Chapter Two
Hermione longed for the world to open up a giant hole and swallow her until there was no trace of her existence. How could she be so foolish to unburden herself in the presence of Draco Malfoy, of all people? He hated her. Hadn't he proven that for six continuous years? And if she was somehow able to forget that tumultuous time, she knew based on how he reacted every single time she talked to him when they came back for their seventh year that he still felt the same.
As she watched him run out of the hidden alcove like his trousers were on fire, she wished she had just kept her mouth shut. While she didn't think that he would use the knowledge she told him against her, she really didn't know the wizard. She never really had. They were just rivals from different Houses who longed to make the other miserable. She didn't know what possessed her to speak, to babble out the intimate details of her largest regret to someone who likely still wished she was dead.
When she returned to Hogwarts for her final year to discover that Draco Malfoy had too, she almost turned around at the gates and run away. How was she supposed to get through the entire year knowing he was under the same roof? She couldn't even look at him without thinking about what his aunt did to her that dreadful night. Though they itched no other time, the scars Bellatrix left her with burned when he was nearby. Could she ever forgive him for standing by and doing nothing when she was at the complete mercy of a mad woman?
Her mother sermonized at length about the importance of forgiving someone who'd done wrong. There had been plenty of opportunities to put her mum's words into practical use in her life. First with the Muggles in their neighborhood who didn't want to play with the "weird Granger girl". Even after she found out she was a witch and she made friends with others like her, she was still subjected to terrible situations where she had to learn how to forgive.
"Remember, love, that not forgiving someone for a wrong they've done you is like drinking poison yourself hoping they'll die. We don't forgive them for their sake, but for ours."
Her mother was full of other sentiments just like those. Hermione had heard them all at least a thousand times. Would her mum still harp on and on about forgiveness if she knew what her own daughter had been subjected to while she lived ignorant and blissful in Australia? Would her mother be able to forgive her if she knew what her daughter put her through just to protect her? She labored with that question for months. In the end, she decided that, yes, her mother would've forgiven her. Maybe not at first, but Hermione couldn't blame her. Eventually, however, she would've.
Forgiveness was a process. It wasn't as simple as just making the decision to forgive a person one time and then never feeling angry again. No, if a person truly wanted to forgive another for the wrongs they caused, the choice had to made over and over again. Some days were easier than others.
While she laid in bed in Shell Cottage still very much in pain from their unwanted excursion to Malfoy Manor, Hermione swore to herself that she would hold on to the hatred that coursed through her veins with every beat of her heart. Sheer hatred was going to give her the strength she needed to get through the hells of war and give her what she needed to wreak her vengeance. Every member of the Malfoy family was going to feel her wrath and fury. Bellatrix Lestrange was going to writhe under her wand and Fenrir Greyback was going to beg for her mercy before all was said and done. As she lay there in agony with her wounds burning and her humiliation still fresh, she longed for her revenge.
But the end of the war changed a great deal in her beating heart of stone. Watching Bellatrix die at Molly Weasley's hands softened her anger. Seeing Greyback's broken body lying on the castle grounds when the fighting stopped also helped. Perhaps the most moving scene she witnessed during the entire ordeal of the final battle was seeing Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy rush into the worst of the fighting unarmed and with no thoughts for their own safety desperate to find their son. It was evident that though they were flawed, miserable people, they possessed great capacity for true love. Their remaining behind in the Great Hall with Draco when it was all over spoke even more highly of them. Instead of skulking away like all of the other Death Eaters when it was obvious their side lost, they chose to remain together as a family and take whatever punishment was meant for them together. Much of the desire she once had to see them all broken and bloody dissipated seeing them as a loving family that could've so easily resembled her own. True monsters with no hope of redemption couldn't really love, could they?
It was much easier to try to forgive Draco for all of his crimes than his parents. As soon as Hermione heard the whispers on the train that he'd returned she knew she couldn't keep holding on to her anger. Not with him passing her in the castle multiple times a day for the better part of a year. She would go absolutely mad and there were already times she feared that process had begun. Draco's actions could be forgiven because he was a child living in a dangerous world he had no business being a part of because his parents made poor, dreadful decisions before and after he was born. His parents were adults who allowed their innocent son to fight in a war they helped start. Some actions could never be forgiven. It was easier to hold on to her anger where they were concerned because she didn't have to ever see them. If she was lucky, she would go the rest of her life without being forced into their presence again.
