4. Someday
How the hell did we wind up like this
Why weren't we able
To see the signs that we missed
And try and turn the tables?
Hermione and Draco stood a few feet apart and stared at each other. This was a dilemma for both of them.
Hermione had entered Draco's home along with the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, who were planning to infiltrate the underground labyrinth they now knew was being used by Voldemort as a stronghold.
Hermione had secret misgivings about the operation from the start, but she was as determined to fight evil as the rest just as long as she didn't see him.
Flashback
Hermione was an eager first year, making her way through the maze of Hogwart's library for the first time. Her eyes sparkled brightly with excitement and anticipation. The next seven years would be glorious, she knew. Then, at what seemed like the very end of the maze, she stumbled across him. They had been made acquainted on the very first day, and she had known then that she would hate him, because he so obviously hated her.
He turned his blond head towards her with a blank look nothing like the sneer she had previously seen him with.
"Hello," he said dully. She simply cast him an icy glare and turned to weave her way back into the maze of winding bookshelves. "Don't go," he said to her retreating back. It was a simple statement, but it held so much potential. Was it an order? Was it a plea? Should she comply?
Her sense of curiosity forced her to turn back.
"Why?" she asked simply, but a little too vehemently. He seemed to take offence, because his mood changed instantly.
"Oh, you do what you want, Mudblood, just don't interrupt me," Draco snapped back with his cold sneer. This was the Malfoy she had known so far. Now she could defy him and remain in that cosy little nook of the library. She sat down beside him.
"What are these?" she asked, gesturing at the pile of books in front of him.
"They're history books," he replied, eyeing her suspiciously.
"A Magical History of Genealogy," Hermione read aloud, lifting the nearest book. "I'd have thought you were fairly secure with your family line," she added, a little scornfully. Draco shot her a dark glance.
"I'd have thought you were fairly insecure with yours," he shot back. Hermione shrugged ever so slightly. It had been the sort of shot she was expecting nothing too hurtful. "Here, you might prefer this." He handed her a small, thin book from a pile next to him.
"Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meanings."
Hermione weighed the book in her hand. It was very light and very small. She did not trust small books either the topic was too unimportant to warrant a large book or the research had been very shoddy and the book wasn't worth the paper it was written on.
"Wouldn't you like to know how you can have magic when others don't?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. He could see her judging the book by its cover, she realised, and she resolved to read the book, just to prove him wrong.
"Thank you," she replied after a short pause. He was giving her a very strange look it was a look that, years later, she would try to call to memory in a hope of analysing and understanding it, without success.
"You're welcome." Then he turned back to his book, leaving her to dumbly follow his example.
They sat there for over an hour, devouring their respective books. Then, abruptly, Draco slammed his book shut. Perhaps he had not found what he was looking for, Hermione would later ponder. He stood, pushing his chair back, and scooped the remaining books up from the table and into his arms.
"Where ..." The question died on Hermione's lips. Looking up at him she suddenly realised the strangeness of the situation, suddenly remembered the enmity that lay between them. She shouldn't want him to stay.
"You may keep the book," Draco responded in a low whisper.
"Oh, no," Hermione argued back. The book had been riveting it gave her thrills to think about its meaning laden words which she had never even imagined before. But she would not accept it from Malfoy. "It's yours, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't have a library stamp on it, so it must be."
"It's yours." And then he swept away.
She had come back to that spot the next evening, the completed book in hand, ready to be returned. Draco had not been there. She had tried again, several times more times than she could quite allow herself to believe but he was never there again.
She got very, very angry with him after the first week, and hated him more than ever. Her hostility seemed appropriate, considering his treatment of her in public, and no one would ever question it. She was a Gryffindor, he a Slytherin. That was how things were meant to be between them. But deep down she knew that it was the secret feeling of rejection that was angering her the most.
However, after a month or so, Hermione began to receive small books as gifts under her pillow. She had never mentioned it to anyone, for she had always known they were from him, although the infrequent notes were never signed.
Whilst the regularity of the books was erratic, the stream never stopped entirely, no matter how hostile the feelings between them became.
They would never, ever speak of their meeting in the library, although Hermione had remembered it throughout her seven years at Hogwarts. Even in her final years she had sometimes caught sight of him at other tables in the library, or down an aisle flipping confidently through the books in search of something, and been reminded of it.
