A/N: Thanks again for all the responses, they are always appreciated!
This chapter is a little bit all over the place, but will be relevant to later chapters, so hopefully it's okay. I am looking forward to writing chapter five, so perhaps there won't be as long a wait for that one (but I won't make any promises).
Enjoy! :)
Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall and took a side path up to the Gryffindor Dormitories, reaching them before any of the other students. She knew she wasn't exactly setting a good example as the "Honorary Head Girl," but for one of the first times, she didn't care. Who did that ferret think he was? Coming back, after everything he did, then pretending to have changed, almost fooling her, and then getting them all in detention. I knew something was up – that git! Hermione thought, more angry than she had been in a while.
"Hermione!"
Hermione spun on her heel to see Ginny running up behind her. The redhead was breathing hard, and had obviously sprinted to catch up with her friend.
"Aren't you supposed to be doing something? Head Girl and all?" Hermione spat out, still annoyed with Ginny for keeping secrets from her, and taking her anger out on the girl because of this.
Ginny looked momentarily taken aback, scrunching up her eyebrows in confusion. Then: "look, I was sworn to secrecy alright? And you're the Honorary Head Girl now anyways, so – "
"Well, maybe I don't want to be? Did you even consider that?" Hermione questioned, cutting her off. She knew the words weren't exactly honest, but she was too upset to care.
"That's not true," Ginny replied calmly, seeing right through her, "Since when has Draco Malfoy gotten you so upset, anyways?"
Hermione's next breathe caught in her throat, "What makes you think this is about Malfoy?" she questioned after a pause, attempting to appear much calmer than she actually was.
Ginny raised her eyebrows, "You've been acting strange towards him all evening; and I saw you storm away in the Great Hall."
Feeling her face heat up, Hermione crossed her arms, "Okay, fine. He got our whole carriage in detention, and I actually thought he had been listening. I thought maybe he had – "
"Changed?" Ginny cut in. Hermione met her friend's eyes and nodded slowly. The redhead laughed: "People like Malfoy don't change Mione. At least not that fast."
Hermione regarded her friend quizzically, "Then why was he give the Honorary Head Boy title, if McGonagall didn't think he could change?"
Biting her lip, Ginny shrugged, "McGonagall is a little crazy. Amazing, of course, but also crazy. Who knows what she's thinking?"
A bubble of laughter forced its way to the surface, and despite her annoyance Hermione allowed herself to laugh. "Fair enough. But either way, Malfoy sure seemed like he was acting different; apparently he's a better actor than I gave him credit for."
Ginny seemed to consider Hermione's words, then spoke softly: "I think Malfoy's always been a good actor, honestly."
Hermione thought about this, but didn't respond. She supposed it was true; after all, he had fooled the teachers in sixth year. No one had figured out what he had been doing with the Vanishing Cabinet, not even Dumbledore. He had to be a pretty good actor to fool that wizard. Once more, Hermione felt that familiar pang, remembering that their old headmaster was now gone and was not coming back.
"Hermione?"
Once again, Hermione shook herself free of her thoughts, and turned to face her friend. The girl had an oddly concerned look on her face; almost as if she was hiding something. When she met Hermione's eyes, something seemed to have changed, but Hermione couldn't place it.
"What?" she responded.
"Whatever you do, just be careful. Not everything is as it seems," Ginny replied slowly, almost as though she was forcing out the words. Then the redhead turned, walked down the hallway and disappeared.
Hermione was left feeling more confused than ever. She stood staring after her friend for a moment, and then turned and walked through the portrait hole. The common room was empty; no one else had arrived yet. With a heavy heart, she surveyed the room which held so many memories. Memories of Harry and Ron and – honestly – memories of the time of her life. Even if they weren't all good ones. Letting out a small breath, she headed to the Gryffindor dormitories and into the old room she had shared with Lavender and Parvati. Apparently Neville had been wrong, Parvati wasn't coming back after all, and Lavender – Hermione shook away the thought. It was far too painful to deal with.
Either way, it looked as though she was stuck here alone. For the whole year.
Crawling into her old bed, Hermione forced herself to tune out all the memories that were trying to worm their way into her head. At first, she tried to focus on Ron, but it turned out that this wasn't much better. She missed him far too much.
