Harry hated being the bearer of bad news. It was never something he was good at. But he believed he should be the one to tell him the verdict instead of McGonagall.
He found himself pacing back and forth in front of their dorm room. This was all too much. It reminded him of how he felt when Ron had left their tent, during the war.
Listening to Hermione complain about his best mate to him was all too difficult. He loved them both equally, and during the periods they fought, he always felt a sense of unease lingering on him and felt like he could finally breathe again when they sorted things out between them.
Their early arguments were always about silly little things. Hermione would defend her point and tell him why he was wrong, and he would never accept, even though he was wrong almost ninety-five percent of the time.
But now it was different.
Their arguments involved bickering, tension, yelling, and screaming, but violence was never among them.
He somewhat understood him in his decision of not wanting to help Malfoy when he was kidnapped, even though he personally would never leave someone to die. Hence, saving him from the apocalyptic fiendfyre had proven that.
But he only knew Malfoy from when he was eleven, but the Weasley family feud against them had been going on for centuries, and that's why he was able to empathize with his decision.
But he couldn't unsee the way he had been looking, speaking, arguing with her was vile for the past month. Sometimes he became unrecognizable, and Harry wasn't sure if what enraged him like this was only about her new sudden empathy against Malfoy or if the war was finally catching up to him.
Harry had not seen him cry all summer. Ron had forbidden himself to feel, and Harry knew seeing Molly like that broke him. No matter how much he complained about his mother's short temper and obsessions, he knew that Ron missed those things about her.
He wasn't trying to excuse his behavior, but it felt hard not to. He even felt bad about ratting him out to McGonagall. And he hated himself for it, but then the bruises he had seen earlier flashed before his eyes, and he felt his sorrow rapidly turn into aggression.
Without thinking another moment, he opened the door and walked in. Ron sat against his cupboard with elbows on his knees and hands covering his eyes. He looked up when Harry shut the door behind him.
"Harry, I'm so," he got on his feet, "sorry," and walked towards him to hug him, but Harry took a step back, shooting a defensive hand for him to keep his distance. Ron stared at him for a moment, seeing the burning heat in his eyes, and realized that he had lost him too.
He walked back slowly, sat on his bed, and looked out the window. This was it for him. He lost the person he held above everyone else. He lost his brother.
Harry could feel Ron's pain and seeing him like this hurt. He slowly walked to his bed and sat next to him. He hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder and taking him into a hug.
He knew this was wrong, but people always did wrong things for the sake of family. Ron's arms were stiff, taken back by his sudden embrace. For quite a while, his arms stood at his sides before he hugged him back and sobbed against his shoulder.
Neither said anything for a while until his sobs commenced to stifle. Harry slowly broke away from the hug, and so did Ron, but still kept his hand on his shoulder, and Accio'd a napkin from the bathroom.
Ron wiped his eyes and his stained cheeks with it and crumpled it in his hand, tossing it toward the corner of the room. It was a typical Ron thing to do, which earned him a look from Harry.
"What?" Ron said, in an almost delirious matter.
"You know what," his tone was serious, but he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his lips, nor did Ron.
They engaged in a short-lived laughing session until Ron's face dropped again, "Harry, before you say anything. I need to tell you this, "he shifted his stance to face him fully, "I'm really sorry for what I did to her, and I will never forgive myself for it. After that night at the lake, I– I felt blinded. I couldn't believe how willing she was to throw herself in danger for someone who had been nothing but cruel to us. My hatred towards him slowly attached itself to her as well, and I saw them as one. I still don't think he deserves any form of compassion coming from her."
Harry wanted to interrupt him, but he stood silent.
Ron caught his breath, then continued, "I still see his death eater robes on him. Whenever I see him, I get a flashback of all the things he's done to us, and I want to hurt him. I admit that I don't have the same amount of quota of forgiveness as the two of you, and that certainly isn't going to change for him. His kind is why Fred is dead," another tear formed on the corner of his eye, "His kind cursed Charlie, and now we can't see him anymore," a rush of anger poured out of him, "Mum is like this because of them. He did this. That fucking—"
"Ron, don't go down that path," Harry cut him off in a defensive tone, removing his hand from his shoulder.
