A Hundred Storms

Chapter Thirteen: Fix You

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
- Fix You, by Coldplay

Hermione led the way down to the potion classrooms in the drafty former dungeons. Despite her best efforts, Hermione could never find a reliable text that shed light as to what happened in the catacombs under Hogwarts before they were converted into rooms for potion brewing.

Hermione pulled out a large brass key from the inside of the school robe she threw on to fight the chill and unlocked the door to the main classroom. Had she had this sort of freedom in previous years her adventures with Harry and Ron would have went much smoother. She had the freedom of a teacher now, and could peruse all the side project she had yearned for as a younger student. That freedom would come in handy now that she had to prepare a potion that wasn't strictly for academic gains.

"I remember that day," Draco said conversationally. Hermione had just finished disclosing the reconnaissance mission Harry and Ron had undergone disguised as Crabbe and Goyle. He had found it amusing that they all had assumed he was the heir of Slytherin, and in turn responsible for all the attacks on muggleborns.

"I always wondered why they reacted so strangely when I told them I hoped the first death would be yours," he continued to muse in the same off-handed tone.

Hermione was unlocking the cupboard that held the potions ingredients and stiffened at Draco's flippant comment.

Draco noticed and smirked. "I was twelve," he said. "I think I hated you more than Potter back then. There's only so many times you can show a bloke up before his tender feelings are hurt. My father was always very testy over how I was always bested by a mud-er, ah, muggleborn."

Hermione relaxed slightly and began rummaging around for the correct ingredients.

"You're awfully talkative this evening," she commented mildly.

"Facing death will do that to a man," Draco remarked as Hermione thrust some of the more foul ingredients into his arms. "And you never told me what exactly we are doing."

Hermione then explained the plan she had discussed with Harry and Ron that afternoon.

"That's a long shot," Draco said doubtfully after she had finished. "That thing will only come close when it's ready to crash into you."

"I know that," Hermione said somewhat snappishly. "But I thought it best to spare those two the finer details. If they found out how aggressive the thing was they would abandon their auror training and take up a permanent residence in the castle until I conceded to leave. I don't want to worry them and I don't want them badgering me into an early grave."

"So you're wasting your time and energy on a fruitless project just to appease them?" Draco looked very skeptical.

"It's all I'm able to do at the moment," Hermione replied. "I don't have any idea who is behind this unless-" she paused and turned to face him, holding a box of dried pufferfish, "Did you want to make a full confession?"

Her eyes sparkled with unabashed amusement and the corners of her mouth were slightly turned up. Draco kept his face blank.

"Ah," he said. "I am person of interest number one?"

"Of course you are," Hermione said flippantly and handed over the box. "Your track record does you no favors. Ron is convinced you're behind it all, learning the skill of sorcery from one of your deatheater mentors, Harry is waiting for more proof, and I think they both lack imagination. You cannot possibly be the only one who wants me dead."

"I don't want you dead," Draco said with a little more conviction than he meant. He met her narrowed eyes and amended; "Anymore. I told you. I was twelve, and just not very fond of you back then."

"Compared to the undying love and devotion you have for me now?" Hermione replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes. "Honestly."

Draco didn't comment. He couldn't think of anything worth saying.

The two of them then proceeded to secure one of the unused school cauldrons from the back of the storage room and transferred it to one of the abandoned sub classrooms that were used for small side projects. This, Hermione felt confident, would keep out curious younger students and keep anyone from tampering with the potion while it brewed.

Draco settled the cauldron over the kindling that would be the fire and Hermione set about arranging the potion ingredients neatly on the workbench. Once finished she took a step back to survey the room around her, including Draco.

It was then Hermione realized how incredibly ludicrous the entire scene before her really was. She let out a rough giggle that sounded more strangled than anything and covered her mouth to keep another sound from escaping.

"Care to share what is so amusing?" Draco said with some alarm. He had taken a seat on one of the tall stools near the preparation table, but looked ready to jump to his feet at a moment's notice.

"N-nothing," Hermione replied, trying in vain to stifle her laugh. "Just..how ridiculous is this? What are we doing here?"

"What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you?" Draco asked, visibly alarmed now.