Draco was another story. The first few days back in the castle had been tense and uncomfortable for many reasons. Being back in the place where she'd personally witnessed so many of her loved ones die was traumatic to say the least. Every step she took further and further into the familiar castle reminded her of that horrible day. She had to remind herself to breathe. Seeing Draco again made her feel all at once that nothing in her life had changed and yet everything had. She couldn't explain it. Maybe she was just overwhelmed by her return and all of the heavy emotions swirling inside her, but she couldn't deny that even if it proved impossible, she wanted to forgive him. Even just the thought of continuing to carry around the hatred she felt for the wizard for so many years threatened to choke the very life out of her.
The first day of their lessons was the first test of her true resolve to really forgive him. She had to make the conscious choice to try even when it was much easier to harass him or even just ignore his existence. No one wanted to sit in the open seat next to him in Potions. Though he acted as if the awkward whispers around him didn't bother him in the slightest, Hermione could see the almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. Before she could talk herself out of her rash decision, Hermione sat down in the empty seat. All whispering stopped. She could feel the eyes of every soul in the room on her. None of them seemed as confused by her actions as Draco. In previous years of Potions lessons, being forced to sit next to Draco had been a punishment, not something she would've done willingly. Fearing that she might change her mind, Hermione turned to Draco, acting as if what she'd done was the most normal act in the world.
"I'm excited to see which potions we're going to learn this year. Professor Slughorn assured me last night that we have some interesting ones to learn for our NEWT."
Draco continued to stare at her as if she was speaking a foreign language he didn't understand or that she'd grown a second head. She didn't cease babbling about potions she hoped they would get to brew until Professor Slughorn began the lesson. Never had she been so thankful to see the professor. She made it a point in each lesson from then on to share Draco's table in Potions and offer friendly bits of conversation when she bumped into him around the castle. He rarely said much in reply beyond one to two words. Not that she really expected him to. She thought herself at least half-mad that she spoke to him at all.
There were days when she would've rather curse him in the face than be even coldly polite, but Hermione could never forget her mother's words. She didn't want to spend the rest of her life struggling with the hatred that threatened to consume her if she gave it a chance. If she didn't figure out a way to defuse it, she knew she would morph into a horrible, bitter person that no one would want to be around. Considering the depressing reality that she already struggled with making friends and getting people to like her, she didn't want to risk it. And more importantly, the thought of allowing herself to remain miserable made her wonder if life was even worth living. On the days she wrestled with her anger, she tried extra hard to be kind and polite and forgiving simply out of necessity.
When Draco pulled back the tapestry covering her hiding place, she had an Avada on the tip of her tongue. How dare he interrupt her in such a private moment? She still hadn't completely come to terms with what she read in Kingsley's letter. For the rest of her life she would be grateful for the new Minister for Magic's help. He had been horrified to learn the desperate act she'd committed to keep her innocent Muggle parents out of danger. When she burst into tears over a cup of tea in the chaotic days following the end of the battle, the seasoned auror who could face down Voldemort himself without flinching seemed at a loss how to comfort the crying witch. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder as the details tumbled out of her mouth. By the end of her tale, Kingsley held her tightly to his chest and made her a promise through his emotion-soaked voice to do whatever he could do to help her parents.
Even the full might of the Ministry of Magic could do nothing to fix her mistake. Hermione would never forgive herself. She was perfectly fine wallowing in her grief, but then Malfoy had to ruin it. Why didn't he run away as soon as he learned she was the one sniffling in an empty corridor instead of enjoying her Saturday in the village? If the roles were reversed, she was sure she would've offered a clumsy apology and run. Certainly she wouldn't have stuck around long enough to boldly ask him what was the matter.
Only the sheer shock that Draco Malfoy was speaking to her on purpose loosened Hermione's tongue. She was embarrassed to tell him anything, but once she started, she couldn't stop. When he didn't ridicule her or insult her, she didn't know how to proceed. The barb about Ron had been meant kindly. She could hear actual concern in his tone even as he attempted to make a joke. Where was the boy who used to torment her with words like "Mudblood" or who lived to mock her in front of crowds just for a laugh? Evidently the war changed them all.
