Chapter 12: Mornings Are Hard
Hermione did not sleep well. She knew she wasn't going to. Emotional exhaustion had pulled her into sleep but emotional distress had propelled her out of it again, the memory, the nightmare returning in full force. This time Draco taunted her before casting the unforgiveable. He cut away her clothes, revealing her lacy knickers and lack of a bra, and carved slag into the space between her bare breasts before summoning a few faceless Death Eaters to reenact one of the acts he had deemed unladylike from the contraband magazines. She woke screaming and clutching at an imaginary wound right over her heart, trying desperately to ignore the not so imaginary pain in it.
Terrified of what she would see if she went back to sleep, Hermione huddled under her school robes and watched the flames of the fireplace until dawn broke over the horizon and filled the hut with the light of a new day that, God willing, would be better than the last. Resigning herself to deal with whatever came, Hermione rose and dressed for the day, making due with cleansing charms since Hagrid didn't have a shower and she would probably drown if she tried to bathe in his massive tub.
Fortunately, she had classes to keep her mind at least marginally occupied and more to the point, none of them were with one impossibly blonde, impossibly arrogant, impossibly impossible Slytherin! That still left meals to contend with, of course, but she could face the other way, engage in conversation with her…friends…and pretend he wasn't sitting just two tables over from her. She could do this. She could. She would.
Leave the hut, Hermione, she commanded herself. Where is that courage the Hat saw? Chin up and get in there so you can show him…no, don't think about him. Think about you. You are a strong, independent woman, a free thinker, and you don't care what some arrogant, pigheaded, backwards thinking…damn it, there you go thinking of him again! Arrgh!
Hermione shook her head, squared her shoulders, and stepped out into the hazy light of a misty September morning in Scotland. Her anger had propelled her down the steep slopes to the hut the previous evening and her steadfast resolve was what propelled her right back up them this morning, otherwise there was no way she would have made it considering how absolutely exhausted she was. But made it she did and she entered the Great Hall with head held high, even though it was far too early for there to be much of an audience for her grand entrance as a shining example of female empowerment.
Ginny was up, probably due to an early practice session on the pitch seeing as she was surrounded by fellow players groaning over plates piled high with foods heavy in energy giving carbohydrates, mugs full of caffeine close at hand. And Neville was seated as well, grinning contentedly and already a bit dirty, evidence that he had already been to the greenhouses for a tutorial with Professor Sprout. A quick glance around and she easily spotted Luna's bright white locks, long enough now to hang past the edge of the bench she was sitting on. What she did not expect to spot was an equally as bright head of hair bent towards hers, as if listening closely to whatever the girl was saying.
Curious as to why Luna was interacting with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but hellbent on ignoring his existence, Hermione turned away and made a beeline for Neville. Of course, she faced a bit of a conundrum when she reached him. Should she sit with her back to the Ravenclaw table, since the git was sitting there, or with her back to the Slytherin table in case he was only having a brief chat with the younger witch and would be returning to his rightful place?
Neville solved the problem for her by oh-so-casually commenting, "Draco carried his plate over there not five minutes ago. He'll probably be there for the duration."
"Like I care," Hermione scoffed before sitting, oh-so-casually with her back to the Ravenclaw table. "And since when do you call him 'Draco'?" she asked as she began her morning porridge routine, once again oblivious to the looks of awe from the few who were there to witness her scarily impressive use of wandless magic.
"Since he came to me frantic to know where you were so he could make things right, apologized for his ill treatment of me, stalked the castle in search of you, and then returned to me pretty pathetic looking when you rejected him. A Malfoy showing humility like that? I'd say he's worth a chance," Neville responded, looking her dead in the eye.
"I gave him a chance; you know I did," Hermione hissed. "I've been through enough that I shouldn't have to put up with his childish behavior or insults because he's trying to change and sometimes might slip up. His recovery isn't my problem and I will not sit here…"
"Whoa, 'Mi, calm down before you break something," Neville said soothingly, hands resting on her shoulders before rubbing soothingly down her arms and back again until she calmed enough that the flatware stopped bouncing around the table, oblivious to the pair of molten silver eyes glaring at him, specifically at his hands on her arms.
"I'm not saying you have to sit and take anything. I'm just saying that I'm giving him a chance. And apparently so is Luna. He might be more around than you were planning for, is all."
