There Were Those Moments

September 20, 2011

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews and kind words! They fattened my heart! Haha. Hopefully I can finish the story by the end of this month. But if not, I do hope you continue reviewing and letting me know what you think. Once again, thank you. I really appreciate your thoughts and comments.

Chapter 4:

Draco lay on one of the white beds in the dimly lit area of the hospital wing. He stared up at the ceiling, a million thoughts running through his head and slightly numbing the physical pain he was going through at the moment. His bare torso was wrapped in bandages; the blood from the deep gashes on his chest seeping through. He was both nervous and scared. He knew he was running out of time, and being in the infirmary meant he needed to work twice as hard as soon as he got out. Damn that Potter. He probably wouldn't even have time to sleep anymore. And his studies—well, he'd have to deal with that much later. For now, he had two important tasks left. One, he wasn't even sure he could push through with doing.

When he heard the doors to the hospital wing open then close, he didn't bother to check who it was. It was probably just Madam Pomfrey returning to change his bandages, he thought. He felt whoever it was slowly approach his bed, and stopped about two beds away.

"Malfoy."

His heart rose to his throat, and from his peripheral vision he could make out the form of the bushy-haired witch. "Granger," he acknowledged, pausing to let his heart drop back. "Came to send Potter's apologies?" he tried to be sarcastic.

Hermione sighed. "No. Harry left with Professor Dumbledore this morning." Little by little, she neared his bed; stopping when she was a few feet away. "But I came here to send mine."

"Hm," Draco snorted, looking at her for a few seconds then looking up at the ceiling again.

Hermione stood awkwardly for a while, not really knowing what to do. She gazed at the floor with much intensity; her grip on her messenger bag indicating that she was not at all comfortable with the situation she brought upon herself.

But she couldn't help it. The moment she heard about the news, she had to go see the git. She wasn't sure why, but part of it was because she wanted to apologize for Harry. And part of it, well she wanted to see if he was doing okay.

"Are you just going to stand there, Granger?"

"Um," she stumbled. "I was going to give you this," she finally went to him and handed an old-looking book with a thick green cover outlined by gold trimmings. "It's a book about dragons. I picked it up from the library—in case you were bored."

Hermione held the book out to Draco and he stared at it for a while. Finally, with a small smirk, he took the book from her. "Thanks, Granger."

With a smile and a small nod, she left the hospital wing feeling lighter than usual.

…..

Dumbledore was dead.

Everyone knew it had been Snape who cast the Killing Curse, but Draco sat in his usual place against the porcelain sink inside Myrtle's bathroom crying hysterically as if he had been the guilty one. He felt like the guilty one. He never wanted to perform any of the tasks given to him. Sure, he was a git and a bully; occasionally, an arse. But he couldn't find himself to hurt anyone beyond the words he used and the pranks he pulled.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy had a heart; and he knew very well how to use it.

He had never felt so scared in his entire life. Both Hogwarts and the Ministry were now infiltrated by the Dark Side. He felt suffocated—the burden of his father's allegiance was like a million bludgers hitting him wildly everywhere. He was so tired of it all—of having to put on a mask; of having to pretend that he was doing what he was doing because he wanted to. In truth was, ever since that memorable night during his fourth year, while he paid a visit to the Malfoy Manor, Voldemort had arranged a meeting for his Deatheaters and it turned out that they had kidnapped a random muggleborn witch from Diagon Alley, who they raped and killed in the middle of the dining table right before his eyes.

His perspective about all the things he was taught as a little boy had changed that night—including seeing a muggleborn like Hermione Granger as someone beneath him. And from then on, he never likedGranger because she wasn't pureblood. He didn't like her because of who she associated herself with.

Sometimes he wished he had befriended her first, way before Pothead and Weaselbee had.

A couple of nights later, Draco found himself sitting in that familiar, deserted staircase he had shared twice with Hermione. As usual, he conjured his flying paper birds—finding a strange sense of comfort in them. They reminded him too much of her, and just as they were beginning to form a circular pattern in the air, each one suddenly caught fire and burned, turning into gray ashes that floated slowly and peacefully back to the ground. Draco was caught off-guard and looked up to see Hermione staring angrily at the fallen ashes. "What do you think you're doing, Granger?"

"I should be mad at you," she said in a stern voice. "But everything makes sense now. And I don't blame you."

Draco raised an eyebrow curiously. "I don't think I quite understand you, Granger."

"You did it to protect your parents. I would've done the same thing," she said softly, taking a seat beside him. "They're on a plane now, headed for Australia. I've obliviated their memories, so they won't ever have to know they had a daughter," she told him. "It's the only way I could protect them."

Draco said nothing. He stared hard at the cold floor where the ashes lay, before slowly placing an arm over her shoulder. "I'm sorry," was all he could muster.

Hermione nodded. "I leave later tonight. Ron and I are going to help Harry look for the remaining horcruxes."

"I know," Draco said, suddenly retracting his arm. His face unconsciously fell, and he looked straight ahead—his eyes burning holes into the stone wall.

"I just came to say goodbye," Hermione said.

The seconds ticked and the minutes passed. Both were silent, until Hermione stood and cleared her throat. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

When Draco didn't reply and refused to look at her, she started ascending the stairs to meet Ron and Harry in the Forbidden Forest. Draco listened to her footsteps. Just as she reached the top, he suddenly yelled. "Granger!"

Hermione looked down curiously.

"Take care of yourself."

She gave a small smile and nodded.

Not content with his words, Draco sighed and ran up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time. Hermione watched him as he did. As soon as he reached the top, he hesitated before taking hold of her shoulders and giving her a firm shake. "The Deatheaters will be everywhere searching for you. Be on guard at all times." Leaning close, he uttered softly, "Please don't get caught."

Hermione stared at him; her pale face hiding the little fear that was instilled. She placed her hands atop his, as they still gripped her shoulder. Giving them a reassuring squeeze, she nodded, turned around, and walked away quickly.