Ron looked at the ground, feeling frustrated, and rage-filled inside of him, thinking about those fucking Death Eaters that ruined his family.
"The point here is not the past. It's now. I understand you hate them, but Mione has nothing to do with this. You can't excuse yourself for your faults by blaming her character. You've known her for half your life and know she'd never leave anyone to die, Malfoy included. You know that she can always set what's right and her feelings apart. And even if you blame her character and see them as 'one' for whatever reason, you still have no right to hurt her like that. Do you know how it felt to look at her bruises, knowing that my best friend had caused them?"
Ron shook his head, "I'm—I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry realized how much he had been fidgeting his legs and felt his heart compress. He really hated this. He placed his hands on his thighs in an attempt to cool himself down, but it didn't work, "It's too late," he said, his tone barely a whisper. Ron tilted his head to look at him, his eyes widening in terror.
"You've been expelled, Ron," Harry's eyes were still cast on the floor, unable to look at him. Ron wasn't really surprised. He knew this was coming. He even expected worse. But he also did think of the possibility of her choosing not to reveal who had abused her, but even if she did, it wouldn't sit right with him. He would've gone and reported himself to McGonagall. It was the least he could do.
It was somewhat relieving to Ron. He was at least suffering the consequences of his actions, "That's good," Harry shot him a surprised look.
"What are you trying to say?" The brunette asked.
"It's good. I don't think she wants to see me again," Ron admitted, his shoulders falling.
"How is any of this good, Ron? You're not going to be able to pass your NEWTS, and what about our plan to become Aurors? It's all fucked up now," Harry returned his gaze to the floor.
"We both know I wouldn't pass them anyway, at least not without her help. Besides, you know I didn't even want to return this year, nor did you. We only came because of her."
Harry fell silent because he agreed with him. Ron never studied anyway and always passed, thanks to extracurriculars or just with one point above the pass mark. He also knew that using his "Ron Weasley" card would immediately open the door for Auror training, same as for him.
Ron placed his hands on his thighs, "I should start packing, then," he rose to his feet, and fetched his wand from his nightstand.
Harry watched as he summoned all his belongings and placed them neatly in his trunk with the aid of his wand. He was done in less than five minutes, and he felt like everything was going down so quickly.
Just yesterday, Harry was riding horses with Theo, and now Ron was kicked out of Hogwarts, and Hermione was in the infirmary with Malfoy.
He was used to the constant sudden changes that reoccurred in his life, but some part of him had hoped that with the end of the war, that aspect of his life would also come to an end.
Once Ron wore his jacket and closed up his trunk, they left the room, and Harry accompanied him until the nearest apparition point.
"What about Ginny? You're not going to tell her goodbye?"
"I don't think I can face her either. Can you please tell her that I'll be fine and that I'm really sorry for what I've done," Ron watched as his features stiffened at the mention of his sister.
"What is it?" Ron asked. Harry cast his eyes on his feet, hands in his hoodie pockets, "We…broke up."
Ron raised his eyebrows, "Oh."
"Yeah…"
"Then why were you so…happy this morning?" Harry blinked once. Blinked twice, then hid his face from him again.
"I wasn't."
"Harry," Ron said in his 'stop with the bullshit' look and voice.
He shrugged, "I don't know." Ron knew he wasn't telling him the truth, but he didn't think he deserved to push him after putting him in a tight spot between him and Hermione.
"Okay," the ginger pressed his lips in a flat line, "Well—"
"What about Parkinson?" Harry cut him off again.
"I don't think she'll care," sorrow had now encapsulated his features, "We had a pretty tense argument two days ago, and I think she broke up with me."
"You think?" Harry shot him a quizzical brow.
"She didn't say it directly. But the things she said weren't so far off from it," he shrugged, feeling more tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He felt sick of crying. His eyes burned so hard that even looking around hurt, and the scorching sunlight wasn't helping him either. It was weird for it to be this hot in the last days of October.
