ron or Harry, or how he'd called her 'Mudblood' for the umpteenth time like it left a bad taste in his mouth, or what kind of revenge she'd planned for him. But never, ever, did she ever feel one once of caring for him. It was either disgust, anger, or hatred, and sometimes a mixture of the three.
So how can she explain all this sympathy that's been building up in her head, directed at the one and only Draco Malfoy?
«§ψ§»
Things didn't get better the next day at breakfast. He'd sat at the next table in front of her, and when Ginny moved her head just a little bit she could see him plainly across from where she was sitting. There was no one ahead of him (next to the Hufflepuffs, the Slytherins had lost the most house members) and even if Crabbe sat to his left and Pansy to his right, he still looked utterly isolated, alone, if you must. Maybe it was because what seconds Crabbe didn't spend stuffing his portly face with food he spent exchanging nervous glances with Goyle who was next to him. Surely, if they'd been demoralized by Draco before, they must be terrified of him now, at having direct contact with the Dark Lord. Even Pansy Parkinson, who was absolutely besotted with him in the past years and would be seen most of the time either worshipping the ground he treaded on or being all over him, seemed to be avoiding even his gaze, or just touching his skin when her hand lingered above his when her fork jutted out. That whole little Slytherin clique that was bent on following him, including Blaise Zabini, appeared to want to have nothing to do with him now. And Draco? If he cared that his disciples weren't such fanatics now, he didn't show it. In fact, it was as if he was trapped in his own little world; primarily focused on getting the food inside him mouth before it went stale when he stared blankly at the empty air.
Her friends and fellow Gryffindors were creating a pleasant racket around her; all story-telling and laughter, but for some reason she didn't feel like it.
She suddenly felt something soft brush her cheek and a familiar voice in her ear, "Hey, 'Mione, you okay?"
It was her boyfriend (her first) and he had just kissed her. Admiring his bravado (he had always been a tad awkward) and appreciating the gesture, she smirked.
"Yes, I'm quite alright," she answered.
Ron had that unconvinced look on his face but slowly resorted to eating. She felt an elbow nudge her other side and locked gazes with the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Yeah, you seem... pretty quiet. Something bothering you?" Harry asked, concern seeping to his expression. Typical Harry.
"No, no, just have a lot on my mind, that's all," she replied, waving it off. Thankfully, Ginny overheard and supplied a remark.
"Being the Head Girl, you mean?" She inquired teasingly. Hermione smiled falsely. Yes, let them think that. Better than letting them know her mind had been full of a certain Malfoy…
"Yeah, we all knew it was gonna be you, 'Mione," Harry smiled at her. "It was written in the stars. Everyone expected it, I reckon."
"Duh, but the bombshell has got to be how Malfoy managed to be Head Boy, after what he did to Dumbledore," Ron brought up, and everyone became silent. There was much celebration when she was Head Girl, but no one even thought to say aloud what Ron just did: why the hell Malfoy was given the honor.
Harry had fallen quiet at the sensitive subject of Dumbledore; everyone knew he was the student that had grown close to the late Headmaster, and he was actually there when he died. Hermione had just suddenly realized how very blunt Ron was; she didn't like it one bit.
Their section of the Gryffindor table had remained in uncomfortable stillness, until Hermione stood up, wiping her lips with a napkin.
"You said it like it Draco killed Dumbledore, Ron. Maybe you ought to remember that he didn't," she declared aloofly. As she turned, she could just imagine everyone's jaw's slacking. She didn't know who was more surprised when she defended the Draco Malfoy, whether it was her or them, but another thought registered in her brain. She didn't care.
«§ψ§»
Over the next classes, everyone shunned the 'incident' at breakfast like a contagious disease. Harry had regained his Golden Boy manner and was lively chatting with a Patil; Ron started speaking to her with only the faintest of blushes on his cheeks (he damn well knew what happened earlier was his fault, and seemed to be accepting the consequences) and all else acted like nothing too unusual happened.
For not the first year, Gryffindors and Slytherins had Potions together. The students were buzzing about who the new professor must be now that Snape was in Azkaban and Slughorn never showed up,not to mention thatthere was a shortage of staff, but Hermione was barely listening. For what seemed to be the hundredth time since she arrived at Hogwarts this year, her thoughts were turned toward Malfoy… who was, currently, just sitting calmly in his seat. He looked neither cocky and overconfident with that 'I'm-Better-Than-You-In-This-Class-And-In-Everything-Else-For-That-Matter' look he always used to sport, nor shy and withdrawn and looking like weary donkey in a desert with vultures circling overhead. Just sitting there with his impassive façade.