Sometimes he had even seen her, and she thought that at those moments she saw a look of recollection on his face. But, although she always chose to sit in what she thought of as 'their little nook' whenever she could, he never came again.
Now they were standing face to face, on opposite sides. They had fought before, but never like this. This was different. This was serious. They were no longer in school. They were adults, who had each chosen their own path, fully aware that it was diametrically opposed to the other's.
However, just two days before, Hermione had received a book. A small, leather bound book with gold edged pages that twinkled in the fire light. With it had been a message 'For Hermione, who I pray now understands what is different about her, and what makes her so magical.'
The note was not signed. The book was 'Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meaning.' There was no doubting who it was from, and Hermione wondered why it had come now.
There was also no escaping the affectionate, yet strained, tone of the note. Hermione had done her best to ignore it, locking both the note and the book far from prying eyes, but hadn't quite been able to erase it from her mind. She had learned not to judge a book by its cover, and prayed that she wouldn't have to meet Draco Malfoy and prove it to him.
I wish you'd unclench your fists
Lately there's been too much of this
But don't think it's too late
Hermione's knuckles were almost white her right hand clutched her wand frantically, her left clutched the air.
"Hermione," Draco let out hoarsely.
"No, Draco."
"Hermione," he whispered again, taking a few more steps towards her.
"Back off!" she ordered in a high pitched voice, brandishing her wand.
"I knew you were coming. I knew you would be the one to stray into the living quarters to round up anyone who was hiding." Draco continued to advance upon her, his arms stretched out, his hands completely empty. "We've been fighting for so long, you and I. I approached, you retreated." He gave a strained laugh, as if mocking his own foolishness. "You never replied to me, you know. All those gifts, all those notes. Not a single reply, but I knew you kept them." He paused and looked at her piercingly again. "How long can we go on fighting, Hermione?"
"This isn't just about you and me!" she exclaimed tensely. "There are hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. There are lives at stake right here, now, in this house. If I retreat now it is because you bar my way."
"I want you to know that I am blameless in all of this. Anything you see or find in this house is beyond my control." Draco stopped his advance, standing below a flickering chandelier that threw a sparkling silhouette of him onto the floor at Hermione's feet.
"Draco," she whispered back at him. There was something so inviting about him at that moment. He was not how she had expected, and yet he was completely how she had imagined. She wanted to go to him, and her knees bent instinctively, as if they were going to carry her towards him without her consent. She fought the urge she was here for different reasons. They were on different paths.
"Hermione, you will find a key in my bedroom, just along the hall here. You will need it. Take it and find the others," he ordered in a stronger voice. He paused, and a look of dejection and pity flickered across his face. "I will get out of your way," he sighed. "But not forever."
With those final words he whipped a wand from his pocket with a speed that scared Hermione. If he were about to attack then she would never respond in time to save herself.
Draco did not attack. Instead he Apparated. He was gone. The corridor was empty, except for the flickering light of the chandelier that still seemed to play around the space that he had just vacated.
Nothing's wrong, just as long as you know that, someday I will
Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright but not right now
I know you're wondering when
You're the only one that knows that
Draco had known that she was coming, that they were all coming. His father's desire for power, for glory, had led him to cast aside all caution and allow Voldemort to take over almost the entire mansion. He also knew that he couldn't let himself be tarred with that brush, no matter how prejudiced they were against him.
He waited in his doorway for her to come. Somehow he knew that it would be Hermione who ventured into the top floor of the manor in search of him, whilst the rest were busy downstairs.
Although she had never mentioned his gifts, or his notes, she had never returned them, and he suspected that she had kept them and read them, over and over again. She had, at least, never openly rejected him, and although she seemed to despise him, he suspected that it was more to do with proud anger at his aloof behaviour than his potential connections to the Death Eaters.
Ever since that evening in the library, so many years ago, he had watched her with curiosity, and then increasing affection, although he had never been able to let her know it.
Well, I'd hoped that since we're here anyway
That we could end up saying Things we've always needed to say
So we could end up staying
Flashback
The constant attention that Crabbe and Goyle required from him was getting wearing already. Draco had slipped away after dinner and made his way to the library. He had brought with him a few books that his mother had bought him before he had left London. He hadn't really understood why they needed to be hidden from his father, but his mother had insisted and he had complied. The books seemed interesting, and he didn't want his father to destroy them like he had destroyed many of his mother's books when Draco was young.