"Hmm.."
"Well, I'll better—"
Harry interrupted him again. He was in search of some kind of closure for the moment. He knew that he wasn't going to break off his friendship with him, but he was certain that he would keep his distance from him for a while.
"What are you going to do?" He didn't think returning to the Burrow was the best choice for him.
Ron thought about it for a moment, "I think I'll go stay with George for a while and help him in the shop… For the rest, I don't know. I think I need time to think, and maybe being away will be good for me," his tone was surprisingly optimistic.
"I think so too," Harry nodded and gave him an encouraging hug, hoping that he would be able to work on the unhealed scars he had been avoiding for a long time now, even some dated before the war. Ron seemed to understand the meaning of his hug, "Thank you, Harry. I know I don't deserve this."
Harry didn't say anything back, and with a final glance, Ron disappeared.
He stood there for a while, looking at the empty spot.
As he walked back into the castle, he noticed Theo with his arms crossed, leaning against a column. When he closed the distance, Theo pulled him into a hug, and they stood silently for a while.
"Thank you," Harry half smiled when they pulled out from each other's embrace.
…
Hermione ended up going to the astronomy tower to get some air. She always loved the view there, which reminded her of sixth year. She would come here whenever things would get too much. That year she always felt in between her teenage years and going into adulthood. Yes, you're not considered an adult when you're sixteen, but the war forced them to be.
She felt like a big chunk of her life was taken away from her, even if it was only three years. Well, technically, two, according to the ministry, since it took them almost a whole goddamn year to believe that that bastard was back.
She had lost those years. But she was also losing them right now. The days were dreadful, and she didn't know who she was without always having or creating a task to complete. There was nothing now. Nothing that stressed her out. No running away from snatchers, horcrux hunting, researching endlessly…
There was peace.
Something she'd never had before, and she didn't know how to act accordingly. Before, she prayed for days to be longer or to have more time to do certain things, but now she has plenty of it and doesn't use it one bit.
Yes, she knew that right now, the only thing expected from her was to go to class, get the assignments done, and get her NEWTS.
That's it.
Nothing else she has to do.
But that was never enough for her.
She liked having a million other responsibilities or striving for other goals on top of school. Accomplishing only one thing was never enough, yet now she was doing less than the bare minimum for her courses.
But she knows that. She's been saying it to herself over and over, hoping for the fire of wanting to work for a cause or anything really to start boiling inside of her, yet it only seemed to freeze everything and make her resentful in taking action.
Maybe it wasn't the war? Maybe her brain was fried beyond an acceptable measure, and now she needed to take advantage of the peace.
It could also be her shadow self finally catching up to her. Maybe all these years, her ego had rejected the light of its consciousness and pushed all her troubled feelings back into the shadow of her mind. A place where she's never gone searching but was still always there. Her shadow self was always a part she carried with her. Due to trying to keep Harry alive for half her life and fighting the dark side, she had to ignore her feelings and pause on her own self-healing and learning journey, but now that her life wasn't in constant fight or flight mode, everything she had shoved in her shadow self was catching up to her and trying to get her attention any chance it got, to bring back whatever she hid in the confines of her mind into the light of her consciousness.
Even though this notion did make sense in her mind, and she finally felt like those lost puzzles were fitting right where they belonged, she couldn't help the fact that she might also be overanalyzing her situation, and it wasn't that deep.
Maybe she just needed to relax?
No, she couldn't. She knew she would lose her mind and throw herself off this bridge instead of relaxing.
Relaxing scared her, and she didn't know why.
Yet she couldn't just dismiss that it had actually been rather nice to lay on the hospital bed and do absolutely nothing. Last night was especially peaceful, and it wasn't as scary as her anxiety made it to be.
It was rather nice talking with him and having his hand on her thigh. She flushed just thinking about it. It was such a small movement, yet it managed to affect her everywhere. Was it bad that she wanted him to touch her thigh again, maybe other parts as well? She bit her lower lip thinking about it, then quickly shook her head, envisioning a young Draco calling her filthy in the most venous tone she had ever heard.