"What's wrong with me?" Hermione took a deep breath. "Isn't something wrong with this? The two of us standing here as if it is the most natural thing in the world to be brewing a potion together. Like friends."

For the second time in the course of a quarter-hour Draco was at a loss for words. Hermione's face was flushed with exasperation, or maybe amusement, and he couldn't ever remember seeing her so alive. Certainly not since the war.

After a minute Hermione sobered and collected her thoughts. Her mind was in a disarray, of course, but she had work to do.

"Right then," she mumbled to herself. "Dried blowfish, lacewings, whisker of a tabby..."

"You have the potion memorized?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Yes, well, mostly," she said self-consciously. "I know what to start it with. It takes about a week to brew to maturity. In three days I'll need to consult my text about the fourth step, but I can begin it easily."

"Bonkers," Draco said under his breath. "How was I to compete.."

"You competed with me?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Of course," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Not consciously, or willingly for that matter, but it does not do to be second best."

"I've always felt that way," Hermione said with a smile.

"You would," Draco grumbled. "I'm sure your parents were so proud."

He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten? He had sunk a tidy sum into making sure Hermione had stayed at Hogwarts because of her muggle parent's feeling towards his kind. The transformation of contentment to misery was so profound on her face than he immediately jumped to his feet and regretted being so careless. He regretted.

"Oh Merlin," he said. "Granger I'm sorry, that came out wrong. Hermione I'm sorry."

Her big brown eyes were not shining with tears. The look on her face could not have betrayed a thing. It put Draco's own stone-faced mask to shame.

"You're right," she said in an even voice. "My parents were proud of me. Bemused a bit, but proud." The fact that he had used her given name was not lost on her. It terrified her.

"I'm sorry," he said again, cursing himself for being so forthcoming with an apology. Weakness be damned.

"It's alright," Hermione said with a flick of her hand, dismissing the conversation. "Can you measure out the blowfish? I hate handling that cursed substance. There's a pair of dragon hide gloves, if you would be so kind."

They worked together in exaggerated silence for a time, both lost in their own thoughts-and misery.

Hermione. It sounded odd coming from him. She could pick out his voice in a crowd of hundreds. Harry and Ron used it. Ron even tried giving her the pet name of 'mione, but she shot that down the second he uttered it. Mione sounded ridiculous. A child of five could probably carry it, but not a woman who saw more blood that she knew what to do with. Malfoy had called her Hermione, not Granger, and she felt her world shift in a way she was not at all accustomed to.

Draco. She sounded the name out in her mind. It was a good name, she thought. Strong. Ten years ago she was sure dragons did not exist, and now having come in contact with several, she thought the name was suitable. She was sure, without really knowing, that it was a family name. It went along with his father's, the devil himself. She yearned to ask him more about his father, and found that she really had ample opportunity now that he had digressed with talking about her parents, but how could she? She knew, more than the wizarding world at whole, how guilty Lucius Malfoy was. Hermione was loathe to call anyone evil, even Voldemort, but she knew that Lucius really believed in that propaganda against muggles and muggleborns. Breeding. She thought. It really wasn't any different that racism or sexism or anything less vulgar, she just happened to be the unhappy victim of it. Hermione knew that genetically speaking there had to be some ancestor of hers that had magical blood. Behind the backs of her friends she has plowed through the yearbooks of Hogwarts, looking for any relation that might have resembled her, if they didn't carry her name. So far her efforts have been futile. Still, it was only a hypothesis. Perhaps her magic was a mutation of sorts and she really was built wrong. In any case, she didn't regret it. She reveled in it.

"I really am sorry, you know," Draco said as he added the blowfish gently to the cauldron. Hermione had caught the kindling on fire and all the while musing she had begun the potion to a most satisfactory shade of burgundy.

"You don't have to apologize," she said. "I know this time you didn't really mean to be cruel."

He flinched. She regretted her use of words.

"I apologize," she said formally. "This is all rather...odd."

"Well," Draco said as he removed his gloves. "I can't deny that."

"I'm glad you agree," Hermione said, eyeing the potion. The first stage was complete. There was no need to linger.

"Since you already find it so odd," Draco began, busying himself with organizing the remaining ingredients. "What do you say to a nightcap?"

"A what?" Hermione looked at him, completely bewildered.

