Chapter 16: Consequences

"The rat," Draco panted as he burst carelessly through the bushes and into the clearing. "That's the animagus, it's Ron Weasley's pet rat."

"Manners, Draco," said Sirius with a smirk. "You're late, and I've missed my lunch." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, tossing Sirius the sack of food he'd hastily swiped from the Great Hall before leaving the castle. "I had...things to do."

"What sort of things?"

"None of your business."

"My, isn't that a theme with you," remarked Sirius, tearing into the sack. "Very good," he added, after a few large bites of a bacon sandwich. "How did you work it out?"

"Someone told me he'd been in the family for twelve years," said Draco lightly. "Rats don't live for twelve years." He paused. "So obviously that's who you're really after." He hesitated then. He wanted to ask who the animagus really was, but if the answer was anything like what he'd received the last time he asked Sirius a question...he shuddered slightly.

"What did they tell you?" asked Sirius quietly, after a moment. "Your parents. What did they tell you about that night?" Draco frowned.

"Nothing, really," he said slowly. "My father said you murdered thirteen people with one curse, and that you're the one who led...You-Know-Who to the Potters. He said there was a man named…" he wracked his brains for a moment. "Peter, I think? But the way he said it...I think he wanted me to know it wasn't true." Black laughed shrewdly, but said nothing.

"That man," said Draco slowly, after a moment. "That's who the animagus is, isn't it? If he could turn into a rat, faking his own death wouldn't be hard at all." Sirius studied him for a moment.

"You truly are...the cleverest thirteen-year-old wizard I've met," he said slowly. "Yes, Draco. That's him. Peter Pettigrew."

"What really happened, then?" Draco asked. His heart pounded in his ears and he could scarcely speak above a whisper, but he had to know.

"Sit," Sirius told him. "It's a very long story, and it begins when I was around your age." Draco sat. Sirius regarded him gravely for a few moments.

"How did it feel," he asked, "when you set foot in Hogwarts for the first time?" Impatience flitted across Draco's mind-he couldn't imagine what that had to do with anything-but Sirius was looking at him so intently that he found himself forced to genuinely consider.

"Like I wasn't alone any longer," he said after a moment. "Like I was home." Sirius nodded.

"That's how it was for me, too. My family wasn't much different to yours. I'll trust you can imagine." He pressed his hands neatly together and studied them for a moment. "You can also imagine how it felt when I met my best friend," he went on. A smile came unbidden to Draco's lips, and Sirius laughed. "Right. We did everything together. We felt we owned the whole world, just the two of us, that no one could stop us doing whatever we liked, simply because we had each other." He paused. "Before long, there were four of us, and it didn't take much time at all to notice that one of my new friends was...different. He'd disappear once a month and never quite explain it to our satisfaction...his grandmother must've died six times by the end of our second year," he added with a smirk. Draco's blood froze.

"You mean…" Sirius nodded. He offered no further explanation, but Draco couldn't accept the coincidence. How many werewolves, after all, had ever been permitted to attend Hogwarts?

"I'm sure he thought we'd abandon him when we found out," Sirius went on. "But there was never any question of that."

"What did you do?" Draco asked, after a moment. Sirius gave a small, melancholy smile.

"What do you think we did?" Draco bit his lip.

"Became animagi," he nearly whispered, after a moment. Of course.

"Right again. Werewolves aren't dangerous to animals the way they are to humans. Together we explored the castle and the grounds, even Hogsmeade in our later years. Anything there was to know about the castle, we found it out together. And then…" His expression shifted ever so slightly, and Draco could tell they'd come to the end of the sweet, idyllic portion of the story.

"And then?" he prompted.

"And then we left school," Sirius continued. "Voldemort was at the height of his power then. When the Potters went into hiding…" he paused, gave a deep sigh, and turned away slightly. "You're familiar with a Fidelius Charm?" Draco nodded.

"Yes," he whispered, realizing Sirius wasn't looking at him any longer.

"You said, earlier, that you didn't think it was true when your father told you I led Lily and James to Voldemort," he said heavily. "You're wrong." Draco waited for him to continue, but he was quiet for what felt like an eternity.

"I don't understand," he admitted, when he could stand the silence no longer. Sirius gave a deep, profoundly laden sigh.