If someone told her that she would feel like this right after he called her filthy in second year, she would drag them to Mme. Pomfrey, or even find a way to take them to St. Mungos for a psychiatric evaluation.
But then she remembered what she had told him last night. Why did she keep recalling his stinging words when she declared her forgiveness for his past actions?
Hermione was always true to her word, and that was something she knew would never change about her, nor would she give it up no matter how fucked up in the head she got.
She closed her eyes, and instead of occluding the memories away, she envisioned them going away in the form of a bright white light, forming little circles close to her witch eye and flying away.
None of that worked; of course, she still remembered everything. We were granted the ability to store information in our minds and remember the good times, but of course, the universe had to install a balance and also make us remember the bad.
But she wholeheartedly believed that the scale was rigged, and the recollection of the bad things was heavier on the scale. That explains why our concentration on the negatives is higher and why everything that we consider as bad and harmful has a stronger effect on us.
But one thing she knew about the balance was that if he put effort into placing small little things on the good side and if, for her part, she worked on herself and healed some of the past traumas he had caused her, then the balance could restore itself, weighing the same on both sides, maybe they could even be the ones to rig the system this time and make the good side of the balance heavier, but let's not get ahead ourselves just yet and stick with the first goal for now.
Hermione might be many things, but she was not blind to the fact that he was trying to be better, and even already was in some aspects. She couldn't even recognize him at certain times, to how different he carried himself and acted towards her.
She had had enough air for today and started feeling chilly, so she returned to the infirmary. Right upon her arrival, she spotted red hair, and her heart skipped a beat before she realized it was Ginny.
She and Malfoy were…talking? Talking in a civilized manner too?
What the fuck.
Malfoy's gaze landed upon hers, which made Ginny turn around. The ginger jumped off her bed and quickly walked over to her. She gave her an apologetic look, wrapping her warm frame around her. Hermione felt stiff in her embrace before relaxing into her and hugging her back, "I'm so sorry," her voice was full of devastation, "If I had found out before he left, I would've–"
Hermione pulled away, "Left?" she asked, confused.
Ginny looked down at her feet for a moment, then met her eyes again. Hermione watched as her eyes grew teary, "He's been expelled. He left half an hour ago."
The brunette's lips fell into an 'o' shape, and she stared at her in disbelief. She didn't want this for him, even if she should've felt relieved that he wouldn't be around terrorizing her anymore.
Her eyes lingered on Malfoy, who was trying to hide how content he was with the news and shrugged at her. She gave him a look, "No. I–" she slowly sat back at the edge of the bed, and Ginny sat next to her, "I didn't want this for him. What's he going to do with his NEWTS? Who else knows?"
"Hermi… It's not your problem," Ginny said, but the brunette could feel the hurt in her voice.
"It is," her tone was firm, "It's because of me."
"Are you being serious?" Malfoy chimed in, looking at her in disbelief, "You didn't do anything wrong," Ginny's eyes kept going back and forth between the pair. She didn't know how to feel about his sudden defensiveness for her. It was beyond weird. "He's the one who attacked you," his tone was venomous, and the ginger's heart sank at the second half of his sentence.
Attacked.
How could her brother do this to her? She had seen him lash out a billion times, break things, throw things, but physically hurting someone, never. She wondered what brought him to such a low point. She had noticed him acting a bit strange, but she thought it was just another phase of jealousy or passion about something and had ignored the signs. Ginny never knew that he held such a high level of anger within him or how ugly things could get.
Hermione's emotions stirred between feeling guilty and appreciative of his words, "I–":
"There's no, I. He fucked up, and now he's paying for it. It's that simple," the realness of his voice drummed in her ears. He said it as if he'd fucked up countless times, that overcomplicating the consequences was pointless to him.
She wondered in what other areas in his life he had fucked up, excluding what she already knew. But quickly shook away the thought since wondering was pointless when it came to him since he was as closed as a book could get.
Ginny gave a slight nod, indicating that she agreed with his statement, "Please, don't blame yourself," her eyes traversed over the bruises on her arm, then quickly looked away when Hermione noticed where she was looking.
