Chapter Ten: Change
Draco raked his fingers over his newly shortened hair. His head had never felt so light - heck, he had never felt so light, considering all the things he'd chopped off with his hair.
His entire stay in Azkaban, it had grown out. Not that he wasn't allowed to request a cut while he was there... he was just too out of it to notice or care.
His father had always wanted him to have long hair. Lucius Malfoy had it in his head that it made him look more masculine, or majestic, or something equally as ridiculous - for whatever reason. That was probably how Lucius had thought his own hair had made him look. In Draco's opinion... looking back... his father had looked pretty effeminate.
Not to mention he probably had split ends.
Draco chuckled to himself.
He was rather starting to enjoy this whole "treatment" process... it gave him plenty of opportunities to stroke his ego. Thinking he was actually funny definitely helped with that.
Hell, he'd noticed other changes as well - like he didn't have nearly as many suicidal and irrational cravings for overdosage on his sleeping pills, which he also needed to take less and less. That was probably something.
And for the cravings that did hit him, he had Granger's bushy head in his mind, giving him an ice cold, "don't even think about it" look that made his skin crawl. That girl was only a step down from a dementor when she wanted to be - she could bring back all kinds of lovely memories filled with torture, madness, and red slitted eyes in extremely vivid detail. And he already saw those things every time he closed his eyes.
No matter how much he dwelled on his past - those two and a half years in the coldest, darkest prison imaginable; another handful of years spent living in fear every second; all of the disapproving looks and constant torture of school, Potter, and his own family - he knew it was behind him. But he could not stop his mind from wandering back to those times... the times that had worn him so completely and unbearably thin. He could see, in his mind, the look of shock and revulsion on Potter's face when he'd first seen him in his cell, quivering in fear, covered with dirt, worn down to the bone with constant unhappiness and horror. Thank goodness the Ministry had had the decency to let him have a holding cell closer to humanity during the duration of the trial, because after that beacon of hope had shone through in Draco's life - albeit in the form of the legendary and oh-so-amazing Harry Potter (or "the cockroach" as Draco secretly called him) - there was no way he'd survive the torment of the dementors and his jail-mates. He'd suffocate himself first.
And when breathing was already hard... he could so easily run out of reasons why he shouldn't.
But Granger set him straight.
She'd let him know, right from the beginning, that all of his years of torment did not hide - or diminish - the fact that he had brought a lot of it on himself, and that if he had truly wanted to, he could have broken free of it all, and spared most of his grief. He'd already known that he was putting his own life down the crapper in a way. "Do this for him, Draco, and we will be rewarded immensely." Bullshit. Where were his bloody rewards now? They were long overdo. Bring him back to life for me - he owes me money!
The disturbing thing about everything though was that it was only Granger who could actually get through to him.
She was the only one that could get him to work based on the threat "or else." She was the only one to penetrate his mind. She was the only one for whom he'd answer character related questions truthfully. And she was definitely the only one who was truly helping him now. He could see that much.
Annoying as she still was.
He tried to think of why he'd been so angry at her for the longest time... her countenance when she was around him then was so unbearably infuriating. Plus, that light inside her definitely made her extremely attentive - that light she masked. It was torturous.
But now, he thought he knew why he'd yelled, screamed, and tore around her little room - it was because of the things that made her his perfect solution.
Nobody likes to have his ego stepped on. Nobody likes to be reminded of how worthless he really is. Nobody likes, after all the torture, pain, and madness, to have an infuriating, know-it-all turd wrinkle her nose and give him more wonderful reasons to just end everything. But it was apparently exactly what the doctor ordered.
Not to mention that he felt a tad guilty about being so difficult in the beginning. Although the opportunity to grill him must have felt like an early Christmas for her, dealing with his shit every day did not sound at all appealing. She had hated his guts after all.
If I can redeem myself in her eyes, then I know I've made it.
Looking in the mirror one last time before donning his robe, he briefly skimmed his hand over his new freedom.
Okay, "one thousand percent" was definitely way beyond an exaggeration, because he's still a prat. But as long as he thinks that he is making progress, I can dangle the carrot until he's gone as far as he will go.
Hermione wrote these things down as she thought. The three sections of her job were to listen, think, and administer the things necessary to to change a person's life. The listening showed her patient that she cared about what they had to say, while simultaneously giving her insight into their mind and heart. For some patients, listening is all they wanted, and when that came, she happily gave them her time. The thinking was more for herself, to better understand her patients motives. After she thought that through, she thought of the solutions... and she administered her "cure." What made Hermione very good at what she did was the intensity she put into her patients, and the lengths she was willing to go to get the smallest fragment of understanding out of them. That was the only thing she could do, because she understood that a lot of these people just needed someone who really cared, and who could show them that there was still good left in the world.
Not that doing all that with Malfoy, of all people, didn't make her a little nauseous... but she took her job seriously enough to get over that. Plus, he could be almost normal when he wanted to be, and it was her job to make him as normal as possible, as much of the time as possible.
She thought of the way he'd looked when he'd first stepped into her office and he had asked her - quite understandably - what she was doing there. Or more accurately, why she wasn't a Hogwarts professor, or the Minister of Magic or something. He'd looked so incredibly... physically vulnerable. She'd definitely been surprised to see him that way, although it didn't diminish the tartness of their first meeting. It was a good thing that he had a little meat on his bones now-a-days... otherwise she'd be writing more prescriptions.
Of course, though he'd been physically in bad shape, he'd still had the nerve to belittle her in her own office - like they were back in school or something, a pair of squabbling thirteen year olds! - and not even face the fact that he would be admitting numerous things in her office that he would never even admit to himself on his own.
