Warning! Use of swearing in this chapter.
Draco stood in the doorway of the Room of Requirement, arms folder and an insouciant grin on his face. The sight of Hermione Granger, legs crossed, quill holding up her hair and dripping ink onto her jumper, books spread about hr like the battlements of a fortress, would never cease to amuse him. Or worry him.
"Hermione," Draco called.
No response.
"Hermione," Draco said, louder.
"What?" she didn't even turn around.
"You do know what time it is, don't you?" he drawled, crossing the room slowly and towering over her, head cocked, smirk in plain sight.
"Of course I know what time it is, Draco! It's half past two."
"It's quarter to six, Granger."
"Don't be ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "It's..." She looked at the clock. "Oh."
"Are you sure you know how to properly read one of those. You see," Draco began but was cut off by Hermione's unamused gaze, amber eyes blazing in contempt. "Shut up, Draco. I'm perfectly capable of telling the time."
"Are you?" he said, sitting down beside her on what little space remained on the plush cream rug. "Have you made any progress?"
Hermione sighed, and something in his heart clenched at the sorrow held within it.
"I don't know, Draco. I honestly don't know."
"Well, let's lay all the pieces out. What do we know so far?" Draco realized what he had said too late, and Hermione beamed at his use of the word 'we.' Like they were a team. She stood up abruptly, pacing as she ticked things off on her fingers. Morgana, she was turning into a mini-McGonagall.
"Number one: I erased my parents memories. Number two: None of the Reversal Spells I tried worked, nor did any of the standard Memory Repairal Spells Healers use at St. Mungo's for head injury's and Cruciatus Curse cases."
"What if it's not magical?" Draco blurted.
Hermione cocked her head, assessing. "What are you suggesting?"
"The brain is the most complex and nuanced organ in the body, correct? Your heart can stop beating, but once the brain dies, that's it, or so I've learnt from the few books I sneaked from my father's study. Hypocrite. Anyway, what if we need to heal that part of their brain so that they can reform the memories, allow the magic back in that may fix them. Heal the neural pathways or whatever. What do you think?"
Hermione had gone quiet. She was looking at him like she'd never seen him before. Like she'd been down in the dark and he was a ray of pure sunshine. In an inconceivable flash, she was on her knees in front of him, kissing him on the cheek. "Draco, you're a genius!" she exclaimed, radiant and full of energy. She pick up all her books and raced out of the Room, likely to the Library for more books. But Draco. Draco was in shock. He didn't think he'd ever be able to function again. Hermione Jean Granger had just kissed him on the cheek. And, more importantly, why didn't he seem to mind?
Hermione was frantic. She pulled books from their shelves like her life depended on it, ink and parchment a whirlwind around her and the double-desk she'd camped out at the night before. Before she'd been thrown out after Madame Pince found her asleep. For the third time this month. Which was why she was still in her school jumper, why she hadn't eaten and couldn't remember the last time she'd brushed her hair. Yesterday, which shed barely noted was Halloween? The day before? It didn't matter. Nothing but this mattered. That, and the fact she'd just kissed Draco Malfoy on the cheek. But it was nothing. Friends kissed other friends on the cheek all the time, right? She'd done it to Harry countless times. So why did this feel different?
"Hermione, you need to stop."
Hermione whirled around, surprised to see him there, as if her thoughts had conjured him. "Draco, you said it yourself, this may be the break that we've been looking for-"
"I know, Hermione." He'd never used that tone with her, that harshness and finality it held. "But you need to stop. When was the last time you slept? Had something to eat? Merin, you're still wearing half your uniform from Friday, Hermione!"
She slammed her books on the table, seething. "I am not a child, Draco. I know how to take care of myself," she got out through gritted teeth.
"Do you?" he shouted. "Do you?"
"Keep your voice down," she whisper-screeched.
"I'll berate you as loud as I bloody well want, Hermione." Draco slumped into the nearest chair, face drained and pale. "Please," he begged her. "Please don't do this to me. To yourself. They wouldn't want this for you, Hermione."
It was her turn to lose her composure. "How would you know? How would you know what my parents would want for me? They are as good as dead, Draco. If they saw me in the street they wouldn't even bat an eye. You have no idea why that feels like, to be so alien to the people that love you. And there's no need to act so hurt," she said brusquely. "I'm sure you'll tire of me sooner or later."
"What the actual fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means exactly what it sounds like. That what we have can't last, Draco. That you'll realize that I'm not worth the bother and you'll move onto the next shiny new toy in the sandbox. That things will only get worse, for the both of us, if we stay friends. The bullying, the abuse from the press, whatever scheme Blaise is cooking up. Not to mention how your father would react if he found out you'd been spending time with me, let alone the fact that you are my best friend. But I have to do what's best for you, what's best for both of us."
"Hermione, I don't care what other people think; i only care what you think. I know things are difficult right now, but you can't give up..." Draco rose from his chair.