Hermione thought about that, of the implications of Draco becoming friends with her friends, and though she hated the idea of having to face him, she was glad he was reaching out and wouldn't be alone. She sighed, resigned.
"We'll just have to come up with a schedule," she announced pragmatically.
"Hermione, you have got to be joking," Neville scoffed incredulously. "A schedule to see my friends? That's ridiculous."
"Well, fine, then you go ahead and be friends with Draco and I guess I'll see you whenever you decide you have time for me." Hermione knew she wasn't being fair and she sounded like a spoiled brat, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. She was tired and cranky and Draco Sodding Malfoy was stealing her friends!
"For Circe's sake," Neville groaned. "You were my first friend here, 'Mi. I'm not replacing you with him, with anybody. But I won't let you guilt me into not doing the right thing, and making peace with him is the right thing to do. I understand why you're upset with him, I do, and I get why you won't forgive him for it. I won't push you back into his arms or anything. I'm just not going to avoid the bloke because you two have had a falling out."
Neville finished his last bite of sausage, kissed Hermione on the forehead, and left, once again unaware of the steely eyes watching his every move. Hermione blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall, as her friend walked away from her. She knew she was being unreasonable and her shoulders slumped as she finally gave up. She wouldn't seek him out but she wouldn't actively avoid him either. If he happened to be with her friends when she sought their company, well, she would simply ignore him. She had spent nigh on seven years ignoring him and was sure she was up for the task, even though she was totally oblivious to the size and feel of his cock during those seven years or the way his eyes would turn liquid right before he came, or the way her name sounded on his lips as he worshipped her body.
Hermione quelled those thoughts with the memory of his face as he accused her of slagging around. Yeah, she could ignore him. Would ignore him. For the sake of her friends and his recovery, she would be the better person and not hex him no matter how bad she wanted to.
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Draco thanked his skills in occlumency for keeping him calm enough to not murder the stark raving mad bint prattling on about nargles next to him or the stupidly handsome wizard who put his hands and his lips on Hermione. She was his, had been his, and would be his again and his new "friend" had better keep. His. Damned. Hands. OFF!
His inner rage didn't show one iota on his face as he smiled and nodded and insisted he was sure there was an infestation of nargles in his father's office at the manor, come to think of it. He ate out of habit more than hunger, unsure of what he was even putting in his mouth. He finally mumbled out a promise to meet to study later and left the hall, following the Gryffindor out and down the hall until they passed an alcove where he could pull the boy aside.
"Listen, Malfoy, while I'm flattered," Neville joked.
"Hardy har har, Longbottom. Funny. Now spill," Draco commanded.
"Spill what? She's tired and cranky and being ridiculous. She'll come around. So don't be a complete prat to her when she does and she'll forgive you eventually. Now, you spill," Neville said with arms and legs crossed casually as he leaned back against the wall.
"Spill what?" Draco asked in confusion.
"Luna," Neville stated simply.
"Does anybody in charge here know just how insane she is? She's a danger to regular folk, I'm sure of it. By Merlin, she's certifiable," Draco groaned, running his hands through his hair and down his face. "Talking to her is…it's just…how can anybody…bloody looney…" Draco spluttered.
Neville laughed, head thrown back and amusement rumbling out of him. He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes and bend at the waist to try and catch his breath. Draco was not amused. Really. He wasn't. He smirked. And he might have chuckled a bit. Okay, fine, he found himself slumped over against the wall wheezing for air just as badly as Neville. When he finally caught his breath he slumped down on the window ledge and stared out at the forest beyond.
"It's nice, though, talking to her," Draco stated once he could breathe again, tone full of sincerity and probably a bit of wistful sadness. "She doesn't expect anything from me and doesn't hold anything against me. She doesn't want to discuss the war or what went wrong or what went right or what I would have done differently. She asked about my mother, you know, like she actually cared. It was…a nice change of pace."
"Yeah, Luna's pretty amazing," Neville agreed. "Just don't go trying to use her to make Hermione jealous or anything."
"Now here we were having a civil conversation and you had to go and ruin it," Draco grumbled, glaring at the other man.
"What? She's gorgeous, smart, and kind, too. I was a bit mad for her for a little while. I can see the attraction…" Neville responded, his lips tilted as if trying to hold back a grin.