Now he needed to find somewhere quiet, somewhere secluded enough that no Slytherin would ever have the tenacity to come and bother him. He was already hating the Slytherins' obsession with him. They followed him around as if he were ... Harry Potter. He shuddered at that thought, and continued his way through the bookshelves with renewed zeal.
Eventually he found what he was looking for and settled down at the small wooden desk. He had only been there a few minutes when he heard someone flicking through the books close by.
'Gah! Why did I choose somewhere so easy to find?' he cursed himself, although he knew that the spot he had chosen was the most secluded in the library.
Then she had come round the corner. In hindsight, there was no one else it could have been no one else with the persistence and curiosity to make their way to this spot but at that moment he had been shocked. He turned his blond head towards her with a blank look. He didn't know quite what to do next. This was awkward they had already been forced to stake out a hostile relationship by an uncomfortably public first meeting.
"Hello," he said dully. She simply cast him an icy glare and turned to weave her way back into the maze of winding bookshelves. "Don't go." The words slipped out before he could stop them. What was he saying? He had come here to be alone!
"Why?" she asked simply, but a little too vehemently. He felt his blood begin to boil, but held it closely in check.
"Oh, you do what you want, Mudblood, just don't interrupt me," he snapped back with a cold sneer that had instantly leapt onto his face. How could he have humiliated himself by asking her to stay? She would be bound to tell everyone that he had begged for her company or something ridiculous like that! He pulled his cold veneer back into place.
However, a perverse look glimmered on her face, and she moved towards him. Great! Now she was going to defy him and remain in his cosy little nook of the library. She sat down beside him.
"What are these?" she asked, gesturing at the pile of books in front of him.
"They're history books," he replied, eyeing her suspiciously. What sort of strange creature was she? Rejecting him when he wanted her to stay, hounding him when he told her to go so contrary.
"A Magical History of Genealogy," Hermione read aloud, lifting the nearest book. "I'd have thought you were fairly secure with your family line," she added, a little scornfully. Draco shot her a dark glance. What would she know about pureblood life and the insecurities it bred?
"I'd have thought you were fairly insecure with yours," he shot back. Hermione shrugged ever so slightly. It had obviously been the sort of cheap shot she was expecting from him, and his pride flared a little. How dare she be so indifferent to him! He swallowed his anger. He'd just have to show her he wasn't what she thought.
"Here, you might prefer this." He handed her a small, thin book from a pile next to him.
"Magical Blood Its Origins, Its Meanings."
Draco watched her weigh the book in her hand. True, it was very light and very small, but Draco had already read that book, and he knew it to be riveting. She would like it if she bothered to try.
"Wouldn't you like to know how you can have magic when others don't?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow. He wondered if she would be foolish enough to judge the book by its cover, and, if she did, perhaps she was impulsive enough to do that in every sphere of her life. That would be a disappointment.
"Thank you," she replied after a short pause. He could see her eyeing him a little suspiciously and realised that his mask must have slipped, and he must be giving her a very enigmatic look. He wiped his emotions from his face.
"You're welcome." Then he turned back to his book, and thankfully she followed his example. If she was going to insist on being there, the best he could hope for was for her to be quiet.
They sat there for over an hour, devouring their respective books. Then, abruptly, Draco slammed his book shut. His book was telling him things that he didn't want to hear. He stood, pushing his chair back, and scooped the remaining books up from the table and into his arms.
"Where..." The question died on Hermione's lips. Just as he hadn't wanted her to think he wanted her to stay, she was obviously feeling the same way.
"You may keep the book," he responded in a low whisper.
"Oh no," Hermione argued back. She was going to argue with him now and refuse his generosity. "It's yours, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't have a library stamp on it, so it must be."
"It's yours," he replied with a curled lip, and then he swept away before she could argue.
Draco could never bring himself to return to that nook in the library, although it meant that the Slytherins found him more often than he would like. Occasionally he spotted Hermione in the library, making her way toward the back, and he guessed that she might be going there. However, he could never quite bring himself to follow her.
Their relationship in public grew more and more strained. She appeared to despise him, and Draco often wondered if that was true. Her hostility did seem appropriate considering his treatment of her in public, and no one would ever question it. She was a Gryffindor, he a Slytherin. That was how things were meant to be between them. He knew that.