"Fire whiskey," he said flatly. "I have a bottle in my room. Unless you would rather turn in early?"

It was approaching ten, but it was a Saturday, and they were of age. It wasn't like she had never drank before. The idea was tempting.

"Of course, if it would be too Slytherin of you to drink on school grounds..." Draco trailed off in an obvious challenge.

Hermione couldn't help but grin. Why not? She thought to herself. Then she really took a moment to think about it. Alcohol in moderation was fine, fun really, but something nagging in the back of her mind told her that boozing with Draco Malfoy wouldn't be fun at all. Finally she shook her head. "I don't think so," she said. "Not tonight."

Draco's lips lifted in a sneer. "Goody Gryffindor," he mocked. "Don't you ever get tired of being so bloody boring?"

Hermione looked at him, too flabbergasted to even be angry. "I'm in the dungeon of a thousand year old castle, brewing a potion to reveal the caster of an angry spirit bent on destruction, with the offspring of a family that almost collectivity tried to kill me on several occasions. Malfoy, if that is your idea of boring, I would truly hate to see what activities you pursue for entertainment. She stood before him, hands on her hips, waiting for an answer.

Draco flinched when she mentioned his families and what activities he might enjoy, but he noted that she seemed to give his mother her due. True to point, Narcissa Malfoy never did try to kill Hermione Granger. Or Harry Potter for that matter, even when she had a sterling opportunity. Draco had never been one hundred percent sure why his mother had turned on the Dark Lord, and in doing so, his father, but he would always be grateful to her for that.

The sound of Hermione tidying up the remaining potion ingredients brought Draco back from wherever it was he went. He blatantly avoided helping her. She didn't say a word.

In fact, Hermione avoided speaking right up until she passed by his doorway in the dormitory before pausing only long enough to mutter a quick "night".

Draco closed the door behind him with a heavy click as the lock moved into place. He could vaguely feel the wards Hermione had put up and knew without a doubt they would be on par with the magic that guarded Malfoy Manor. It took a lot of effort for him to admit it even to himself.

In long strides he crossed the bedroom, throwing off his cloak. It settled onto the bed in a careless heap. Draco reached his sidebar and lifted a beautifully cut crystal decanter. Draco had a moment of childish glee at being able to openly drink inside Hogwarts. Not that he hadn't been secretly smuggling alcohol into the castle for years, but that was besides the point.

Draco poured a sizable amount of the amber liquid into a matching crystal glass. It was appropriate that thoughts of underage drinking should bring back the memory of himself, Crabbe, and Goyle, all huddled in the boy's dormitory in the Slytherin common room, passing around a bottle of whatever they were able to steal from their father's liquor cabinet while on holiday. The memory of his dead friend twinged something inside Draco. He hadn't slowed down long enough since the fire in the Room of Requirement to truly give his longtime friend his due. Granted, Crabbe was as dim as a snuffed out candle, but he had been loyal.

Melancholy was replaced by anger, no, anger was too mild a word. The sudden rage Draco felt at the world erupted inside of him like a long-dormant volcano. He threw back the rest of his drink and then launched the delicate glass across the room, watching with malicious delight when the crystal shattered into a thousand tiny little pieces. The destruction felt wonderful. The sensation was short lived, however, when Hermione Granger burst into his bedroom. Hair wild and wand out, the note of sheer panic in her face caused Draco to reach for his own wand and point it right at her.

"Is it back?" she asked, breathlessly looking around the room.

"What?" Draco lowered his arm a fraction of an inch.

"The maliceptor! I felt the ward go off like a rocket!" She exclaimed, still on the defense.

Draco finally lowered his wand. In seeing him do so, she mirrored the movement with practiced haste.

"You warded my room against broken crystal?" Draco asked incredulously.

Hermione finally took in the scattered bits of reflective glass sprinkled across the mantle and floor.

"I warded your room entirely, including destruction and malicious intent." Hermione said flatly. "Are you telling me you threw what looks like an incredibly expensive piece of crystal at- what? Your imaginary friend?"

Draco went on the defense. "I can do whatever I damn well please in my own chambers, Granger," he replied cooly. "How did you get in?"

"They're my wards," she said, finally turning to face him. "I thought that in the event of an emergency, you might need help. The wards recognize me and allow me to pass."

