If you hadn't noticed by now, the previous chapters have been edited, just a few fixes here and there, but the subtle changes are important towards the rest of the story… though you probably wouldn't notice until I actually get there. *sighs*
Sorry for the choppiness of the last chapter, I'll get to editing that, too, once this is finished… or if whenever I'm bored. Whichever comes first.
Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to the Harry Potter franchise and I'm not making money off of this, so don't sue… Please?
...
-Behind Closed Doors-
Had Draco been informed that he would meet one Hermione Granger on his way back from his patrols, he would've skipped the entire floor altogether. There is something to be said about blissful ignorance.
Instinct directed him down towards the dungeons for some Firewhiskey but his ignorance of the situation that lay before him beckoned him towards the privacy of his own room instead of the rowdy Slytherin Common Room. Plus, a bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey was kept in the bottom left drawer of his dresser at all times.
Warning bells sounded in his head as he spotted the portrait to his own common room open. What sent chills down his spine were a thud and a frighteningly familiar voice screaming in pain.
He could have easily just walked away from it all like the coward he truly was, but damn it; he was a coward with a conscience. Pathetic, in other words.
"Please, let it not be her. Please, let it not be her."
There was hesitation in steps. One step, two steps, three steps, four—her trademark unruly hair visible.
"Fuck it all…, stupefy!"
The sound of two heavy thuds met his ears.
Damn.
Damn her for being there. Damn her for being helpless. Damn her for being unconscious so he wasn't able to berate her for her stupidity. Damn him for being pathetic.
He ran the short distance towards the two unconscious bodies. Confirming the girl to be Hermione and the other as—as Blaise Zabini? Since when had the Slytherin that blended in with the wall decorations become a sociopath? And then there was Granger, another person who chose tonight to assume a different persona. The Granger he knew could take on full-grown wizards and win. This Granger—he faltered— this Granger didn't have her wand.
The realization caused his anger to rise to immeasurable heights. He had attacked her while she was defenseless. The bloody wanker. She didn't stand a chance in a battle of strength.
It took willpower he didn't know he had to not Avada the boy that lay at his feet just on principle alone. Principle, mind you, not because it was Granger that had been assaulted… or so he told himself. Instead, he accio'ed Granger's missing wand and began levitating Zabini—he didn't want to touch the filth that would mistreat women—and physically carried her down to the Hospital Wing. He couldn't help but be reminded of the last time this had happened.
Did his position change in her eyes? He doubted it. There were little to no interactions between Hermione and him that were of significance. She claimed to have wanted to believe, him; but did he do anything to deserve it? No… nothing to assuage her suspicions.
Even with his father incapacitated—since Draco's fifth year in a foolish attempt to overtake the Department of Mysteries—he still couldn't shake the prejudices that were directed towards him. There were no intimations of his allegiance to You-Know Who. Yet, all observers saw was a bigoted boy, spoilt with all the riches in the world. What they didn't see was the scared boy growing up in a household with ideals that he didn't quite understand but was forced to believe and perpetuate daily. Ideals that a certain muggle-born shattered.
After their first incidental meeting aboard the Hogwarts Express, he believed her to be pureblood. She exuded a superior presence and intelligence which was then proven in the few classes they had together in the following weeks. Upon discovery of her muggle bloodline, he spent the weeks after in confusion. Muggles were not at all what his father had described them out to be. According to his father: muggles had troll-like intelligence, muggles were filthy, muggles were savages, muggles had horrendous appearances and unappealing traits, muggles were inferior—she dispelled the instilled image of what a muggle was in his young mind.
He was grateful for what she unwittingly did. She stopped him from becoming a replica of his father—a man who spewed out pureblood supremacy and muggle inferiority while hypocritically following a half-blood. The man was no saint, but he had his priorities in order according to his own preference, which is what allowed Draco to maintain a modicum of respect for his father. First and foremost to Lucius was the protection of the Malfoy line. Though Draco and his mother's protection was jeopardized on countless occasions because of Lucius' second priority, the Dark Lord.
Draco wanted nothing to do with You-Know-Who and made it clear to his father last summer on one of his many visits to Azkaban at his mother's request. The haggard, older wizard looked him straight in the eye, saw Draco's resolve on the matter, and told him that to be a Malfoy is to be superior to others. Malfoys were granted an exclusive birthright that gave them the characteristics of a leader, not a follower.