Eventually, he thought of a way to find out precisely how she felt toward him. One evening he called a house elf to his quarters and handed it a carefully selected book.
"Take this to Gryffindor Tower. It belongs to a girl called Hermione Granger. Leave it under her pillow."
The house elf did not demand an explanation. A week or so later, he spotted her reading the book at the breakfast table. Although she never mentioned it, she had clearly accepted the gift, and a few weeks later he called the house elf back again to take yet another book. This time he enclosed a small note.
He continued sending her books throughout their time at Hogwarts. Often they were books that he loved, and he was forced to surreptitiously purchase additional copies for the purpose. Although he knew the regularity of the books was erratic, the stream never stopped entirely, no matter how hostile the feelings between them became.
She never rejected them, but he always knew that things would never be peaceful between them.
Now there was this.
Now the story's played out like this
Just like a paperback novel
Let's rewrite an ending that fits
Instead of a Hollywood horror
She wasn't going to lower her wand. Draco could see that, even as he continued to advance upon her. He wondered how she was feeling at that moment he could see the conflicted look in her eyes and knew that she must be thinking the same things as he. However, her sense of duty was stronger than her curiosity. She had sworn to come into this house and help the Order fight against the Death Eaters. Even if her instincts told her he might be trustworthy, he had never done anything to prove it to her.
"Hermione," Draco let out hoarsely. She looked so furious, so determined. She scared him when she looked like that. She looked like she might be capable of anything.
"No, Draco."
"Hermione," he whispered again, taking a few more steps towards her.
"Back off!" she ordered in a high pitched voice.
"I knew you were coming. I knew you would be the one to stray into the living quarters to round up anyone who was hiding." Draco continued to advance upon her, his arms stretched out, his hands completely empty. He hoped that, looking like that, she would put down her wand and talk to him for a minute or two perhaps let him join them in the war they were waging against his family. His family, who had left him with nothing of value to hold on to. His father. He would fight against his father.
"We've been fighting for so long, you and I," he continued. "I approached, you retreated." A bitter laugh emerged from his lips as he finally verbalised the swirling emotions he had kept hidden for seven years. "You never replied to me, you know. All those gifts, all those notes. Not a single reply, but I knew you kept them." He paused, and gave her a piercing look, trying to find his way inside her mind. "How long can we go on fighting, Hermione?"
"This isn't just about you and me. There are hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. There are lives at stake right here, now, in this house," she added fervently. "If I retreat now it is because you bar my way." The look of faith blazed in her eyes. She believed that she was doing good and that he was keeping her from that goal, Draco realised. She still looked like she wanted to believe his innocence, but she couldn't quite make that leap, she couldn't quite make herself that vulnerable. Draco knew what he had to do.
"I want you to know that I am blameless in all of this anything you see or find in this house is beyond my control." Draco stopped his advance, standing below a flickering chandelier that threw a sparkling silhouette of him onto the floor at Hermione's feet. The shadow seemed to be inviting him to join it, and for a split second Draco considered throwing himself at her mercy. Then, he shook the thought away. As Hermione's pride prevented her from running to him, so his pride prevented him from throwing himself at her feet yet.
"Draco," she whispered back at him, almost as if she could sense his troubled thoughts. He recollected himself and continued with a stronger voice.
"Hermione, you will find a key in my bedroom, just along the hall here. You will need it. Take it and find the others," he ordered. And then, the final admission of proud cowardice "I will get out of your way," he sighed. "But not forever," he added. Someday he would come back.
With that Draco groped for his wand and Apparated himself away. As he was casting the spell, he saw the look of mingled fear and disappointment flow across her face, and wished he'd given her a warning of what he was about to do. The next moment he had appeared at the edge of the mansion's grounds. Draco cast a look back at the house. Through the windows he caught a few flickering lights they were the torches of the Order, who were scouring the house from top to bottom. Draco did not wish to wait for the shrieks of the enraged Death Eaters when the Order intruded upon them. He only prayed that the Order's members would survive that Hermione would survive.
One day, when he had proved himself to be innocent of all their suspicions, he would come back and try to talk to her again. He would come back and try to make her understand what his gifts had truly meant.
Nothing's wrong, just as long as you know that, someday I will
Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it alright but not right now
I know you're wondering when
You're the only one that knows that
A/N: The lyrics are from the song "Someday" by Nickelback.