"When the Potters went into hiding, they wanted me to be their Secret-Keeper." He spoke at scarcely more than a husky whisper, but Draco caught every word. "I told them it was too predictable. I persuaded them to use someone else. Someone I knew Voldemort would never expect, not in a million years."

"Peter Pettigrew," Draco breathed.

"Yes. The night the Potters died, I planned to check up on Peter, make sure he was still safe. But when I arrived at his hiding place, he was gone. There was no sign of a struggle. It didn't seem right, so I set out for the Potters' right away. But I was too late." There was a long, unbearably heavy pause. "When I saw the house like that...destroyed...I knew at once what must have happened. I knew at once what Peter had done. What I'd done." Draco realized, quite suddenly, that he'd been holding his breath. Now, though he feared his lungs would burst, it felt profoundly disrespectful to release it. An image of Hermione lying broken in a rubble-strewn house flashed unbidden across his mind, filling him to the brim with unspeakable grief.

"I set off to find Peter," Sirius went on. "I tracked him down and confronted him, but before I could curse him, he yelled for the whole street to hear that I'd betrayed Lily and James. He blasted half the block apart and transformed. I tried to catch him, but I wasn't quick enough. I was sent to Azkaban that very night." The silence that followed felt like ice around Draco's lungs.

"What...I mean…" he trailed off, unsure how to ask his question. "What happened after that?" It wasn't very specific, but it would do.

"Fudge would come to inspect Azkaban once a month or so," said Sirius quietly. "I made conversation with him. Asked about his family. He brought me the newspaper sometimes. But it was twelve years before I ever got anything useful out of him."

"Hang on," said Draco. "How did you...I mean, Azkaban's supposed to drive people mad, isn't it? How did you...you know. Keep sane?" Sirius looked thoughtful.

"I'm not quite sure, to be honest. I think the dementors never affected me as badly because I knew I was innocent. It wasn't a happy thought, so they couldn't suck it out of me. It kept me sane, kept me knowing who I was, and then I could transform in my cell. Dementors can't see, I'm not sure whether you know...they could sense my emotions were less complex as a dog, but they must have thought I was losing my mind like the rest of them." He paused. "Finally, Fudge brought me this." He reached into his pocket and handed Draco a battered clipping from the Daily Prophet. It was a picture of the Weasleys, smiling and waving in front of the Egyptian pyramids. Now he thought of it, Draco vaguely recalled his father muttering something at the breakfast table about new money, but he hadn't been listening; that was the morning he hadn't managed a single bite and left the table to be sick anyway.

"What's this got to do with anything?" he asked now. Sirius gestured to something tucked into the right-hand side of the photograph, something Draco would've otherwise missed. The rat was, indeed, perched on Ron's shoulder.

"I would've known him anywhere," he said softly. "How many times had I seen him transform? That gave me the hope I needed. I was thin enough to slip through the bars, and I managed to swim to the mainland. I knew he'd be at Hogwarts, so I came here to wait." Draco opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and considered the bush nearest him for a moment instead.

"I don't know how I could get you the rat," he said slowly, at length. "But I can get you into Gryffindor Tower. And I can make sure they're actually there this time." Sirius studied him for what felt like a year.

"The first time you helped me, it was an accident," he said softly. "If you do this, it'll be a choice." Draco nodded.

"I know." Sirius paused.

"You'll be expelled," he whispered. "If anyone ever finds out."

"I know."

"Why, then?" asked Sirius. Draco paused. Why, indeed?

"Because I've got a best friend, too," he said quietly. "And last year, I failed her as well." That, and, though he felt extraordinarily silly even as the thought crossed his mind, he was now quite sure he knew which friend Lupin had likened him to that afternoon in the courtyard.

"Ron, slow down," said Hermione, for the eight hundredth time. "Please. I want to help you, but you're not making any sense."

"It was him!" cried Ron, nearly stamping his foot in frustration. "Sirius Black, he sold Harry's Mum and Dad to You-Know-Who!" Hermione's blood froze, and she slammed her book shut.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, after a moment. "I mean, how do you-?"

"He met me in Hogsmeade!" exclaimed Ron. "I know you probably know that already, but we stopped into the Three Broomsticks for a drink, and...well, he had to hide right away because McGonagall and Flitwick walked in, and then Fudge was there-"

"Cornelius Fudge? The Minister of Magic?" said Hermione incredulously.

