Chapter Six: Letting Go
"I absolutely hate his guts," Hermione said coarsely, stabbing her meat with a little more rigor than was necessary. The plate chimed in protest.
She was raging after they had spent an entire "therapy session" arguing. And then he'd had the nerve to tell her that he'd made the appointment with the NASROP liaison office for that day, without notifying her?
What. An. Asshole.
Harry was sympathetic. "I honestly had no idea that they would assign him to you in the first place. I shouldn't have signed that paper. Can't you get out of this whole thing?"
"I tried that. And now, I'm starting to think that he really needs me as his counselor. I'm probably the only one that can turn him around. Not to mention it has its perks." Hermione smirked around some mashed potatoes.
"She's torturing him," Ron whispered to Harry, earning him a kick in the knee. "What? You know you are. He talks about it at work."
She promptly choked. "He talks at work? What does he say?"
Ron looked at Harry nervously. "Well... yeah, a bit."
"But what does he say?"
Ron looked down at his plate and played with the potatoes, making little swirls. "Well, today, he said that you make him feel completely stripped down and vulnerable, like... being naked on stage, I think was the analogy - "
"I DO NOT! I'm helping him see the error of his ways, helping him understand how absolutely foul he's been!"
Harry looked at her. "Maybe he needs something else."
"I'm trying to wake that prat up! He's asleep."
"No, he's not asleep Hermione. He's just... he just acts like he is."
Hermione chewed furiously. Why was Harry on his side now? Harry hates him as much as the rest of them, if not more.
"Hermione... do you want to know why I agreed to defend Malfoy in order to get him released early?"
Hermione nodded. "Dumbledore."
"I did it because of something I remembered seeing him do... he'd kill me for telling you. But... do you remember when I cursed him in sixth year using one of the Prince's spells? He was going to use the Cruciatus curse, yes, but he was going to because... I saw him crying."
Hermione set down her fork in astonishment. Malfoy cries?
"He was crying about all the pressure Voldemort was putting on him... and his father. And I think he was frustrated with Snape for trying to interfere... and he was saying all this to Moaning Myrtle, of all people... It just, I don't know. It redeemed him a little. In my mind."
Hermione shook her head. She once again had too much to think about. "I have other patients too you know. I can't understand why he is the only one stressing me out. Guess who came in the other day? Pansy Parkinson. Driven mad by some boyfriend she had while in Spain, or Brazil... somewhere like that. She just cried the entire time... I don't even think she realized who she was talking to. But my point is that all my other patients don't even know that there is something wrong with their thinking... they just trust me. They listen to me, and I see them eating my words up... I just wonder what is wrong with him."
"Well, now you know that he is a wuss. But we already knew that."
"Not helping, Ginny."
"But think about it - it means that he caves under that kind of pressure. It means he was unhappy during that time."
"He doesn't like the tables being turned on him," Ron put forth. "We've all insulted him before, and he takes it in one of three ways - "
" - Anger, humor, or defeat..." Hermione said. She thought for a second. She'd seen all three, but very little of the 'defeated' Malfoy. What would she have to say to him in order to make his heart bleed?
The others were still discussing him. " - Which could be twisted to mean that he doesn't like hurting people."
"No, he definitely likes hurting people. He just doesn't like to receive it."
"I don't think that's true." Luna Lovegood, silent this entire time, spoke. The group looked at her. "I think he's just angry at something, and he wants to pinpoint it somewhere. Right now, he's blaming Hermione. So he lashes out at her. You need to make him understand that he is the source of his own unhappiness... and that making other people unhappy will not fix that. He needs to make up for it."
Hermione nodded. "I think you've got something there, Luna."
Luna smiled brightly. "Maybe I could be a therapist."
Instead of laughing, the group nodded in agreement.
Hermione couldn't sleep. Ron, as usual, was breathing evenly beside her. The sound usually calmed her, but she felt nothing but disruption.
Of course Malfoy cries, everyone cries. Men don't like to admit that they cry, but they do. She'd seen Harry do it. Ron's done it. She could not dispel the thought from her head, however, because it was so... weird. Why was Malfoy the way he was? Who's fault was it?
Or did that matter?
She'd been taught that the only way to fix a problem was to know its source. The only problem with Draco is that he did not have a simple source - his problem came from everything in his life, everything he was ever exposed to. His problem came from every angle - external forces, internal forces. She couldn't correct the world for him, correct time. Fix his brain. Obviliate.
What does a memory charm solve? Nothing. It just erases everything. Nothing's fixed or made better... it is simply deleted.
She saw it. Of course, she knew from the beginning... but it was a little clearer now. He needed to look back and know that it was his life, and his screw up. By blaming people who were already dead and gone, and things that he couldn't change, he wasn't solving anything. He needed to break through all of that and just... let go. Let his guard go, his comebacks and insults go. His finger-pointing go. He needed to break free.