He was, after all, such a bloody coward.
Anything he had told her before was to save his own skin - because she would report him if he put her through months of torture and told her basically nothing. At least now, he wanted to change.
Hermione shook her head as she cleared these thoughts away. Well, she had given him an assignment - she would see if he was taking it seriously. He had given her one of his glares when she had assigned it to him - like she was giving him busywork or something. This was definitely not busywork. It was important. It was his first assigned task to look at things from her perspective while targeting a specific event. Or in other words, she was forcing him to think like a rational, functioning, good person. He was probably going to spontaneously burst into flames.
Some part of her knew, though, that he would come through. She couldn't be sure of the job he would do - his behavior was still erratic - but she felt like he would definitely put some thought into it.
"You look particularly sour this morning," Ron Weasley assessed, sitting down next to Draco. They were in one of the Ministry's many dining halls.
Draco meerly grunted and tossed back another swig of pumpkin juice. As much as Draco did not want to admit it, Ron was actually starting to grow on him. They had many of the same interests, he'd discovered (minus the intellectual ones) and Ron's insults were not so much scathing as they were playful. Not to mention he got to hear a bit about Granger while Ron talked sometimes.
Not that that was a reason to talk to him - at all.
"Did you hear about that prophecy? The Minister wants it buried. Apparently, someone leaked it over to Luna and she didn't take it very well. She thought it was a tremendous joke, which is saying something, coming from her." Ron pulled his plate towards him and started munching on his oversized lunch.
Draco nodded - he knew Loony Lovegood's assessment was accurate, just based on her reputation. He and his schoolmates had not been kind to her at all - she'd practically invited torment. "Did you still want me to look into it? Because I've found some evidence that might help prove the prophecy's worth."
Ron thought for a moment, remembering that he was Draco's boss, before saying, "You can if you want. You must be bored as hell anyways."
Draco nodded in recognition and downed the last of his drink. He did love his pumpkin juice. It was a sin against humanity that he couldn't have it while he was locked away. "Any information on who leaked it?" he asked, watching his glass refill itself.
Ron shrugged, chewing. Draco frowned at him, and then at his enormous plate. Man, that guy eats a lot. What a pig!
"Piggy," Draco said after a moment, moving on to his sandwich.
Ron nearly choked with laughter, much to Draco's annoyance. Piggy? "Git," Ron responded around his mouthful. When he realized it came out sounding like "shit," he started to chuckle again against his will.
Draco was laughing now as well. "Men of great words, aren't we?"
Just six months before, that would have looked like the strangest sight in the world.
"Wow. I like the new haircut, Draco." Hermione eyed his five centimeters of hair.
"Thanks. I cut it myself."
"Oh, so that's why there's a little bald spot on the left side?"
Draco stiffened, glaring at her, but she just smiled and waved her hand at him. "I was just kidding. Learn to take a joke."
He sat down, dropping his scowl, and waited for her to start. Hey, she was right. If he could lighten up with Weasley, as he had done the previous day, then he could try to lighten up a bit with her.
Hermione was still looking at his head, with that therapist look on her face. She then took up her quill and made a note on her paper: Is willingly starting to shed his old self, starting with appearance.
"What was that?" Draco asked, a little annoyed.
"Well, to a therapist, a haircut or a new hairstyle is the telltale sign of a person trying to change. A person looks at himself or herself in the mirror and says, 'I want to try something new.' That thought is what starts every other change."
Draco nodded in understanding, letting a small smirk come over his features. "Well, I just didn't like my split ends, truthfully - "
Hermione tossed a quill at him, which he dodged mirthfully.
She chuckled briefly before getting down to business. "Now. Have you made any moves toward happiness?"
Draco thought for a moment before saying, "I'm still working on that prophecy thing, even though the official research was terminated by the Minister. It gives me something to do - plus, I'm learning some really fascinating things during my research."
Hermione nodded, writing. "Do you find any trouble making it to Poland?"
"I filled out the portkey forms for a repeating portkey - always at 6:00 during the week, backfiring me home at 9:00 to make my 9:30 curfew. That gives me at least two and a half hours. Weekends, I stay home with my notes."
Hermione made a note: Starting path to happiness. Putting self on positive schedule. "And does this schedule of yours keep your thoughts more on your work than on your past?"
Draco nodded.
She made another note. "Well then... are you still having trouble sleeping?"
"Sometimes - I'm still having nightmares. If I can't sleep at all, I try to fall asleep myself before I resort to the pills. I'm still on my second bottle."
"And have you abused them?"
Draco shuffled in his chair. "Twice." Here it came - the flood, the tidal wave to knock him around.
Hermione looked at him sternly. "If you are having problems, you need to force yourself to look at it and know that it is you, the way you are, the way you were. You cannot change it. Realize that it was your past, and that it is all - "
"Can you be any more vague sounding?" Draco laughed.
Had that been the second time he'd laughed today? Hermione stared at him before making a note: Beginning to find humor in life. She smiled at her notepad. "I get that a lot," she murmured. "Well. If you have any bouts of sadness or anger, don't hesitate to owl me. You know my address."
Draco was about to say, "Why would I know that?" before Hermione pointed to the little sign on her desk: Hermione Granger, 1346 Huntsford Street, 31st District, Lancaster, England.
"You live in a wizard district?"
Hermione eyed him. "Why wouldn't I?"
He shrugged. "I just thought... you know, with you and Weasley, that you'd live in his little... shack thing."
Hermione ignored the insult and said, "One thing you should know about me, Malfoy, is that I'm very independent. Now, how about you tell me a bit about your research?"