"Yeah, him," said Ron impatiently. "And then Hagrid walked in, and they were all talking, and they said all these...things." Here, he heaved an enormous sigh and threw himself down on the sofa, staring into the fire and twisting his hands nervously in his lap. Hermione frowned. She'd never seen Ron behave this way before.

"What did they say?" she asked, after a moment. "What things?" Ron let out an anguished groan.

"Things," he repeated. "Like...well, first they were talking about Black's Hogwarts days, I guess he knew Harry's dad or something. And then...well, after they left school, he started working for You-Know-Who, right? So Harry's Mum and Dad went into hiding, and Black was their Secret-Keeper, only he…" Here, Ron's voice dropped to scarcely more than a whisper, and his face went chalk white. "He told You-Know-Who where to find them. And he killed their friend as well, when he tried to confront him about what he'd done." It took Hermione a few moments to wrap her exhausted mind around the heinousness of what Ron was saying.

"And after that, you lost Harry?" she said finally, scarcely above a whisper. Ron nodded miserably.

"He was under the bloody Invisibility Cloak. I didn't even see him go." She nodded, bit her lip, and stood.

"All right, then. Let's go, we should be quick about this." Ron's head jerked up.

"Have you got any idea where he'd be?" he said hopefully. Hermione shook her head.

"Not at all. That's why I think we've got to be quick about it." If Harry had overheard such profoundly upsetting things about his parents and Sirius Black, there was no telling what he'd do. She shuddered slightly and tried to banish the horrible images flashing through her mind-Harry being tortured by a wraith-like figure with long, matted hair and beard; Harry lying, dead and broken, facedown in the snow; Harry falling to his death from-that was enough, she thought irritably. "I'll search the castle," she decided aloud, sounding far more sure of herself than she felt. "You do the grounds and the Quidditch pitch. We'll meet in the Entrance Hall every half-hour, and if either of us finds him...we'll send up red sparks with our wand." Ron stood. There was a peculiar look on his face, as if he wasn't sure whether she was real or not.

"Thank you," he gasped. She nodded, suddenly feeling awkward, and led the way out of the common room.

The following afternoon Draco hastened to the library the moment lessons were finished for the day. He'd told Sirius he could get him into the Gryffindor common room, and he'd meant it-but it would be difficult. Fortunately, thanks to Ginny's tip-off about Neville's habit of writing down the passwords, it wouldn't be quite as difficult as Draco had originally envisioned. Neville Longbottom was absolutely no match for him in brains, power, or ability to keep track of his things; stealing this list of passwords would be cake. Once Sirius had them, however, he'd need the right opportunity to use them. Daytime wouldn't do; Draco wasn't sure whether Weasley kept his rat locked in his dormitory all day or carried him around in his bag, and in any case, Sirius was more likely to be caught again with everyone running about the castle to their lessons. No, it would need to be at night, ideally a night all the Gryffindors would be spending up in their tower. The evening after they'd won a Quidditch match, for example. This was what brought Draco to the library. At first he'd placed his Transfiguration and Potions books carelessly around him as if he were working, but ultimately decided this was unnecessary; if anyone saw what he was doing, they'd just think he was working out Slytherin's chances at the Quidditch Cup. Which he was, in a manner of speaking.

Gryffindor was currently in a tenuous second place behind Slytherin, but Hufflepuff was too close behind them for comfort; whatever his teammates said about Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff Captain had put together a very strong team this year. Unfortunately for Diggory's efforts, it was imperative that they be eliminated as competitors for the Cup; Slytherin wouldn't get another chance to play against Gryffindor unless both teams made it to the final match, and Slytherin had to play one more match against Gryffindor. Draco couldn't leave the results of the game to chance.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of what his teammates would say if they ever found out he was planning to throw the Quidditch final to Gryffindor, and he himself wasn't terribly pleased about it, but...well, there were more important things in life than Quidditch. Besides, he didn't plan for anyone to ever find out he'd thrown the match.

Gryffindor and Slytherin would each play once more before the final. The match this upcoming weekend would be Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, which would decide who Slytherin would face in their next match. If Gryffindor won their match against Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw would be eliminated entirely and Hufflepuff would move firmly into third place; if Hufflepuff won, Slytherin would need to beat them by a very large margin the following weekend in order to stop them getting enough points to surpass Gryffindor for the final. In that case, Ravenclaw might still have a chance to face either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, which further complicated things.