That was the answer.
Unfortunately, she didn't understand that she was the biggest source.
"Threatening me doesn't add inches to your dick, Malfoy."
Oooo. Rawr. "You'd know, wouldn't you, Granger?"
"Maybe I would. But then again, you wouldn't since you have no balls to speak of - where were we before you started calling me names?" Hermione was trying to get a glimpse of that 'defeated' Malfoy, but so far she'd gotten him in his smirking prat mode.
"We were talking about your mustache."
Hermione rubbed her temples. Nothing was going right with him today. She needed to find that happy center of her world and step into it -
"Don't you fucking dare. I see you putting your shields up."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't have a bloody intelligent conversation with you without wanting to tear your stupid head off! Now sit down, shut up, and pay attention, for once in your pathetic existence! You aren't letting me help you!"
"Oh shut up. You aren't letting yourself help me."
Hermione shook her head. Counting backwards from ten. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... this isn't helping.
"Stop that. Just stop it, it's so annoying!" Draco yelled.
"Stop what?"
"Stop getting flustered and forcing yourself to calm down. Stop your huffing and snorting and trying to 'collect your thoughts.' It drives me nuts."
"What do you want from me then?" Hermione asked, throwing her hands up.
Seconds ticked by. Hermione stared at him pointedly, holding his eyes for the longest time she ever had. He stared back, unwilling to answer. His eyes softened a bit as he continued looking. She wanted to know what he wanted from her... she didn't know how to help him. She looked very vulnerable when she did that, just the way she should look. He didn't ever want that snobby look to come over her face ever again. How could she know what he was trying to say to her? She didn't get it, even when he'd spelled it out for her. Maybe she got it on some "Oh, he's making progress" level, but not on any... emotional level. Not in her heart. She didn't get it.
He didn't even know what he was trying to say to her... not really. Not truly.
"You don't understand," he said, looking away and getting up.
"Help me to."
He looked back at her. For the first time he really looked at her in her entirety - her brown hair, the little freckles on her nose. The shapeless blue sweater she was wearing in the middle of summer, with a bit of a white collared shirt poking through the top. Her face was getting thinner. Possibly stress. Her hair hasn't as neatly braided as it usually was... also stress. Her forehead was pink. Stress.
He willed himself to care. Did he care? Did he honestly care about any of it, or anything? Did he even care enough about himself?
"I can't even help myself right now."
"That's what I'm here for."
"Really? Or are you here because you think messing with me is fun? Am I sport to you, Granger?"
She ignored that as an invitation to argue. She had a game plan, and she was going to return to it. Goal - see him defeated. Make him aware of what he has to do: atone. "I'm here because I feel like I'm the only one who can help you."
"Your boss didn't feel like going through all the trouble of a transfer."
"You wouldn't be able to talk to any other counselor."
"You want some little petty revenge for all the years I 'tortured' you."
"Yes, I do. I want you to understand how foul you've been."
"I get that. I know that I'm foul. Don't you think I get that?"
"No. You've never once apologized."
He fell silent. This argument was getting very awkward, very fast, and he hated that almost more than anything. She was doing it again - stripping him down and putting him under a spotlight.
"How can I apologize for that? You apologize for getting mud on someone's new pants, or stepping on their cloak and tripping them. You can't say. 'Oh, I'm sorry I killed your dreams for a better future.' 'Oh, I'm sorry I tortured you for seven years.'"
"Well, you better think of something. Because there are a lot of expectant faces looking at you, wanting remorse. And you aren't showing any."
"I HATE YOU."
"And how does that solve your problem?"
"I DON'T FUCKING CARE."
"Yes you do. Yes you do. You care. And you just don't know how to atone."
Draco felt something familiar grow in his throat. Oh shit, he was going to cry. It was coming - fuck no. Not here, not now.
Hermione saw it. She saw the snarling scowl drop. She saw him swallow. There it is. Come on, I need you to drop all of this crap. I need you to focus. "Hello? I'm not talking to the wall. Though I get more results out of it than you."
It was a sure thing. He felt his throat close up completely and his head swim. His eyes prickled. How fast could he make it to the door before the dam broke? He looked over at it.
"Nope," Hermione said, followed by a sealing charm. Gottcha. "You aren't running from me, you coward. You aren't running from yourself anymore. You are not running. You are going to stand there, and you are going to face it. You are going to face the fact that you need to make up for everything. You are going to let it wash over you, let it consume you. Let it eat away every part of you until there is nothing left to hate, and nothing left to hide."
And all at once, it ceased to matter. Everything did. Wetness filled his eyes.
"Just let go."
He covered his face and dropped down to the floor, behind the couch. He hoped that she couldn't see him.
Unfortunately, she saw everything.