It took every bit of personal strength she possessed to keep from breaking down into an emotional puddle of tears when he told her that her parents had been targeted by Voldemort and his goons. Of course she suspected that was a possibility. That was why she'd taken such drastic measures to ensure their safety after all. Did he understand how much she needed to know that she'd done the right thing? Only a miracle of biblical proportions would've been able to keep them alive after a visit from the most dangerous Death Eaters. Her parents didn't even know such homicidal creatures existed. They wouldn't have known how much trouble they were in. Draco all but told her she'd done the right thing to keep her parents safe. It was exactly what she needed to hear to at least start the process of forgiving herself for her actions, forgiving herself for her mistake.
So much relief flooded through her that she just needed simple human touch to remind herself that she wasn't dreaming. Though it had been yet another rash decision in a long series of others, she didn't even try to talk herself out of grabbing Draco's hand. What he must have thought of her was anybody's guess. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Feeling the warmth of another person's flesh grounded her, helped her to remember to take another breath.
Her question about changing the past came out of nowhere. She wasn't sure why she asked it at all. It was just something that had been eating away at her guts for weeks. Ever since she discovered that she wasn't going to be able to restore her parents' memories on her own she thought about how she wished she could go back in time to change everything. She would've been more upfront and honest with them about the dangers of the world they couldn't be a part of. Maybe they would've insisted that she leave it all behind, but at least she wouldn't have been living a lie for so many years. And if she was perfectly honest with herself, perhaps snapping her wand in half and living the rest of her life as a Muggle would've been easier. As much as she loved learning about magic and had found so many wonderful people in the secretive society that she loved and admired, there was a lot about it that was just too damn hard. She'd grown up as an odd, misunderstood, but still quite privileged girl. All of the best Muggle schools would've been open to her if she'd stayed. Instead of being relegated to the bottom rung of society as she had been as a Muggle-Born, she would've had the chance to be among the very best and most elite of Muggles. Despite being such a pivotal part of Voldemort's demise, there would always be witches and wizards who would look down on her as being unworthy to exist in their world. She could rise to the highest levels of the wizarding government and society and still be considered an outcast.
She didn't believe Draco's response. Not for a moment. Maybe he didn't want to think too much about changing the past, but she knew he wished he could. They all wished they could. If there was a time machine or a spell that could take anyone who had been adversely affected by the damned war back in time to be able to make changes, she knew they would take it. How could they not? For several long minutes after Draco ran away she thought about what she would do if she could. First of all, she wouldn't keep any secrets from her parents. They would know everything. It wasn't fair of her to keep the truth from them when they were affected as well.
Sometimes when she considered what events or decisions she would change, she came to the heart-wrenching conclusion that perhaps it would've been best for her in the long run to never befriend Harry Potter. It was a terribly selfish thought. There was a real possibility that without her help at least some of the time, he would've been killed long before he was able to kill Voldemort. No one could ever know if that were true, of course, but it didn't make her feel any less that her life could've been much different if she'd stayed away from him. What would her life have been like if she let the Sorting Hat put her into Ravenclaw as it wanted to first? If she hadn't begged to be placed in Gryffindor, everything could've been different.
For weeks after the incident near the burned out Room of Requirement, Draco Malfoy avoided Hermione whenever possible. Knowing that it would be too obvious if she suddenly switched seats in Potions, she acted as if nothing changed. She still carried on a mostly one-sided conversation before lessons about their homework or something she read in their textbook. He never brought up what they talked about nor even acted as if they'd ever had a conversation at all. She wasn't sure if she was grateful that he didn't mention it or annoyed.
A week before Christmas she watched as all of the students filed out of the main doors in the Entrance Hall to climb aboard one of the thestral-driven carriages to the waiting Hogwarts Express in Hogsmeade. Finally being able to see the mysterious creatures brought her no sense of comfort. Twice she'd ridden on the back of one without being able to see it. She'd carelessly thought that she wished she could see them. Only once the black leathery wings came into focus for the first time did she realize what a foolish wish it had been. Gone were the innocent days of her youth. She would always be reminded of the horrors that she'd witnessed the year before when a thestral came into her view.
Watching all of her fellow students chatting excitedly in the Entrance Hall about their upcoming break and visits home made Hermione melancholy. Would she ever be able to look forward to the Christmas holiday with joy and excitement again? Or would she always be stuck thinking about everything that she was missing? She would never be able to share the holiday with her parents again unless there was some sort of miracle cure discovered in the coming years. Moving to Australia and forcing her way into their lives as a new neighbor was an idea, if not a very good one.