"She's my cousin," Draco interjected, really needing the other wizard to shut up and stop grossing him out with talks of any kind of romantic interest with the weird witch.
"As if that was ever a problem for the Sacred Twenty-eight," Neville said quite snarkily.
"She looks like a miniature version of my mum, Neville. If she had never gone through finishing school and raided a muggle charity bin for her wardrobe. And never learned any beauty charms. So, alright, not a lot like my mum but enough to ensure the only 'attraction' is that she is one of two people in this castle who will willingly speak to me. Beggars can't be choosers when it comes to their…friends."
Neville clapped Draco on the shoulder in sympathy. "We're not that bad, you'll see. Anyway, much as I've enjoyed this ambush-induced conversation, I've got to bathe before class. Where you headed?"
Here you go, Draco. Remember, pitiable but believable. Friends. You need to make friends.
"Potions, actually. Ol' Sluggy's got me marking essays, organizing and ordering ingredients, and assisting with his potion experiments before and after classes. He won't call it an official apprenticeship, though. Probably doesn't want to be associated with a…uh…a Malfoy. I bet anything the headmistress put him up to it. Not that I care," Draco was quick to assert. "It's fairly interesting work and he says he'll credit me if any of my suggestions prove successful."
Neville smiled a bit ruefully, not missing the note of hope buried under the outright disbelief, though whether the disbelief was due to the promise of credit or the idea of one of Slughorn's experiments succeeding, Neville wasn't sure. Probably a bit of both, really. He really did feel bad for Draco's circumstances. Yeah, he had been a prat, but he didn't deserve what he was going through and Neville hoped that this apparent change of heart was legitimate and things would start looking up for the blonde wizard.
"Want to eat lunch together?" Neville offered.
Draco seriously considered it. Granger would show up. Might even sit down just to show him how much she didn't care about him or something. Or she'd see him there and storm off to the kitchens to eat instead. She couldn't avoid him forever, though.
"I don't think Hermione really wants me eating lunch with you lot," Draco answered all gracious and attuned to his witch's needs.
"She'll get used to it. What do the muggles call it; immersion therapy?"
"You're as mad as Lovegood if you think I know anything about what muggles call anything. I'm trying but…" Draco trailed off. Let Longbottom come to his own conclusions as to how that sentence was going to end.
"Right. Well, I think you should eat with us is what I'm saying. Think about it. I gotta run," Neville called as he left the alcove and darted down the hall.
Draco huffed out a relieved breath. Things were going to plan. He was sure that ingratiating himself to Hermione's friends was the way to get back in her good graces. And that was worth enough to him to endure the mad ramblings of Luna Looney Lovegood and the too-easy camaraderie of Longbottom. And if it meant he didn't have to go through entire days where he spoke to no one, all the better.
Draco mentally prepared himself for an hour of Slughorn's overbearing exuberance and tactless advice on how to "fix" his uncertain future. He stood taller, straightened his robes, used his reflection in the window to tidy his hair and perfect his "I couldn't possibly give less of a fuck" expression and strode, nose in the air, towards the potions classroom.
It was thinking of apprenticeships and private tutelage that had him remembering that Hermione would be meeting with McGonagall that afternoon and if he arrived early enough for his own time with the great cat he just might run into her. He grinned at the possibility of an opportunity to interact with her and was still grinning when he entered Slughorn's domain. Too bad he wouldn't be smiling when he left.
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Hermione went through her day by rote, listening to lectures, taking notes, reading chapters, stirring cauldrons, flicking wands, and none of it required the use of her brain. At all. So she was left to think and daydream and remember. And try to forget. She could barely concentrate through her morning classes and before she realized time was passing, it was lunch. She walked in a bit of a haze through the halls, passing by the headmistress without really seeing her or responding to her greeting for that matter.
She was seated and ladling a hearty stew into her bowl before her brain could acknowledge that directly across from her was Neville with Ginny to his right, glaring around his back at one very sullen looking Slytherin seated to his left. He wasn't looking at the redhead, or at the wizard playing mediator between the two. He wasn't even looking at Hermione. He was staring, sulking really, into his own bowl of stew as he tore a crusty roll into pieces so small Hermione was pretty sure dust couldn't compete.
Don't, Hermione. Remember, ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore-
"What did that roll ever do to you?" Neville asked before Hermione could lose her resolve.