And then, assuming Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff on Saturday and guaranteed their position against Slytherin in the final match, there was the issue of points. Even with another win under their belt, Gryffindor would be quite far behind Slytherin, opening up the possibility they'd win the match but lose the Cup...Draco bit his lip and scribbled down a few more calculations on his parchment, then crumpled the whole thing out of frustration and yanked a fresh roll from his bag. He'd scarcely begun tallying up the points as they would stand if Hufflepuff won by a thin margin on Saturday when a shadow fell across his table.

"What are you doing?" asked Ginny, throwing herself down beside him. Draco jumped.

"Christ!" he exclaimed. She raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry. I thought you heard me." She peered over his parchment before he thought to cover it. "I don't think you have to worry about Hufflepuff winning the Quidditch final," she said wryly. Draco sighed.

"What d'you want?"

"I want to finish this rubbish Transfiguration essay," Ginny told him, pulling a roll of parchment out of her bag. "I asked Hermione to help and she told me off for interrupting her. I asked Theo to help and he told me never to speak to him about schoolwork again." Draco snorted. "If Hufflepuff wins on Saturday, they'll play Ravenclaw the weekend after," she added, peering down at Draco's parchment. "They could lose that match, and then Gryffindor would need to beat Ravenclaw in order to have enough points to play Slytherin in the final." Draco gave a start.

"Thanks," he said incredulously. Ginny studied his parchment intently for a few moments, then looked back up at him.

"Draco," she said slowly, "to the not-so-untrained eye...this looks like you don't want Slytherin to win the Cup." He shrugged slightly. He might be a slightly more skilled flier, but Ginny was far smarter than him about Quidditch and nearly impossible to deceive. "Why?" Ginny asked, after a moment.

"What's your essay about?" Draco replied. She frowned.

"Key distinctions between altering the bodies of insects versus other invertebrates," she said dully. Draco bit back a laugh, then snatched her parchment. He'd be finished in no time. Shrugging, Ginny pulled his calculations toward her and began to scribble, occasionally crossing something out or laughing to herself.

Twenty minutes later, they looked up nearly simultaneously and, without a word, swapped pachments. Glancing down at Ginny's notes, Draco felt so stupid that he suppressed a groan. If Hufflepuff beat Gryffindor, all Slytherin would need to do was lose their match against Hufflepuff. They had enough points to remain in the lead, but this would narrow the margin enough to keep Gryffindor in the running. Either way, Gryffindor would need to beat Slytherin by over two hundred points in order to win the Cup. He looked up just as Ginny did the same. Silently they packed away their things and made their way back across the library and out the door. Reaching the grand staircase, they said thanks and went their separate ways.

The days that followed the Hogsmeade visit were extremely tense in Gryffindor Tower. Ron had found Harry well after it had gotten dark and they'd begun to really panic, simply eating dinner in the Great Hall with an odd sort of blank expression on his face. He'd greeted them as if nothing had happened, and continued to hold them both at arm's length, all while maintaining a strange, brittle manner most unlike himself. Now, in addition to her schoolwork, Hermione found herself deeply worried about Harry as well...but at least he and Ron were speaking to her again.

"Let's go down and visit Hagrid," said Ron abruptly, looking up from his Potions homework one evening. "We haven't been in ages," he added somewhat defensively, with a significant look in Hermione's direction as if he expected her to argue. Hermione, however, set aside her homework as well.

"That's a brilliant idea, Ron," she said, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "What about it, Harry?"

"Yeah, let's go," said Harry sharply. "I can ask him why he never bothered to tell me about Black when he told me about my parents." Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Ron gave a helpless sort of shrug; suppressing a sigh, Hermione paused to consider.

"Harry, please listen," she said after a moment. "Black did a terrible, terrible thing. I know that. But…" she glanced at Ron for help, and found none. "But you mustn't do anything stupid, you really mustn't." Harry gave her such a cold look that she felt physically smaller.

"Like what?" he asked. To her enormous relief, Ron found his tongue.

"Like trying to go after Black," he said sharply. Harry stared into the fire for a moment.