Strangely, that bothered her.
That thought stuck with her throughout the entire class, which was maybe why, for the initial time in history, her potion blew up, even before Ron's or Neville's did.
First time for everything.
«§ψ§»
She had been walking briskly in the hallways with her homework and reading assignments piled up in her arms like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, when she unexpectedly bumped into someone, sending all her books and papers flying everywhere.
She began to swear under her breath as she rubbed her aching head for the upcoming migraine while trying to gather her things at the same time.
"Filthy, bloody slipshod bastard…" She had been muttering when a pale hand met hers for the same book on the History of Magic.
Her face flushed. Only one person she knew had such sallow skin. She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable 'Stupid Mudblood Granger,' but it didn't come.
"I don't believe those words should be part of a lady's vocabulary," said the smooth voice of Draco Malfoy, without any traces of humor or sarcasm in his tone. He wordlessly closed his fingers over hers and pulled her to a standing position, bending down to collect a few more scattered papers from the ground. Not meeting her eyes, he handed them to her.
"You shouldn't be so careless next time, Miss Granger." He said vacantly, before straightening his robes and walking on past her.
Hermione's head was still reeling. Malfoy had just called her 'lady' and 'miss', actually told her something useful, and just helped her. Free of insincerity too.
«§ψ§»
The rest of the day passed without much delay, and she didn't see Draco for the rest of it. Her mind was now with where it should be, schoolwork and friends. She had finally become typical Hermione, bossy, pleasurable, and attentive.
After study hall, she went straight to her dorms to seize some of the sleep she missed last night. As she donned her nightgown and started to tuck herself in, another fleeting thought passed her mind. With footsteps lighter than a cat's, she began to listen in to the other room. Her face fell.
The cries weren't so muffled this time… maybe because their owner thought there was no use for such. She heard muted sobbing this time, and murmured, cluttered sentences.
"Should've killed me… didn't want to be found… he'll hunt me down…"
She stepped back in shock. Those words were so… hopeless, like a child wandering and lost in the dark, lonely forest. Did they truly belong to Draco Malfoy?
It scared her that someone could be so desperate and forlorn. Much more, what was he saying? Who should have killed him? Why didn't he want to be found? Who'll hunt him down?
Then it dawned on her.
Voldemort was coming for him; Malfoy wanted, no, needed to die.
For the second evening in a row, Draco had stolen her night.
«§ψ§»
The following mornings and nights did not get better. The enigma that is Draco Malfoy continued to plague her mind, constantly, eternally, never giving her a rest. She was surprised she still maintained her top grade status at this rate; though she was still the brightest student in Hogwarts, her grades had slipped significantly. All the professors shook their heads and clicked their tongues in disapproval, but all they surmise is that dear Hermione had been too occupied with such teenage hormone-filled nonsense, like her boyfriend, Ronald Weasley (actually, Ron was one of the farthest things from her brain; they had drifted a bit ever since she had not been quite herself) but she was sure nobody could guess it was all because of her sworn adversary, the Head Boy.
Finally, the days blossomed into weeks, and the weeks into months. There came the first time in the school year that they had been allowed to go to Hogsmeade, and finally, thankfully, the image of Draco fled her mind like a plundering phoenix. She came in lighter spirits than she had in the past months and everyone around her was grateful.
Ron had greeted her with a full-blown kiss on the lips (much like what Harry did to Ginny in sixth year), which still sent her mouth tingling long after (but not as long as it used to, she could not explain why), while their friends whistled and whooped in amusement. After Ron let go of her, she grinned as his ears turned red.
Hermione closed her eyes and sighed, breathing in the scent of the warmth-filled atmosphere.
This was how her life should be.
«§ψ§»
The calendar pages flew by, and at long last, she had been free of Draco Malfoy, until…
She didn't mean to walk in on them, but she resolved to retain her good-student position by coming early to classes, like always. That was when she heard a familiar high-pitched voice, except it didn't seem so shrill now.
