Dinner was the exact opposite of what breakfast had been like. Draco swore he regretted sending the house elves away at least once for every minute it took him to prepare a rather meager supper. But Hermione didn't mind. Instead of eating in one of the many drawing rooms, Malfoy set up a table in front of the foyer's fireplace. The fire cheerfully lit their meal as it grew darker outside.
And they talked. Hermione had doubted that she could ever hold anything bearing semblance to a friendly conversation with Draco Malfoy involved. But there he was, sitting across from her and encouraging it. No, he was practically forcing it. He maintained a thin smile and even refrained from all but the most tempting remarks.
Throughout the meal Hermione wasn't quite sure what to make of this abrupt and vaguely disturbing change in him. At first she only numbly acknowledged his attempts, unconsciously keeping to one-word answers. But he continued to press his sense of amiability, though she could tell he was getting more than a little amusement from her surprise over the change.
His bait that proved to be her foil was another missive complaint about the house elves, suitably phrased to ensure more participation in the conversation on her part. But even at the subject's worst he remained pleasant about it, something that she doubted he usually would've.
The prickling at the back of her neck and the uneasiness that came at Malfoy's forced smile was slowly laid to rest as nothing happen. He didn't suddenly snap at her increasingly careless words, and he didn't pull out his wand when she had her head turned. Malfoy had gone from being unrepentantly dour to something resembling an accommodating host. Perhaps it was just his manners kicking in; she wouldn't know anything about those.
And she enjoyed it. That realization came much more slowly than her other minor epiphanies of the day. The thought of a conversation like this with Draco Malfoy would have made her cringe before, but now she was finding that she grossly exaggerated to herself how horrible it would be. Forced manners or not, she couldn't bring herself to refuse his company.
She felt she at least owed him that much.
"What?" Malfoy feigned sputtering on whatever it was he was drinking. "Did I just hear the great Granger admit that she's 'not that smart?'"
As much as she was suddenly preoccupied by the uncomfortable territory the conversation had crossed into, Hermione had the distinct notion that Malfoy had used his comment in more than one way. Distractingly agreeable conversation or not, she had more than noticed his valiant efforts to cover up the fact that he'd barely eaten anything.
"I … didn't say that." Hermione said cautiously, trying to recall exactly what it was she had said.
"More or less," Malfoy leaned forward, giving her the impression that he was mimicking her. "But it couldn't ever be so. Does Granger, deep down inside, not consider herself …" he let out a staged gasp, "Smart?"
She laughed in spite of herself, which put Malfoy back in his seat and drew the first hint of an unpleasant expression he'd had all night.
"Oh, come on," she managed between laughing and around her inconvenient mouthful of food, "Everyone knows that."
"Everyone knows what?" Malfoy asked, his voice suddenly low.
Hermione frowned, taking time to swallow her food before continuing. After all, what did it matter now? "Everyone" was no doubt an overstatement, but surely it wasn't the secret that Malfoy made it sound like. And what did it really matter? He was Draco Malfoy, who wouldn't care anyway, and their last year at Hogwarts wasn't likely to ever happen.
The idea of telling him now wasn't unpleasant at all. In fact it actually felt sort of exciting. She wondered just to what depths she'd sunk that she would get a thrill with sharing anything with Draco Malfoy. But somehow the implications that he thought she was smart made her happy.
"That I'm not that smart." She replied, unable to keep a goofy smile off her face. Patheticism defined indeed.
Malfoy laughed in disbelief, as though he didn't trust himself to speak immediately.
"It's true," she insisted, feeling the unexplainable urge to convince him.
"That's not funny," Draco was shaking his head now, "Miss Know-It-All isn't that smart? Funny, that wasn't always the impression I got from … oh yeah. I got it from you. Maybe it was all those perfect grades, or the professors fawning over you, or maybe the fact that you were the all but designated Head Girl since the minute you set foot in the school. But you know what? I think it was all those insults to my intelligence that made me think you considered yourself … well, correct me if I'm wrong."
"I didn't say I was stupid," Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the slight wilt in politeness from the opposite end of the table, "I just said I wasn't the smartest."
"Wait, we are talking about you, right?" Malfoy inquired. "Humor me, then. Where did you get this crazy—and I mean crazy—notion? Sorry, it just seems kind of new to me, putting up with it for six years and all."
"Malfoy," she began patiently, surprised at her lack of resentment. Why was she even telling him this? "The reason I got all those good grades is because I worked for them. I studied for them. There were lots of others that barely ever bothered to study. What if I hadn't studied so hard? Does studying for some test I can't even remember now even matter anymore? Did it really make me any smarter? Did it really change things?"
He was staring at him, not even bothering to cover it up. "Honestly, Granger. I knew my cooking wasn't the greatest, but maybe we should have kept the little runts around here, because you obviously ate something bad."
"I would have imagined you jumping all over this." Hermione raised her eyebrows as she took another dignified bite, ironically eager to prove there was nothing wrong with his food.
"Yeah, I don't know what's wrong with me."
She caught his grimace as he pushed his plate away.
"I must be getting crazy from you hanging around for so long." He crossed his arms as he casually leaned back in his chair. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? I didn't think anything could make me want to puke more than what you were like before, but I'll have to take this new humble-you into consideration. For crying out loud Granger, the teachers practically threw outstanding OWLS at you!"