She ended up replaying the scene in third year, when she had slapped Draco Malfoy across the face, over and over in her mind. It was about the only thing that gave her any satisfaction, and forced all other thoughts out of her head.
It was quite strange that thoughts of Draco Malfoy were what finally lulled her to sleep.
Draco woke up the next morning feeling worse than he had in a long time. As he had thought, his dreams had been as bad – if not worse – than ever. And not only that, it had taken him forever to get to sleep. He had been in the middle of a dream about – Draco pushed this memory away before the scene was able to reform in his mind. As much as he tried to tell himself that it didn't matter, he felt terrible for getting his group in detention – and even more so – for letting Granger down. He was sure that these feelings had been the cause of at least of few of the nightmarish images that haunted him last night.
Merlin, what's wrong with me? He asked himself, why the hell should I care about that mudblood? He didn't mean the word at all this time, but he had hoped that using it, even in his thoughts, would make Granger seem more like the enemy. Only it hadn't worked. He'd tried to convince himself that he only wanted to hear about the Hippogriff, and that he felt bad because he may have ruined his chances for this. However, he was quite certain that this was not the reason he felt the way he did. What is wrong with me? He questioned again. It seemed, at the moment, that he would never get an answer.
Dragging himself out of bed, he realized that everyone else in his dorm was still asleep. Everyone being Blaise and Theo. Draco felt sick for the infinite time in the last few months as he remembered Crabbe and Goyle. The latter had chosen not to come back – no surprise there – but the former… Draco forced himself to close down his mind and not worry about it.
Yeah, right.
He hated that he'd almost lost the one ability that he used to pride himself on – the ability to shut down his thoughts and hide his emotions. It wasn't entirely gone, but it didn't come nearly as quickly anymore, and sometimes he couldn't do it at all.
Just add it to the list of the infinite other things that I can't do and don't understand anymore, he thought.
Quickly getting dressed, Draco headed down to the common room, only to find that it was empty. What time is it? he wondered, only then turning to the clock on the wall.
6:00 A.M.
Oh, for Salazar's sake, he thought, aggravated. Then he sighed: well, not like I was getting a wonderful sleep anyway.
As much as he wished he could throw himself right into schoolwork to take his mind off of everything, Draco was thankful at the same time that it was Saturday, and he had two days to prepare himself for classes. Though, with detention tonight, he'd probably end up getting roped into a discussion with McGonagall and Granger about this new interhouse unity thing. He was too tired to continue processing it at the moment; he'd gotten to the point where he knew he didn't want the role, but at the same time where he wasn't about to pass it down. Knowing McGonagall, she'd probably already told his parents. His father would give him hell if he turned down an opportunity to give any honor back to the Malfoy name, even if it meant promoting unity with Mudbloods and Gryffindors. Draco ran a hand through his hair: not like he doesn't give me hell anyways, he thought.
Draco absolutely hated it. He was technically of age now, even if he was still going to school, but his father wouldn't stop treating him like a child. And Draco let him, because he didn't know what else to do. His family had always been everything that he had, even if he hated them half the time. He couldn't leave them now – and he wasn't sure that he even wanted to. While he hadn't exactly had a healthy childhood, he'd had a family, and he was sure that others' situations had been inferior to his. Now, after the war, everything had become far worse. This was mainly because his father was under some delusion that it was Draco's fault that the dark lord had been defeated, and therefore that the Malfoy name had been dishonored. If Draco was honest with himself, he desperately wished that the Wizengamot had decided to send his father to Azkaban. Maybe it was selfish, Draco wasn't sure, but he couldn't deny that he wanted it.
Oh, bloody hell, when did my life become so messed up? Draco wondered, and he didn't know the answer. His first thought would have been when he received the dark mark, but he knew it had been before that. He'd come to Hogwarts in his first year already messed up, and though he hadn't seen it then he certainly saw it now. The problem was, he didn't know whether that was normal, whether that was just who he was meant to be, or whether he was something more. He didn't know whether he had changed, or even whether he needed to.
He didn't know anything, and he was beginning to think that he never would.