Draco apparently came to because he blinked a few times, grimaced at the crumby mess in his hands, and dumped the lot of it into his bowl. He sneered as he looked at the other man and Hermione braced herself for his trademark snark. Here it was. He was going to say something rude or hurtful and show her again why she needed to steer clear of him.
"The slug got one of his potions working. I suggested half…HALF!...of the ingredients and their quantities and he promised…and if I hadn't corrected the number of counterclockwise turns after adding the asphodel, the old snake wouldn't blown himself up! I should've known better from him. Loyalty to their own, my ass. That one got all of the ambition and none of the other Slytherin characteristics. And then it's just another wonderful morning with the professors of Hogwarts. What's the point of even going to classes when I practically teach myself and the oh-so-noble professors ignore my existence completely?
"Oh, and let's not forget how even the Hufflepuffs throw jinxes at me in the halls. I think I preferred being stuck in the manor with nobody but house elves to talk with to this nonsense. Here I thought the ministry was throwing me a boon, letting me come back here, but now I know better. They wanted to torture me! Give me back as good as I gave out. I get it already. I was a prat, a real ass, a bully and I made some people's lives hell but, Merlin, I lived with Death Eaters and Voldemort for crying out loud. I've been tortured and lived through actual hell so you'd think they'd realized I already learned that lesson but I guess they think I need just a bit more to really build my character!"
It seemed that once Draco got going, he couldn't really stop. He dropped all of the injustices he had been facing in the other wizard's lap, seemingly oblivious to the wide-eyed attention of the two Gryffindor witches, one the color of fresh-turned earth and full of reluctant pity, the other the color of fall leaves with hints of red and gold and reflecting regret, sympathy, and memory.
Hermione couldn't help but remember seeing him broken and bleeding on the floor. She couldn't help but remember being broken and bloody on his floor. He had looked thin, haunted, and afraid. She hadn't really considered what he might have been going through that year, not in any real sense. She felt…she didn't know what she felt but she didn't really hate him and she was angry, yes, but she could be angry and still feel sympathetic, offer comfort where she could. Hell, she had been friends with Ron Weasley for 7 years and if that didn't prove she could be angry and still be civil, she didn't know what did.
So she tossed out the idea of outright ignoring the blonde and spoke. Or tried to. Ginny beat her to it, actually.
"What did you expect? Did you think everyone here would just ignore what you put them through, what your friends and your parents and their parents did to all of us? You might not have been casting the curses but you're the face everyone has to look at day in and day out, the constant reminder. I look at you and I have to see Remus and Tonks and Fred, dead because of a war you wanted and made damn sure would happen.
"Neville here has had a lifetime to get used to what your lot did to his mum and dad and maybe that's why he can separate you from them, but I buried my brother not half a year past and my mum still writes Fred's name when she talks about George's shop and I have to try and ignore the tear stains blurring the line she crosses it out with every damned time and so I'm sorry things were tough for you but really, what the hell did you expect coming back here? Man up, take your lumps because you deserve them and it makes others feel like they're doing something to right the wrongs done them."
After that it seemed to all go downhill, as if it wasn't headed that way to begin with. Neville tried to soothe Draco's guilt, anger, and hurt but Draco apparently wasn't in the mood. He stood not long after, his bowl of stew uneaten, and stormed out. Ginny followed suit, her lunch equally as abandoned. If Hermione knew anything about her friend, it was that she had lashed out in a fit of Weasley temper and that she probably regretted half of what she said as soon as she closed her mouth long enough to think about what had come out of it. Hermione had eaten as a way of ignoring the awkwardness of the situation and come to terms with her own mixed feelings but it wasn't sitting well in her stomach and she wanted desperately to just go to sleep and let the world slip away for a while.
Unfortunately, she had private tuition with McGonagall and had to be on her way. Neville had wisely chosen to not bring the subject up again and just let his friends duck out one by one until he was alone at the Gryffindor table. At least, until Luna joined him, happily blathering on about fairies and whatnot as if there weren't a care in the world.
Hermione steeled herself for her sit-down with McGonagall and Flitwick, too tired to be excited over presenting her idea for her transfiguration project, which she had chosen to incorporate with her charms project. She pasted a sunny smile on her face, however, and got on with getting on, completely unaware that she was fooling no one.