"D'you know what I see and hear every time a dementor gets near me?" he asked at length. Trying with limited success to ignore the shiver running down her spine, Hermione glanced at Ron. He winced at her, but said nothing.

"What?" she said softly.

"I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her…" he trailed off with a sharp intake of breath. Without pausing to consider, Hermione threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He stiffened, but after a moment, the fight seemed to leave him and he slumped, hopeless, in her arms. Somehow, this was just as bad.

"Harry, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. But...well, I can't stand it if I lose you." Silence stretched between them for what felt like an eternity before Harry spoke again.

"Let's go to Hagrid's."

They crossed the grounds in silence. When they reached Hagrid's hut, the door was thrown at once to its widest extent, startling Hermione out of ten years of her life.

"Yeh heard!" bellowed Hagrid. He seized Harry and Ron so forcefully that their heads knocked together audibly; Ron yelped, Harry struggled fruitlessly against Hagrid's embrace, and Hermione tugged in vain at their dangling legs, but Hagrid noticed none of this, for he was sobbing unrestrainedly into Harry's sweater.

Ten minutes later Hagrid was back at his kitchen table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione seated around it, though how they'd got there remained a bit of a mystery. Hermione recalled quite a lot of yelling and flailing limbs from all parties, but none of that mattered as much as the official-looking parchment over which they all bent now, reading the Ministry's dry, clinical announcement of their intention to execute Buckbeak at the end of May. By the time they left Hagrid's, night had fallen and Harry and Ron charged ahead in a flurry of righteous anger. Hermione let them. She herself wasn't sure how she felt. No small part of her was relieved; Harry hadn't so much as mentioned Black since they'd left the castle, and she had a feeling the topic had been put to rest by the great injustice of Buckbeak's fate. On the other hand, her heart broke for Hagrid and she felt an overwhelming sense of futility that made her long to scream into the night until her lungs gave out. She'd been taught, ever since she was a child, that everything had a way of working itself out if you just did the right thing. But she'd done the right thing, and it hadn't made a difference at all. She'd pored over books for hours, hours she ought to have spent on her schoolwork, building a case for Hagrid, only to be dismissed with a snap of Lucius Malfoy's fingers. As they reached the Entrance Hall, she let Harry and Ron storm up the stairs without her; instead, she slipped into the Great Hall and, to her relief, found Draco sitting by the fireplace, staring absentmindedly into the flames.

"I want to go for a walk," she said without preamble. "Will you come with me?" He frowned slightly, taking in the expression on her face.

"Of course, but what-"

"Just come on," she interrupted, and led the way sharply back across the Entrance Hall and out the oak front doors, without bothering to check whether he followed. He drew level with her as they entered the chill night air.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" She took a breath and expelled it slowly, hoping it would steady her. It didn't.

"We've been to see Hagrid," she said simply. "He lost. They're going to execute Buckbeak." Draco stopped cold.

"What?" She said nothing. After a moment, Draco shook his head and took off down the path across the grounds without a backward glance. Startled, Hermione leapt after him. His legs were slightly longer, and she had to jog to keep up.

"What are you doing?" she panted. She wasn't sure what she'd expected-hadn't thought about it much, if she was honest with herself-but this wasn't something she was prepared for.

"I've got to tell him I'm sorry," said Draco shortly. Hermione felt her eyes widen involuntarily. No, he certainly did not.

"No, you don't," she said at once. She made a grab for his elbow, but he jerked away. "Draco," she insisted. And then, when this had no effect, "Draco!" She seized the back of his jacket and yanked so hard he nearly fell to the ground. He whirled around, shock and anger vying for control of his face. Shock won.

"What the-?"

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "But you can't speak to him. I understand why you'd want to, but it's a terrible idea." Draco stared at her for a moment, expression unchanging. Then, all at once, his shoulders slumped and he hung his head.

"I...I really didn't mean…I didn't know…" Hermione sighed slightly.

"I know. But it's happened, and there's nothing you can say or do to change it, so anything you say to Hagrid will only make things worse." She couldn't have said where this clear, logical tone was coming from; her insides felt like a tangled ball of yarn.

"I used to hurt people on purpose." Draco's words were so quiet she could scarcely make them out, and when she did, a cold, hard knot of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She cast about frantically for something, anything to say, but came up empty. Draco was staring fixedly at some unidentifiable point in front of them, scarcely blinking.