Scowling, Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, and was about to storm out of the common room and take a walk to clear his head when he heard a door open. He spun around to see Theo walking down the stairs from their dormitory, running his hands through his messy brown hair. The two locked eyes, and Theo's looked both agitated and concerned.
"You alright?" Draco asked his friend, feeling his own concerns dissipate slightly. He knew people thought that he was entirely heartless, but this had never been the case. The thing was, when Draco cared about someone, he gave them everything. It was all or nothing with him.
Theo shrugged, and removed his gaze from Draco's. The two friends stood silent for a moment, before Draco once again broke it.
"Do you want to talk?"
Running his hands through his hair again, Theo slowly nodded, "Yeah, I'd appreciate that. Not here though."
"Where do you want to go?" Draco questioned.
"Outside somewhere?" Theo suggested, seeming to become more agitated by the minute. If Draco was honest, he had no desire to go outside this early in the morning – it was still somewhat dark – but he could tell that he needed to get Theo out of the common room. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had seen Theo, or any of his friends for that matter, act like this. It couldn't be good. Theo looked as though he was ready to break down at any moment.
"Sure," Draco finally responded, and the two headed out of the common room, through the dungeons and the Entrance Hall, and into the cool morning air. As soon as they were ten feet from the castle, Theo began to talk, though neither stopped walking.
"It's about Astoria," he said simply, and Draco nodded, trying to force off the sly smile that had begun to creep onto his face. It was funny how he could be feeling so terrible in one moment, and so much better now. He knew it couldn't last, though. Moments of happiness never did these days.
Theo wasn't an idiot, and having been looking at Draco when he spoke, saw the smirk that had taken residence on Draco's face. "What's with the smile?" he questioned, sounding somewhat annoyed.
Draco let out a small laugh, "Look, I've been waiting to have this conversation with you for what seems like forever. I know you like her."
"Oh," Theo stated, looking slightly bewildered, then: "Wait –you do?" his eyes widened slightly, "How? I didn't tell you."
Unable to hold it back any longer, Draco burst out laughing, "It's only slightly obvious," he finally responded. Theo glared at him, though there was no malice in his gaze.
Finally: "Is it really that obvious?" He questioned, looking uneasy.
Draco considered this, and then said, "Well, for me, yes. I couldn't speak for anyone else, though. I tend to pick up on certain cues easier than most."
"And you've still let Astoria all over you?" Theo accused quickly.
This went right through Draco, and hurt him more deeply than he knew it should have. Was this really how his friends saw him? Especially when he'd been doing everything he could to keep away from Astoria without hurting either her or Theo.
"If you haven't noticed, I've never let anything go anywhere with her. In fact, I've been pushing her away at every opportunity, because I knew how you felt," Draco stated, trying to keep his voice steady. At one point this would have been no difficulty for him, now it seemed almost impossible.
Theo's face dropped, and he looked guilty, "I know, I didn't – "
"Don't worry about it," Draco cut in.
The two walked in silence once again, the only break being the sound of damp grass and leaves squishing under their feet. After a few minutes, Theo spoke again.
"So, what should I do?"
"Tell her." Draco's response came far to quickly, revealing that he had obviously been thinking about this before. Theo gave him a curious look, and then shrugged:
"You think?" he questioned, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.
"I know," Draco replied.
"And if she doesn't like me?"
Inwardly, Draco rolled his eyes. This sounded like a conversation fourth years would be having, or younger. Yet somehow it made Draco feel better, like the Bertie Bott's Beans on the train had. It was as though their innocence hadn't entirely been taken from them. Or at least Theo's hadn't.
Then again, he certainly had a darker look about him. Moreso than Draco could ever remember him having before. But he wasn't entirely changed, not if he was still worrying about small things like this.
"And…" Theo drew out the word, breaking into Draco's thoughts. The blond sighed:
"Look, I'm sure she likes you, alright? Honestly, this – "
"Doesn't really matter to you right now? You have more important things to think about?" Theo responded, voice a mixture of coolness and understanding.
The two friends locked gazes once again, and Draco shook his head: "That's not what I was going to say."
"But it's what you were thinking."
After a moment, Draco shrugged. He couldn't exactly deny it.