"Are you sure you won't come home with me, Hermione? You know there's plenty of space at the Burrow for you."
"Thank you, Ginny, but no. I don't think I'll be much fun this year."
Ginny tried everything she could think of to persuade Hermione to leave the castle for the break between terms. Molly and Ron had even tried by sending their own owls inviting her too. While she appreciated that they were concerned for her and wanted her to feel like she belonged amongst them, she meant it when she said she wasn't up for any sort of celebration or holiday spirit. Besides, it would be their first Christmas without Fred and she expected they would have a hard enough time without her there to make it awkward. She hated when anyone felt pity for her, especially when they had their own griefs to bear.
Wishing to be alone with her thoughts, she climbed the main staircase all the way to the seventh floor. Tempted to return to her dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, she surprised herself at the last second by heading instead towards the Room of Requirement. A few conversations with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick about the future status of the remarkable room left her without much hope that anything could be done to repair it. Fiendfyre was a dangerous curse that left irrevocable destruction in its path. Professor Flitwick had some hope that the room could be rebuilt from the ground up if they were able to find the castle's original plans. A thorough search of the library and other rooms storing important documents would be conducted when all of the other repairs left by the battle were finished.
Hermione found herself pulling back the tapestry covering the hidden niche before she'd even realized she'd moved so far. Often she existed in a strange sort of haze where her mind travelled to faraway places while she walked. Maybe she should've been surprised to find Draco Malfoy standing at the window staring out over the grounds, but somehow she wasn't. Was it possible that he had been waiting there for her to return? She'd avoided the area since their conversation. It had been too embarrassing to recall.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."
She was only a step away before Draco stopped her with a simple question.
"Why aren't you going home for Christmas?"
Because he never really spoke to her when they were anywhere else, she was startled by his curiosity. She was tempted to ignore his question or snap at him to mind his own business, but seeing her own melancholy reflected on his face made her decide against it. All being rude to him would do was make them both even more miserable than they already were. And if she was perfectly honest, she was just as curious about him still being there.
"I don't have a home anymore. Not really."
The slightest pink tinge of his cheeks proved that he was embarrassed by his thoughtless question. Hermione thought it might be the first time she'd seen him behave almost human since the last time they were alone in the niche. Taking pity on him, she brushed away the awkwardness hanging in the air to ask him the same question. His heavy sigh was just as telling as his explanation.
"I wouldn't really call the Manor home anymore either. It certainly doesn't feel like it."
"I'm sorry. It must be awful to feel that way."
She didn't think that he would ever get used to her being kind. It was still a daily choice to not curse him right in his bits every time she saw him. She either hoped that the feeling would eventually go away or that she would stop having to see him so often. Forgiving him might very well turn out to be the hardest decision of her entire life. No one would blame her if she decided that it was too hard, least of all Draco himself.
Neither of them spoke for a few uncomfortable minutes. Hermione stood next to him at the window watching the line of carriages begin to make their way towards the village. She wondered if he could see the thestrals too, but stopped before she asked the too-personal question. Of course he could see them. How could he not? He'd been there when Albus Dumbledore was murdered. It didn't matter that it later turned out to not be a murder so much as a planned assisted suicide. He would've still been present for the moment the former Headmaster breathed his last. And not to mention there was no telling what other atrocities he'd been forced to bear witness to with Voldemort living inside his house. Had he been ordered to kill too?
Shaking her head to dispel the horrible thoughts that plagued her, Hermione dared to turn her face enough to see that he was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Part of her wished that she was a Legilimens. It would be fascinating to know what the wizard was thinking. He'd always been a pest and an annoyance she would've rather avoided. Everything changed with the end of the war. Just as she wasn't the same person she was, neither was Draco. She wasn't sure she would ever get the chance to discover what sort of changes or if she would even want to know if she could.
"Why did you ask me if I dreamt about changing the past?"
Hermione didn't know how to answer the question. As she took some time to try to formulate the best answer she could in her mind, she finally sighed in defeat. There was no reason to lie.
"I don't know, Draco. It just sort of slipped out. I haven't been able to think about much of anything else for months if you must know."
He turned away to stare back across the snow covered grounds. Time travel was a ridiculous fantasy. Even if all of the Ministry of Magic's Time-Turners hadn't been destroyed in the Department of Mysteries that wretched night in their fifth year, she knew that it was impossible. The most that a person could go back in time was a few hours at once. Anything more than that would prove to be too unstable. There were volumes and volumes about the limitations of time travel she'd devoured over the years.