"Why shouldn't I?" she murmured, unsurprised to find tears falling from her eyes. "Why shouldn't I give up? Haven't I suffered enough? Fought enough? Given everything of myself for years, to protect those I care for and everyone else? Why shouldn't I give up, when I haven't got anything left. It's funny, when you reached out to me, I thought, 'How could we ever be friends?' Now I can't imagine us not being friends, talking every day, just simply being there for each other, which I have had with no one else. I just didn't want it to be like this, I didn't want to fight so hard for this one small thing. But it's no surprise; I was not meant to be happy."
"Of course you were, Hermione. Of course you were. Come here," he said, opening his arms to her, letting her decide, as he had always let her chose when it came to him. She wilted into him like a flower in winter, holding onto him, fistfuls of his pristine white shirt balled up into her hands. But he did not protest. Just held her, palms steady on her back. How had he gotten like this, what had caused him to change so drastically from the boy that she had grown up with? What had eroded all those sharp corners to leave behind this boy she cared so much about?
Hermione let go, figuring she'd held his shirt hostage for long enough. "Better?" he asked.
She nodded. "I really need to stop doing this."
Draco smirked. "You mean be so stupid that you don't look after yourself and I have to be the one to coax you back into reality? Yes, probably, but my silk shirts are excellent for crying into, as am I. And do you want to know why you can't give up? Because that's not who you are, and you know it. And your parents know it, and they deserve to get their memories back, to see their daughter again. And to be honest, I'm just as baffled as you that we became friends, that out of every single person in the entire world, you picked me, and we picked each other. The best things in life are worth fighting for. You are worth fighting for. I'd take any shit for you. As for everything else, it's being handled."
Sweet Circe, he could be so annoying. "Elaborate."
"My mother did some digging at the Prophet-"
"Draco!" she chided.
"What? I wasn't involved in this! Anyway, she confirmed what we already suspected."
"That Blaise was their informant."
"Precisely. Now, the Prophet have been persuaded not to take any more tips from Mr Zabini, and Theo is trying to wear him down through the best tool: brotherly affection."
"You bought Theo into this?"
"After some bumps, he decided it would be in his best interests."
"Why?"
Draco waved a nonchalant hand. "Why should I guess at the motivation of others?" was all he said, though Hermione suspected there was more to it, but decided to let it be. It was not her place. "Is that sufficient for you?"
"Yes," she replied, "but what about..."
"I'll deal with him."
"Draco, you shouldn't have to."
"I just said that I'd deal with him, didn't I? Do keep up, Hermione."
Classic Malfoy deflection: making a joke at someone else's expense.
"Fine."
"Excellent." Draco got up and began re-shelving her books.
"Hey, I need those!" she protested, her voice coming out in a whine.
Draco snorted. "Not tonight, you don't. Tonight, you're going to eat, get cleaned up, and have a sleep. I will look through these and let you know if I find anything of import. Deal?" Draco arched a brow, daring her to defy his sound logic.
"Deal." Hermione began to tidy the rest of the table. "I'm surprised you haven't commented on the dire state of my hair yet," she chuckled, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. Draco stood in front of her, then switched the bag onto his own shoulder. "I decided to be a gentleman and not tell you that your hair could make a suitable habitat for any bush or undergrowth dwelling creature that lurks about the English countryside."
"Thank you so much Draco," she responded in her best imitation of his iconic sarcastic drawl, "for showing such admirable restraint."
"Only for you, Hermione. I'm a gentleman only for you."
Draco stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, which was nothing knew. This thing with Hermione was getting out of hand. He needed to get a better control of himself. Since when did Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince, let anyone cry into his shirt when he could be enjoying his Sunday afternoon? Since when did he want to help the Gryffindor Golden Girl and feel so helpless when he couldn't fix things for her?
Since the Manor. It all started there. Everything was about that damned house. Had started from their. Or had he always felt this way, in some secluded part of his heart. Had he always admired and respected her, but just been unable to express it, even to himself? Probably. Denial and Malfoy's went hand in hand, after all.
But still. He needed to keep his distance, especially in public. If Blaise saw them spending less time together, maybe he'd grow bored with whatever stupid plan he was formulating. Although, that could have repercussions for Hermione. Merlin, why couldn't he go back to the days when his life had been simple, when Hermione had just been the swotty Muggleborn who was the Chosen One's best friend? Why? Because that child had been cruel and vile for no reason, other than that he could. Because he'd been brought up on his father's lives that he had not thought for himself at all, had no ideas about what he himself believed. Because that boy had taken the Mark, and tried to kill an innocent man, and had hurt his fellow students in the process. Because that boy had not been truly happy, and never would have been if he had not changed.
While that was all well and good, where did that leave him? If he did somehow manage to stay friends with Hermione until the end of the academic year, what then? She'd probably get a job at the Ministry or some other respectable position, whereas he didn't have a clue what he wanted to do with his life after Hogwarts. Not following in his father's footsteps, that he was certain of. Potions? He'd always been good at potion-brewing, as had his mother, but he couldn't imagine himself in a room all day, back cramped over a pewter cauldron spewing steam. Auror? It would be good for rebuilding the Malfoy image, and his past lifestyle would certainly be valuable to an investigation, but he'd spent enough of his life around Dark Magic, and did not want to experience any more.