"Well, you've helped me. Wouldn't it be better to get it off your chest?" Theo asked, voice earnest. Draco shook his head.
"I'm fine - "
"No, you're not," Theo broke in, sounding annoyed once more, "Look, Malfoy – "
"Please call me Draco." The words shot out of the blond's mouth before he could stop them, and he wished that he could take them back. Good going, idiot, he berated himself.
Theo looked at him as though he now understood, and the two locked gazes for a moment, before Draco dropped his stare.
"So that's it, is it?" Theo questioned slowly.
"Well, what else could it be?" Draco spit out.
"I get it - "
"No!" Draco cut in, anger rising up in him again, "No, you don't! I was the one forced to kill Dumbledore, and punished because I wasn't the one to actually do it. I was the one who had to live in – the dark lord's – headquarters, and do what he wanted. I tortured people. I – killed – people," At the last sentence, Draco's resolve wavered, and he felt sick. He hadn't admitted that to anyone before, and he hadn't meant to admit it now. It had only been once, person not people really. But what did it matter. It may as well have been a thousand.
What was he doing? Why was he saying this, anyway? Draco's mind raked the last few moments of their conversation, but his mind had gone blank. He felt awful and weak, and he hated himself. He just wanted to be dead, was quite certain that it would be better than this. And then he remembered the source of the conversation:
"How could you understand?" he whispered, not even able to meet Theo's eyes. He wished he could take back these last few moments, or Obliviate Theo's memories. Draco knew he could do it – he'd done it before – but somehow it didn't feel the same now. It felt wrong.
Theo took another step towards Draco, and in one swift motion rolled up his sleeve. The same faint outline of the dark mark that was etched into Draco's skin appeared there.
"I told you, I get it," Theo responded, "My father was in the Department of Mysteries that night, too."
Draco forced himself to meet Theo's eyes, and saw an understanding there. One he had never thought he would see, because he couldn't even understand himself. It was entirely strange; they were united in understanding the other's inability to understand.
"What did – what did you do?" Draco didn't know why he asked, but after admitting his own mistakes, he felt it was a fair trade.
"Mainly the same things you did," Theo responded, voice now echoing the weakness Draco felt. It seemed entirely out of place in Theo, who had always been a slightly shy, awkward boy. Not a torturer, not an evil person.
"Did you – " Draco began, but then stopped himself. Perhaps it wasn't a fair question.
"Kill anyone? No. He never made me go that far, thank Salazar." Theo now looked as though he was about to faint, and Draco knew that the boy could never have done it. Could never have done what Draco had gone through with.
At this, the moment of understanding passed, because Draco thought that he could forgive himself for everything else that he had done. Not right away, of course, but after a while. Only he was certain he could not forgive himself for the murder. It was like a piece of his soul had been taken away, and he would never be able to get it back.
"I'm going to go back to the castle," he stated, trying to keep his voice steady, which was entirely impossible. Theo nodded vaguely. Neither recalled nor cared about the initial reason for their conversation, instead both simply felt sick. Somewhere in the recesses of Draco's mind, he found it funny that they had been laughing and talking about meaningless things only moments earlier.
Because now Draco felt worse than ever.
Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room in her old armchair by the fire, staring into the flames. She hadn't slept exceptionally well, but not terrible either. Dreams of Ron had flooded her sleep, which while painful weren't necessarily a bad thing. Hermione smiled slightly at this. I'll have to write him soon, she thought, before recalling that it hadn't even been a full day since she'd seen him, it feels like its been weeks.
Once more, thoughts of him flooded her mind. His red hair, which she thought of whenever she looked at Ginny. His laugh, which was like no other that she had heard. His strangely caring nature, and yet inconsiderate attitude at the same time. Hermione laughed at this. It had taken her a while to get used to it, and while it still bothered her sometimes, she now found it strangely endearing. She knew without a doubt that he cared deeply about her, even though he wasn't incredible at showing it sometimes.
Hermione heard a door open and close, and listened as footsteps approached the common room. But there was something else; it seemed that the person was crying. Hermione turned quickly to see the little girl from yesterday's Sorting walk down the stairs – the one who had mixed up the Hat – and she frowned. Strangely, it was only now that it occurred to her that Ginny and Neville each owed her a Galleon, as she had technically won their bet from yesterday. At the moment, though, that didn't really seem to matter.