"I wish I knew why my father became a Death Eater in the first place. Why would he be so reckless and stupid?"
The moment the words were out of his mouth, Draco tensed up and moved towards the tapestry to make his escape. He must have been embarrassed that he'd said anything or he felt guilty for speaking out against his father to a practical stranger. For the first time in all of the years that they'd known each other, Hermione felt like they were actually getting somewhere in their conversation. She didn't want to end it there.
"Draco, wait."
He'd grown several inches in the last few years. Able to put several paces between them once he was outside of the niche, Hermione had to almost run to catch up to him. Instead of shrugging her off when she grabbed his arm, the wizard's shoulders sagged with another heavy sigh. His striking grey eyes filled with tears that he didn't even bother to hide.
"I wish I could understand why he did what he did. I wish I could know my father when he was just a stupid boy making the biggest mistake of his life. I wish I could stop him. I wish I could change everything."
A low rumbling in the wall next to them stopped Hermione from responding. She wouldn't have known what to say in the first place. Still holding on to his arm, she looked at the stone wall as it began to shift and morph. Concerned that they might have to make a run for it if the damaged wall collapsed on them, she tugged at him to encourage him to move. Draco ignored the silent plea, but made a step forward to place himself between the shifting wall and her body. Whether the protective stance was intentional or not didn't seem important.
"I thought this room was broken after Vince…"
"It was. I mean, it is."
Except in the very spot on the wall where the door to the Room of Requirement had failed to appear in all of the months that passed since the room was ravaged by Fiendfyre, there appeared a very solid door. They stared at each other with wide eyes, unsure what to do next. Finally deciding that they were wasting time standing around doing nothing, Draco reached out to grasp the doorknob. Neither of them was sure what to expect. Would Fiendfyre come bursting out of the open hole when he pulled open the door or would it have died out at some point since the battle? Hermione readied her wand just in case it was needed, but even she with all of her books wasn't sure how to contain the dark spell.
Draco pulled the door open quickly as if getting it over fast would make it easier. To their great relief, no flames came shooting out. As he started to take his first step into the room, Hermione tugged at his arm to get him to stop.
"It might not be safe."
"We won't know that if we don't go in."
If the moment hadn't been quite so tense, she might have teased him about sounding just like a Gryffindor, but she knew it wasn't the time. Refusing to release her tight grip on his arm, she tightened her grasp on her wand in her other hand. They stepped inside together, both gasping when the door slammed shut behind them.
"I don't understand, Granger. How can it..?"
She didn't have to ask him to clarify or complete his question. It was obvious when she looked around the room to see it looking exactly as it did the day they last stood there. Piles and piles of broken objects and stolen artifacts and dangerous items littered the room. Nothing seemed different from just moments before Vincent Crabbe cast the Fiendfyre curse that ultimately ended his own life.
"We should go tell the Headmistress. She'll want to know that the room has… well, it appears to have healed itself, but that doesn't make the least bit of sense. In Hogwarts, A History there's mention of a time when a curse damaged…"
Draco's arms wrapped around her body as the entire room began to spin violently. Everything happened so quickly that she was thankful that he'd had the presence of mind to grab her before they were separated in the chaos. There was no time to cast a protective shield around them. They were hit over and over again with flying pieces of debris as the room swirled into a maelstrom. She clung to the wizard and closed her eyes, hoping that it would be over soon. Or at the very least that she'd be struck in the head with something heavy.
Time moved strangely. She wasn't sure if it was seconds or years that passed. All she knew was that when it finally stopped, her head ached and her breakfast was clamoring to make its reappearance into the world. The spinning ended so abruptly that both of them were thrown into the door, splintering it as they fell back into the corridor. Draco broke her fall. He grunted, but didn't move to push her away.
"You're heavier than you look, Granger. How many books are you carrying in your pockets?"
"Shut up, Malfoy."
Slapping lightly at his chest, she carefully pushed herself up off of him. It felt entirely too awkward and intimate to be so close to the wizard. After all, they hardly knew each other and didn't really like each other anyway. As she attempted to regain her footing and stand up, a hand appeared in front of her face offering assistance. Startled, she looked up, straight into the confused, but still twinkling blue eyes belonging to Albus Dumbledore.