Draco huffed a breath. It was obscenely late, he was exhausted both physically ad emotionally after Hermione's books had yielded no valuable information, and now was not the time to be considering possible career avenues. But the issues that she had brought up we're all distressingly valid, and seemed to suggest that she did not feel strongly in the endurance of their friendship, which worried him. Perhaps he simply cared too much about her. Maybe she would be the one to get bored of him. Damn feelings, so irksome when one just wanted to sleep.
Tomorrow. He'd think about all of it tomorrow.
Sitting beside Hermione in Transfiguration on Monday, Draco felt confident in his plan. The seeds of it had been laid out at breakfast, with a little help, and as McGonagall asked them to get into partners, and the two purposefully did not choose each other, he deemed it a success. If only it could have been when they were doing an easy spell and not some bloody complicated one that was going to be on the Christmas Review Test. Ah, the Christmas Review Tests. Each subject was having one, seven segments in each, one for every year they'd studied, the seventh of course being shorter, so that they could get 'targeted revision areas' personal to each students area of weakness. He hoped Hermione didn't bring out The Binder; he'd been warned of it by both Ginny, Neville and Luna, and his own imagination was little comfort. But still, he suddenly missed her nattering on at a million miles an hour about the history of some spell or the wizard or witch who had created it, the perfect wand movements and the history behind the incantation. There was a reason she was to of every class, after all.
Blaise sat down before him, grinning like a Niffler that had just found a particularly shiny necklace. It looked like victory and oozed contempt, and Draco was not fooled in the least. Not being partners for one lesson was a mere cog in the metaphorical wheel Draco had spent the better part of the previous night crafting. This was the opening act, the first move on the board. Now all he had to do was wait.
"Poor, poor Draco. Having a spat, are we? Did Granger decide she wasn't too fond of ferret traitor and switch back to her usual brand of Gryffindor hypocrite-snob? Took her long enough."
Apparently, that wait was not very long.
"Do calm yourself, Zabini," Draco replied, practicing his wand movement -why this particular spell required unique wandwork was beyond him- "nothing quite so domestic as that. I simply found myself in need of a different partner for such a challenging spell. I'm sure she'll come back eventually, as they tend to do."
Externally, he was the portrait of calm, engrossed in the board in front. Internally, he hated every word on his tongue, could not stop replaying what he had mumbled to Hermione as they crossed the hall for breakfast.
"Remember, whatever i have to say to him, whatever lies or retched things I have to say to convince him, I don't mean them, Hermione. I don't mean a word."
"As who tend to do, dearest Draco?" Blaise asked, as if he didn't know.
"People who want to be remembered. She hasn't got Potter or her Weasel around, so she's jumped onto the nearest infamous name she can find."
"And why would that be?"
"To better our poor, broken society, of course. If she can reform Draco Malfoy, Death Eater Supreme, then she's capable of anything, will have no door barred to her due to her unpleasant status," lied Draco.
Blaise smirked. "You've certainly changed your stance on her rather quickly, old friend. What changed your mind? She not pretty enough for you? I wouldn't be surprised if she's never even been kissed; you'd have to bring a team of archaeologists to dig through all that hair."
In reality, Draco Malfoy sat perfectly still, a band mask plastered to his face.
In his mind, Draco Malfoy slammed Blaise Zabini's smug bastard face into the table and hexed him into a puddle.
"I'm sure it wouldn't be worth the bother," he mused. Merlin, this was too easy, slipping back into those old ways like slipping on your favourite jumper you haven't worn since last winter but still fits like a glove. Draco glanced up at Hermione, who was sitting beside Ginny, spell perfected in under twenty minutes, smiling and laughing at whatever she had said. He and to do this for her, for the both of them, so that the could just be a pair of normal wizards, even if it was only for a little while.
"I'm sure indeed, Draco."
The two sat in relative silence for the rest of the lesson, each having finished the spell to McGonagall's demanding standards with relative ease. As the students began to leave, Blaise grabbed him by the arm, long fingers digging in tight. "Nice try, Draco. Your efforts were most admirable, and one must give credit where credit is due. But your little charade was pointless."
"And why is that?" No point in trying to deny it, to dishonour himself with continuing the ruse when the game was up.
"Because I have eyes, Draco. I've seen the way you look at her, the way she looks at you. You can't take that away with a few snide remarks and hair puns. You have the real deal, mate. And I pity you all the more for it, since it will all be so much more brutal when I bring this all crashing down around the both of you. So enjoy the time you have left, dear Draco. Enjoy it while it lasts."
Author's Note: Happy Monday, everyone! I hope you all had a lovely weekend. This chapter was so invigorating to write, since I can't resist a good bit of banter, between friends or enemies. There's going to be a time jump, since I want to get the ball rolling for the first big event of the story, the one that made me start this crazy ride with you all. So stay tuned, stay excited, because a blow out of epic proportions is coming. Between two people who have not seen each other since the start, and will leave destruction in their wake.
Until next time.
With love, Temperance Cain.