"You alright?" she questioned, and the girl looked up. She blushed, and looked away from Hermione.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone else was here," she responded quietly.
"That's fine," Hermione responded, "Do you want to sit down?"
The girl considered this, and then nodded, walking over to sit in the armchair next to Hermione.
"What's your name?" Hermione questioned, as the girl brushed the tears from her eyes.
"Lileth," she responded after a moment, "But everyone calls me Lil."
"I'm Hermione," Hermione stated, and the girl nodded knowingly. Then she held out her hand, and the two shook. Hermione laughed at this; she didn't remember the last time she had shook someone's hand. It wasn't generally done in the wizarding world, or at least not that she had noticed.
"Are you a muggleborn?" Hermione asked, realizing that this would explain it. Lileth's eyes widened and then she nodded slowly, her face turning red once again. Smiling gently, Hermione squeezed the girl's hand, "That's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm a muggleborn too."
Lileth grinned at this, her face lighting up considerably. Then, as suddenly as her smile had appeared, it left and she frowned: "I guess that's what is bothering me."
"What is?" Hermione questioned, taken aback. The girl sighed, pushing her blonde hair back over her shoulder.
"Well, everyone says that if I'm a muggleborn, I must be a terrible person for the Hat to have called out Slytherin. Because muggleborns never get in Slytherin, so I must be awful for it to even have considered putting me there." Tears began to well up in the younger girl's eyes, and Hermione was reminded of herself at that age, struggling to find out exactly what it meant to be in the muggleborn minority of the wizarding world.
"That's not true – remember what the Hat sang? I'm sure muggleborns will start being in Slytherin like anyone else now," Hermione responded. She didn't know if she believed the words, but felt obligated to make the first year feel better.
"Do you know why the Hat couldn't decide with me?" Lileth questioned after a moment, and Hermione shook her head.
"No. It's never happened before. Honestly, I was a bit to preoccupied to worry about it."
Lileth considered this, and then her eyes widened once again: "Oh, yes! You're the Honorary Head Girl, aren't you?" She dragged out Hermione's title and gave a small salute, obviously joking around. Hermione laughed, thankful for the girl's change of attitude.
"Yeah, I guess I am. And I suppose that means it is my job to make sure you are enjoying yourself so far – have you been given a tour of the castle?" Hermione played along with Lileth's little salute, making herself sound far more high-and-mighty than she actually was.
"Just on the way here from the Great Hall yesterday," Lileth responded quickly, excitement in her eyes.
"Well, shall I take you?" Hermione grinned at the girl. She didn't know why, but she felt quite connected to the first year, and almost responsible for her, though it could simply be their shared blood status. Lileth's grin widened, if that was even possible.
"Please!" the girl said.
"Well, let's go then!" Hermione held out her hand, and the younger girl took it, not yet in that stage where she felt too old for such things. The two walked quickly through the portrait hole, and Hermione immediately began pointing out different areas of the castle. She took her up the staircase near Gryffindor Tower, through the hidden entrance, and then up to the seventh floor corridor. Just as she was about to point out where the Room of Requirement was hidden, a familiar drawl rang out behind her.
"Granger and – who's this – the girl from last night? Is she a mudblood too?" Hermione spun on her heel, face heating up, and then stopped. Draco looked terrible. His normally perfect blond hair was a mess, and the bags under his eyes were even more noticeable than they had been yesterday. And if she wasn't wrong, his eyes looked red. Like he'd been crying. That's crazy, Hermione, she told herself, remember what Ginny said. This is Malfoy you're looking at. Either way, the sneer curling his lip was the same as it always had been. But something was definitely wrong here, and Hermione wished that she could figure out what it was. Until then though, he'd just – out loud – used the word he'd told her he hadn't called her in years. And even if that had been true, it wasn't anymore.
Hermione turned to Lileth and saw confusion etched on the younger girl's face. Which made sense; Lileth wouldn't know what the word meant, and all she knew of Draco – if she even remembered – was that he was Honorary Head Boy. So, as much as Hermione would have liked to hex the ferret, she supposed it would be better at the moment if she kept herself under control. Even if Malfoy was a total git, she didn't want Lileth to be made his target.