"When I was...right before I came to school-" he broke off. "There's this village full of Muggles near the Manor," he said quietly. "And I've never been allowed in, but that's neither here nor there. There's a road that runs out of the village where Muggles drive their cars. I suppose they're going to London or something, I don't really know, and it doesn't matter." He was speaking slowly, methodically, and although his voice trembled slightly, he didn't falter. Whatever he was trying to say, she could feel how badly he needed to tell her. "Sometimes we'd hide next to the road and throw things. At the cars, I mean. While they were moving." He paused. "I never threw anything. Vince and Greg? I made them do it." He dropped his gaze to the ground. "One day, I made them throw a firecracker. A Wizarding one, from a joke shop, so it wouldn't hurt anyone, it just...I made them throw it through a woman's open window. I waited until the exact right moment, I timed it perfectly, I thought I was so clever...but I didn't see…" he trailed off, and Hermione suddenly found herself having immense difficulty exhaling. She had a horrible feeling she knew exactly how this story was going to end.

"The woman lost control of her car. I didn't know it would do that, I'd never even seen a car up close until that day. I didn't know how heavy they were. I didn't know you could lose control of them so easily, but it only took a second for that woman to lose it completely. And I didn't see the other car until it-" he inhaled sharply. "I didn't know it would do that," he gasped. "And I ran away. I never even saw what happened, I didn't try to help, I just...ran away." His body was stiff and rigid in a way she'd never seen before. With a jolt, she realized he was crying. "I didn't know it would do that," he choked. "But it doesn't matter, because I knew-I knew-" he broke off abruptly, for Hermione had thrown her arms around him, unable to listen for another second. He melted into her at once, sobbing uncontrollably into her chest as she fought to slow the frantic beating of her heart. She wracked her brains for something, anything to say, but what could she say? So instead she simply held him, one hand stroking his hair, the other pressing firmly against his back as if she could reach inside him and touch his heart. She couldn't have said how much time had passed when he raised his head and looked at her.

"Do you think I'm a horrible person?" It was scarcely more than a whisper, but it still broke her heart.

"No," she answered at once, without thinking. "Not ever," she repeated, once she was sure it was true. "I think you made a mistake, and it had horrible consequences." She wasn't sure, at the moment, whether she was talking about Hagrid or the nightmarish story he'd just confessed to her.

"Everything I do," he said slowly, as if every word caused him pain, "has horrible consequences. I want...I'm trying…" he squeezed his eyes shut, sending fresh tears down his cheeks. "I know what people think of me, and they're right, but I...I don't want them to be right anymore."

"Come here," she said softly. To her relief, he allowed her to lead him toward a nearby oak tree. They settled down in the grass and she pulled him close, studying the moon as it peeked through the branches above their heads.

"The first time I saw you…" she began slowly.

"I was an asshole to you," he finished. "I remember." Hermione shook her head.

"No. Well, all right, yes, but actually, I saw you on the platform before I ever got on the train." She paused. Now she thought about it, perhaps this wasn't the very best thing to bring up at the moment. "Your parents were...well, they weren't very kind to you, and you sort of seemed used to it, and…" she trailed off, thinking. "And I'm not sure whether you remember, but before our first flying lesson, Pansy Parkinson was scared, and you...well, you seemed to really help her." Draco inhaled sharply and said nothing. "I was scared, too," she went on quietly. "Terrified, really, you know how I hate brooms, and I'd never seen one before. But I could see how much you loved flying, and how much you wanted her to love flying, and I wasn't quite so scared anymore." His lip trembled slightly, but she could tell he was listening. "I think you've always cared about other people," she said softly. "But I think everyone told you you shouldn't, so you started to see it as a bad thing. But that isn't your fault, and it doesn't make you a horrible person." He buried his face in her sweater, seeming unable to look at her any longer. She gently stroked his hair until, some untold length of time later, she realized he'd drifted off to sleep. As the sun broke the horizon, she slipped the tiny hourglass out of her robes and flipped it over a few times, taking care to continue stroking Draco's hair lest the odd sensation of going back in time awaken him. To her enormous relief, he remained asleep until the world came to a halt around them. He didn't question her when she pretended she'd woken him to go up to bed.