"Oh, that's rich," she threw down her napkin, almost delighted at the break in the politeness, "Coming from someone who lives in a place like this. Pureblood this, pureblood that. How much are you worth, Malfoy? Can you even count that high?"
"I imagine it won't bother you too much," Malfoy shot back, "But I don't think I can count on being in the family will much longer. I have you to thank for that."
"Why did you do it?" She shouted back, no longer caring that she was breaching into the touchiest topic on the list of officially banned subjects they'd unofficially agreed on. "Why did you kill him? Why did you help me?"
"I hated him." Malfoy was looking off into the fire, shaking his head slowly as though trying to get rid of the sneer that was curling at his lips. "I hated him …"
"That's not an excuse to kill someone." Hermione pursed her lips, finding that she was disappointed by his answer.
"Maybe not in the world you frolic in."
"That's not true and you know it. What happened—how did you do it?" she asked, stringing the questions she'd been dying to ask together in one breath.
Malfoy slowly faced her, his sneer not abating.
"What do you care? You got away."
"Did you use—an Unforgivable?" she asked as gently as she could while on the receiving end of his sneer.
Malfoy gave a short laugh. "There are other ways to kill someone."
"Did you or didn't you?"
"Yes!" he threw his hands up. "Will you ever learn? I'm surprised even Weasley was dumb enough to try, it must have been hell putting up with you."
"What did you do with the body? Why aren't they here already?" Hermione pushed on despite feeling her temper slip for the first time since breakfast. Given the circumstances, she should've felt a little proud for lasting this long.
"I hid it," Malfoy said contemptuously, "There's no way they'll ever find it. So, all they know right now is that Draco Malfoy, the kid that screwed up, is missing. He was on a paltry assignment, and the capable Death Eater sent to keep an eye on him disappeared too. For all they know either one of us ran off and the other is still chasing them without a chance to report yet. They won't be worried yet. Still …" He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I'm going to leave in the morning."
He stared back at her, as though checking to see if she'd changed her mind.
"No one expected you to find Sernab's Sorrow?" she asked carefully, one finger scratching at the tablecloth. She was eager to return to a safer topic now that she had gotten the best answer she was liable to pry from him.
"No, I told you that in the forest." He paused, seeming reluctant about something. "I suppose you read all about it."
"The Stone?"
"Yes."
"Well," Hermione shrugged uneasily, "That's how I found out about it. Why do you want to know?"
"I don't know much about it, just what I was told."
"But you were the one that was sent to find—"
"What does that matter?" Malfoy snapped. Slowly he became aware of himself, and he relaxed his shoulders and leaned back into his chair. "You know about it, so tell me. Tell me like it's a report—or something. Like you would have. For old times' sake." He smirked.
Hermione frowned, not completely trusting Malfoy's semi serious expression. "For old times' sake," she muttered under her breath before unconsciously composing herself, "All that's really known about Sernab's Sorrow, also called just the Stone, is clouded due to the stories surrounding it. A lot of them undoubtedly amount to fables, but Sernab was a notable wizard who lived in the fifteenth century. He is known for making other powerful magical items as well, though the Stone is best known. Before he died he made a place for the Stone to rest, somehow meant also protect it."
"That's wonderful," Malfoy drawled in a way that fervently reminded her of Snape, "If we ever get tested on it I'll be sure to thank you. But what's it supposed to do?"
Hermione passionately scowled at Malfoy. He was the one who had asked for it like a report. "The Stone is said to know a person's deepest sorrow when worn. If carried by that person, it supposedly guides them towards fixing that sorrow. Kind of like a perpetual Felix Felicis potion, granting small bits of luck until their sorrow is ended."
"Then what?"
"How am I supposed to know?" she retorted.
"Well, I guess that protection for the stone was worthless. It was probably pilfered back during the First War. Who knows, maybe that's why things—turned out the way they did."
Hermione took a long measuring look at him as he spoke. He was gazing off towards the ceiling as though he was far away at the other end, looking back at himself. She deliberated carefully on what Malfoy thought had happened, what had actually happened, and what she should do about the difference.
"What would it have done for you?"
Hermione was shook out of her thoughts, for a moment losing what she had been thinking about. When she regained her wits, her first thought was genuine gratitude that Malfoy hadn't looked back at her. It wouldn't have been hard for him to notice that she had been all but staring at him while she thought. But for a moment his unnerving question bounced around her mind before she caught up with it. At first she took its meaning to be something crude before realizing that the real meaning behind it was difficult to answer.
"What do you mean?" she asked, playing it safe and stalling for time.
"What would the Stone have done if you had it? What sorrow would it have found?" He was looking at her now, his eyes still distant, but uncomfortably close all the same.
She felt her shoulders pull in on themselves, as he made no move to advert his unsettling stare.
What does he want to hear?
"Sounds like a familiar question," she mumbled sarcastically, "The War … if I had the Stone it would work against Voldemort."
She was watching carefully, almost feverishly, for Malfoy's reaction to her using the Dark Lord's name. But she was disappointed. A cloud seemed to pass over his face and his eyes flashed almost angrily off to the side before she had finished.