"Yes. She's a muggleborn too," Hermione responded, emphasizing the proper term for people of her blood status. Draco laughed humorlessly.
"Well, your type has to stick together, right?"
Hermione bristled. She didn't know why she had even considered that Draco Malfoy could have changed. Here was living proof of what an idiot she had been to ever have thought such a thing.
"Yeah, right," was all she said, attempting to keep her voice as calm as possible, while glaring daggers at the blond. Then she turned, and tugging on Lileth's hand stormed past him. Their hands brushed for only a moment as she walked by, and while Draco didn't move, she watched in surprise as his cold demeanor dropped slightly.
Hermione was quite certain that she would never figure this one out.
Draco felt terrible, which confirmed his thoughts and his reasons for what he now saw as a cruel trick. He must have changed after all. He'd been wandering the seventh floor corridor trying to get himself back under control, replace his mask, hide his emotions. Anything at all, really. But he couldn't. He couldn't figure anything out. And he still wasn't sure whether he had actually changed, or whether – as his father said – was simply going through some phase after the dark lord's defeat. A phase his father was, Draco though bitterly, quite determined to remove him from.
When he'd heard Granger coming, Draco had seen his opportunity. He'd always been rude to her – calling her a mudblood and whatever else he felt like doing – and it had never bothered him. If it still didn't, then he'd know, however much he hated the thought, that there might be some truth to his father's words. If it did bother him, then he'd know something had changed.
And it had bothered him. Even more than he'd expected.
Last night they had traded some perhaps unpleasant banter, but it hadn't been directed specifically at her, like the way he had just spoken. And what upset him even more was the fact that she hadn't retaliated. He supposed she must have had a reason – probably the muggleborn girl with her – but it wasn't like Granger to not do anything. It didn't make any sense.
But then again, neither did the fact that he had barely been able to say the word mudblood out loud. And he'd felt like he was going to break down and give it all away the entire time.
When their hands had touched, he knew he'd let his guard down somewhat. Because the touch had sent warmth through him, and calmed him, if only for a moment. He didn't understand that, either. He was starting to expect it – not understanding anything. It seemed to have become a regularity since he'd come back. Which, he reminded himself, wasn't even a full day ago.
Draco cursed under his breath, and shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his robe. What the bloody hell is with Granger? He wondered. And what the bloody hell is with me?
At least he knew one thing now – something was different. He had changed somehow, however small that change might be. But he wished that he could have his time back, and not have gone about figuring this out the way he had. Because now he doubted that Granger was planning to be civil to him at all, which bothered him strangely. Talking to her like that had made him feel even worse than he had previously been feeling. He didn't know why – which was no surprise – but he knew that this was the truth. And now it seemed as though he had ruined any chances he might have had to be civil with her, which meant that accomplishing this Honorary Head Boy thing had just gotten a whole lot more difficult. He really should have thought this through better; he doubted that she would believe that he hadn't actually meant what he had said. Especially after last night. Which bothered him, even though he knew it shouldn't.
And then there was that weird connection they seemed to have. Of course, it could be only him, but touching her hand made him –
Draco shook away these thoughts, not wanting to add to the confusion he already felt. Granger was nothing more than a partner in promoting interhouse unity, and one he wished he didn't have to work with. That was all.
He couldn't help but laugh at this idea. Never in his wildest dreams would Draco Malfoy have thought that he would be working to promote interhouse unity with Hermione Granger.
Running a hand through his blond fringe, Draco considered his options. He supposed the best thing he could do was try to talk to Granger tonight in detention, when there were two other students and McGonagall present. Then she wouldn't hex him, however much he might deserve it. He guessed that she wanted the role enough that she would forgive him if he seemed earnest about it.
And besides, he still wanted to know about the Hippogriff.
To be continued...
A/N: So, apologies for the small amount of Draco/Hermione interaction in this chapter. This wasn't my best writing, but as said previously, I needed some space to set up information for later on. Next chapter comes the start of the real action, so bear with me :)
Thanks so much for reading! Again, reviews (and criticisms) are always appreciated!