"Draco, please understand that I… that we just…" Pansy Parkinson was stammering, her tone filled with apprehension and fear, though it was like she was struggling to mask it with remorse and begging to be forgiven.
She peeked inside the Charms classroom, where Pansy seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible before Draco's taller form. She was watching her shuffling feet, helplessly trying to ignore Draco's indifferent stare.
"You are simply stating that as a couple, we would not work out, but you are anticipating that we can still be friends?" Draco raised an eyebrow, the rest of his body unmoving.
"C-can we, Draco?" Pansy looked up, and immediately regretted it. She had loved how cold and sinister his eyes had been before, but now they just seemed to look through you, like some unfeeling ogre that just wanted to devour you alive… She felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand up.
"Tell me, Pansy, what is the real reason you're breaking up with me?" He spoke flatly, but with a tinge of annoyance, as if saying: Just go on and get it over with; I have better things to do.
Pansy's alarmed gaze said it all. She inhaled sharply, and with the exhale, blurted out, "You scare me, Draco! You make me afraid of you, and I… I just can't handle it anymore. I'm sorry!"
She then cupped her face in the minute comfort of her palms, wailing uncontrollably. Then, as if remembering who she was and who she was with, she regained her equanimity, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Atypical Slytherin trait, considering it taboo to show emotion, Hermione told herself.
"It's not just me. Even Crabbe and Goyle and all the other Slytherins are petrified of you, Draco. You're just too much." And too evil, she left out, her voice quivering. It radiated off him like an aura. She was obviously trying to justify her fright by comparison.
Draco let out a quiet chuckle, almost to himself. He put his notes inside his book bag and slung it over his shoulder, dusting his robes for nonexistent dirt.
"What's so funny?" The befuddled Pansy inquired.
He gave her one final harsh look, fragments of the old Draco seeping into his system. It didn't last long, however, as he became deadpanned again.
"It isn't as if you weren't intimidated of me before, my dear Pansy."
Pansy's jaw dropped, but Hermione thought he had made quite a point. As he walked past, he nodded to her. She nodded back, not understandingly, though.
«§ψ§»
Thanks to that lover's quarrel she'd overheard a while ago, Malfoy had found his way back into her head like a serpent through the cracks of a mirror house.
She lay awake in bed, messy russet curls tumbling over her pillows with a thorn daggering into her side. A very Draconian thorn. Oh, the irony just about killed her.
She tossed in her covers until a loud noise signaled the clock striking midnight. She clutched at the blankets for restraint when something terribly heavy weighed in on her. It was something she felt when something very bad was going to happen. She sat up abruptly, closing her eyes so tightly until they hurt. She tried to think of anyone, everyone dear to her, whose fate she might have in her hands. The Dark Lord hadn't been very active these days…
That's it! Draco!
Relying solely on instinct, she threw off the mantles and grabbed her wand, rushed out of her bedroom, immediately bursting into the next.
She saw his huddled form in beneath the waves of the canopy, shivering and crying like a newborn infant in its corner, which swallowed him up like some monstrous beast. Except that there was no babe, only a boy that's had enough of life and was willing to take his own to end the pain.
He was grasping in his fumbling hands a diminutive vial, fraught in lifting it to his mouth.
All spells and incantations had left her mind, and she uttered the only one she remembered.
"Drenchado!"
The water appeared out of nowhere like it always did, immediately soaking the astonished Head Boy. Astonished enough to give Hermione enough time to dart across the seemingly unending expanse of the room to knock the vial from the trembling digits.
The water she'd conjured had been chillier than she'd expected, but she paid more attention to the amazingly un-shattered vial. She picked it up from the floor.
"Venenum ab Victus Nex," she read the tiny label aloud. Then it struck like a bolt of vicious lightning. Her mother had thought her to be fluent in Latin, primarily because most classic Muggle novels had been written in the language. Anyway, she knew enough to recognize the printed words.
"The Draught of Living Death," she gasped, remembering the sleeping potion Professor Snape had discussed to them what seemed an infinity back. The fatal concoction of a powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood…
It was full-fledged suicide.
She turned towards Draco, her widened brown eyes a match for his glaring silver ones.
"What's wrong with you?" He accused shakily. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" A tear rolled down the tip of his tall nose.
"Draco…" she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off violently.