He told Draco all that, before admitting that his time in Azkaban allowed him to review his actions and decisively declare that by following the Dark Lord, it was he who besmirched the Malfoy name. He did not go as far as to declare muggles and wizards equal, for Malfoys were still superior, but he did say that he no longer wanted to eradicate their existence. A big improvement for those who knew Lucius Malfoy, superficially or otherwise.
There was no rejection, no scorn, and no disappointment. Only a warning not to let others know of their neutral alignment and to protect his mother.
For his entire life, Lucius was his role model. Every boy wanted the approval of their fathers and to grow up like their fathers, and Draco was no exception. Despite Lucius' mistakes, he was someone who was confident, charming—to those whom he deemed worthy, and strong.
And he believed that he had accomplished just that, though others might claim that his confidence bordered on arrogance, it came with the territory of wealth and intelligence. His charm had gotten him through a few scrapes with a few authority figures and had girls vying for his attention—despite all the rumors cautioning them against him. His physique was hardly lacking and his magical abilities were envied.
So why is it that people threw him looks of disgust when they thought he wasn't looking and cowered in fear when they knew he was? He knew the answer. They thought him evil. Branded by the Dark Mark.
He could easily show them his unmarked forearm and shove it in their own prejudiced faces, but that might raise a few red flags among certain members of his house whose families had close ties to the Dark Lord. Had Lucius not had his epiphany in Azkaban, instead of confessing last summer, Draco would have been forcefully 'bestowed' the Dark Mark at sixteen, a regular age of induction, like some of his other Slytherin classmates. Some wore it with pride away from a teacher's prying eyes while others felt sickened at the proof of their allegiance but could do nothing to change it. The Dark Lord had been recruiting followers younger and younger because of the shortage of purebloods available to him leaving the window of opportunity for rejection next to impossible.
The best Draco could do while still in school was to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary and not belie his current neutrality.
But there was something different this year. Draco felt a strong pull towards Granger, not that he hadn't before. But this pull had a stronger effect on him, a more urgent calling.
The unease in his mind spread to his arms as the aforementioned girl turned slightly. They had reached the third floor when her odd behavior suddenly began. There were also strange mutterings that Draco could not help but hear which thankfully gave him a short reprieve from thinking; he didn't like where his thoughts were heading.
He regarded her mutterings as an audible representation of her dreams or whatever was on her mind, nothing more and nothing less. Though the one about how she was 'going to keep you in that jar forever, Skeeter' followed by cackling, was slightly disturbing.
The most recent one vocalized being: 'cat hair… I can't believe it was cat hair.'
There was little time to dwell on exactly what she meant by 'cat hair' as his face was suddenly jerked down to face hers, "—I want to believe… make me believe, Draco!"
It was at this point that he dropped Zabini, not that the bastard didn't deserve it but it was done out of surprise.
Quickly regaining his composure, he began levitating the assailant once more. She wanted to believe. She had said that before, when she was conscious. Draco didn't believe her then as people easily lied to suit their needs, but there her subconscious had nothing to gain from lying to him. And he was apt to believe the she was being honest.
There was a chance for his redemption in her eyes. For the person who unknowingly changed his views to believe that he had done so, was of great importance.
Pushing open the double doors to the infirmary, the light in his eyes diminished … only slightly though.
He groaned. Madame Pomfrey must be out celebrating the oncoming two weeks reprieve from school, in her case: injuries.
There was no respect or care in the way Draco slammed Zabini onto the nearest bed while performing a binding spell to eliminate the possibility of escape. Not before he was punished.
Regardless of Severus Snape favoritism of his Slytherins publically, he was merciless against any Slytherin who might tarnish the Slytherin House further. Merlin knows that the other houses despised them, but they did not have to give them a reason for it. Which is how Slytherins never seemed to get punished by Snape to outsiders, all punishments were left unreported, an unspoken law.
He remembered being reprimanded by Snape a handful of times in his years at Hogwarts—his bum remembered it, too. On certain days, Draco would swear that he could still feel the welts.
Pushing all thoughts of his bum aside, Draco gently placed Hermione down on a bed furthest from Zabini, careful to avoid causing more harm to the girl's pitiful state.
A few well-placed episkeys and a short trip to the MediWitch's medicine storeroom mended Hermione to the best of his abilities. Checking along the back of her head for any signs of trauma that came from that bastard, he felt blood matting her already messy tresses.
There would be hell to pay.
Little did Zabini know, he was left holding the check.
…
The next chapter will deal with Zabini's punishment, more déjà vu, and awkwardness abounds. A lot of things happen behind closed doors. Can they handle it? *Cackles*