She didn't say anything in return and simply lay on her back. Ginny placed a hand on the brunette's lower leg, and Draco shook his head. Now, it was his turn to get a breath of fresh air. He slowly got up, smoothing the wrinkles on his pants, and left before shooting her a quick glance. Once he left the infirmary, she said, "You need to talk to Harry or McGonagall and make him come back. He can't be expelled his last year."
Ginny looked up, blinking away her tears, "I don't think there's anything we can do."
"I don't believe that. Maybe If I tell McGonagall that I forgave him, she would let him come back."
"No," Ginny's tone was firm, "I know he's my brother, but you're my sister, and I won't let you do anything after all the damage he caused you. You know he hated school anyway and secretly wanted to work with George at the shop." Hermione sighed, bringing her hands to cover her face, and shook her head.
"I feel so guilty."
"He should be the one feeling guilty, not you," Hermione couldn't even imagine how hard it must be to say these things about her own brother. Her blood.
They fell into a companionable silence until Ginny's eyes lingered on the clock, "Shit," she said getting up. Hermione, who was in a meditative stance, tilted forward, placing her weight on her elbows, "What?"
"I have a quidditch game now. I have to go," Hermione looked at the clock. It was 14:30 in the afternoon, "Shit," Ginny gave her an odd look.
This was the second therapy session she had skipped. Missing one was fine, but not attending two probably made him feel like a fool. She wondered if he would do the same to her and not attend the sessions at all next week or maybe just never come back. She knew that he already despised the sessions, but now he had a valid excuse not to attend again, or at least for a while. Because how would he know that she would show up when she had stood him up twice?
Or maybe he had skipped the session today to get even with her and would continue attending the rest. But she didn't know what type of person he was when getting even with people. Was he the type to mirror his opponent and mirror the same amount back, or was he the type to take a step further and mirror a higher amount back?
Maybe for his ego to be satisfied, he would skip the next five sessions as payback for the one or two times she didn't show up, or maybe more. Maybe not attend for the next two months?
All of this was so infuriating, and she couldn't hope for the best because she didn't know what to base her hope on. She barely knew anything about him, and she hated that.
"What? You have a game to catch, too?" she asked, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginny bent down, giving her a light hug, "I'll come by again later," and left.
Honestly, Hermione didn't really want anyone to visit her. She hated being a 'patient' and everyone giving her pitiful glares. The only person that made her feel somewhat normal was Theo. She wondered why he had kept smiling in the morning and thought it was a bit odd, but now she was grateful since he was the only one she knew who could bring humor out of traumatic events.
As she watched the clock tick away, she thought of letting go of her worries and focusing on the moment. His touch. Their talks. Their laughs. Their hardships.
Maybe letting go until they were dismissed from the infirmary would be good for her. For once, stop thinking about how she made others feel, or what they might be feeling towards her and have a weekend for herself.
To be selfish for two days, and then she would go back to her old overthinking, depressed, self-sabotaging self.
Two days didn't seem so much when she placed it against the rest of her life.
Two little days were nothing if you looked at it from the big picture.
She heard distant footsteps echoing around the infirmary, and could tell it was him from the pace he was approaching her.
He walked past her, hands in pockets, hair slightly damp from the rain. Her eyes were fixed on him as he grasped the hem of his sweater, pulling it up in one smooth motion. As he pulled the fabric over his head, his t-shirt lifted up as well, exposing a sliver of his abdomen. She couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled underneath, toned and taut. His skin was pale, unmarred by any blemish or imperfection.
As his t-shirt lifted up higher, something caught her eye. He had a faint, jagged line of a scar that ran across the left side of his stomach. It was only a split-second glimpse before he pulled his shirt down, but it was enough to make her want to know all about it. Had he gotten in during a duel? Or maybe it had been a close call during one of his missions as a Death Eater?
Draco seemed to sense her gaze lingering on him and looked up, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before lying on his bed. She averted her eyes away from him the second he had caught her staring and brought a hand to her slightly flushed cheek.
Two days.