"Don't call me that. You have no right." If looks could kill, she thought she would have died a thousand deaths by now.
"Why?" She pursued, sympathy coursing through her in torrents.
He looked at her again, this time with none of the venomous conviction, but pleadingly, "I can't take it anymore. Everyone has left me. I need help," the last part was whispered so lowly she strained to hear it, but when she did her head reeled.
This was it. Truly, all the pride had been washed from him at this instant; all those years of arrogance and conceit wiped away, the walls it'd built crashing down to mere debris. A Malfoy has shown, and admitted, weakness.
"You don't need this for that," she said gently, putting the vial on the dresser table, sitting down next to him, seeing him in a new kind of radiance
"You've got me." Hardly believable, but so kind and so heartfelt you just wish for them to be genuine. And they were.
His head was rather bowed, but she could still see the despondent features. Somehow, all the days he'd spent these months locked in without the sun had taken a toll on his skin, now as ashen as a vanishing faerie. His eyes, once emotionless, now brimmed with echoing tears that descended like twinkling stars, the glinting orbs softer and vulnerable than she'd ever seen them. His limp, flimsy locks framed his pastel visage like drops of mercurial oblivion, his lips blue and frowning. Still awfully skeletal, but somehow, elegantly so.
He craned his neck to meet earnest chocolate eyes. "Since when?"
She meant to say since she saw him changed; since she'd heard him cry, since forever but not…
"Since now."
With that, she drew closer and put her hand at the nape of his neck, feeling the cooling skin beneath her pulsing fingers. She touched her mouth to his pale forehead, the saccharine contact sending shivers down both of their frail spines. In that moment, she realized how truly beautiful he was, like a hallowed, forsaken, delicate angel; the very definition of sweet melancholy, heaven's most fragile seraph.
She kissed him in compassion until his cries were soothed, gripping onto the folds of her garment for much-needed support, both on the outside and on the inside. Her own arms had crept around his bony shoulders, hugging him close, for her sake as well as his.
They stayed inside that forbidden embrace for a long as they can. And then, he mustered enough air for an undertone.
"Please, pleasemake it all go away…" His tone dropped an octave with every word.
She blinked, and two solitary tears slid down the contours of each cheek, but the word 'surprise' has been overused in her vocabulary lately.
"Tell me, Draco. Tell me what I should drive away, what I should make better. Tell me."
For the next twilight hours, he painted images with his voice, rainbow depictions of his father's imprisonment, hearing his mother weep at night for her broken family, being appointed by the Dark Lord himself for Dumbledore's assassination, preparing and leading the attack on the school, fleeing with Snape and being captured… His life had been hell since the Dark Lord's influence, which was, technically, from the moment he was born.
"Sometimes… I consider that I should have just killed him… To be worthy of being a Death Eater (here he lifts his sleeve to show her his very own Dark Mark)… but I let the fear stop me… I just wasn't worthy… A coward, Lucius once said…" He confesses bitterly.
She shook her head, foreboding that she had lost him again.
"No, Draco… don't you see? That just isn't it…" She takes his cold hand in hers. "It's wasn't the fear that was stopping you," she places both their hands on his chest, the beating rhythmic under their palms. "It was your heart that was holding you back. It was never in your destiny to become one of them. You might think you're not, but you're too human. You're too good for them, Draco."
It was now her who'd sunken to tears, to which he held her and gave her a rueful smile.
"Why me, Hermione? I don't deserve it; why reach out to me?" He posed the question as if he truly needed to know, so that his persisting demons may be quelled.
She smiled back. When else had she perceived him to refer to her by her first name; not as a Pureblood to otherwise, or as a Slytherin to a Gryffindor, but as a person, as a friend, or as something more? And to think that it had sounded so exquisite when it rolled off his tongue, with enunciation on every syllable and amazing meanings to them like a harmonious melody that only the two of them can listen to so blissfully…
"It's just something I do."
And Draco Malfoy had never been the same.
fin
«§ψ§»
Teardrops are falling down on paper flowers
While angels watch the ink bleed for hours
We both know how far I've gone away
Well, I'm still begging you...
-Absent Element, With Me In Mind
«§ψ§»
Author's Note: Yay! You made it to the end! Can you tell me how it was? I worked rather hard on this fic, but of course, nothing is perfect, so I would appreciate some feedback. So please, please do leave a
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