"Kind of you to inform me," Draco replied, his tone was icy now.

"What has you in such a temper?" She asked him, finally putting her wand back into her robe.

"No business of yours, that's what," Draco glared.

Hermione sighed and even her hair seemed to wilt a little. "I'll have that drink, if you're still offering," she said, then looked at mess on the floor. "And if you have any spare glasses."

Draco entertained the idea of kicking her out immediately. After all, hadn't she refused his offer earlier? Now she waltzes into his private room like she belonged there.

Tempting, but Draco couldn't see a benefit to him at the moment. Obligingly he pulled two clean glasses from the sidebar and poured, offering the glass to Hermione with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione took a delicate sip and closed her eyes. She appreciated the warmth and savored the taste of the expensive spirit. She opened her eyes and met Draco's.

"I didn't know you where a whiskey fan," he observed.

"I generally drink it with soda," she admitted. "But on the rocks is great, too."

Draco poured a glass for himself and raised it in a salut. To what, he wasn't sure, but it felt oddly appropriate.

After an awkward moment, Hermione settled herself down on the edge of the bed, tensely poised as though she were ready to spring up at any moment.

"Please tell me," Hermione asked him quietly while looking at the sad pile of crystal. "What got you so worked up?"

"I was thinking about Crabbe," Draco admitted to her, surprising himself.

"Oh?" Hermione's voice was cautious and level, encouraging him to elaborate.

"I suppose your story earlier reminded me," Draco said slowly. "And then I started to remember all the times we would drink in our dorms, thinking we were so tough and bad. And then I remembered he was gone. It reminded me how incredibly pissed of I was at him for that."

"That's grief," Hermione said, the know-it-all tone in her voice was missing completely.

"That's being pissed off," Draco replied sharply.

"You're mad because your grieving," Hermione said gently. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Why should I be grieving over him?" Draco asked. "It's his own damn fault he got himself killed. What do you care anyway, he was trying to get your boyfriend to the one person who wanted him dead more that anything in this entire world."

Hermione ignored the comment about her relationship with Harry. If he wanted to lash out, let him. "It's called survivor's guilt. You're feeling guilty you're alive, doing something so normal that you used to do with him and Crabbe will never get to drink top shelf fire whiskey with you in your dorm room again. You're mad because you're feeling guilty, and you're mad because logically you know you shouldn't feel guilty because it wasn't you who set off the fiend fire. You were trying to do as little damage as possible, it I remember correctly. Am I close?"

Draco was eyeing Hermione suspiciously as he leaned against the sidebar. "I wish you would leave your fanatic muggle ideas out of my head," he said bitterly.

Hermione suppressed a smile. That was as close to a nod of agreement she was likely to get from the blonde wizard, and she hadn't expected that much. She took another few sips of her whiskey and was surprised to find her glass empty. She had been drinking it while she was talking. Without a word Draco was in front of her, holding the decanter. She raised her glass appreciatively and he was back across the room as soon as his good deed had been done.

They sat there for a few minutes in a companionable silence, before Hermione decided to plunge ahead with something she had been curious about. She had meant to broach the subject with Ginny, but the whiskey made her feel warm and as close to happy as she had been in a long time.

"Do wizards believe in a higher power?" She asked Draco softly.

"You mean like a stronger spell?" Draco responded.

Hermione grinned weakly. "I mean like a god, or God, or religion. Life after death, like the muggles do."

"Not really," Draco mused. "We all have our own opinions about what happens after we cross the veil, but we don't go around blindly believing things like the muggles do. Why do you ask?"

"It was something Ginny said," Hermione bit back angry words at his generalization of muggles. "How she thought that if Fred knew how miserable we all were down here he would feel worse for us than himself for being dead. She said he's probably disappointed in us for not being happy."

"You're miserable?" Draco asked, careful to keep his voice emotionless.

"Most of the time," Hermione sighed and stared into the fire. She watched the flames reflect of the shards neither of them had bothered to clean up yet. "Sometimes it's a struggle to smile."

"There's a potion for that, you know." Draco said.

"I know, I used it all summer." Hermione confessed. "Madam Pomfrey offered to continue administering it to me while at school but it didn't...it didn't fix the problem. It was fake. I don't want to live like that."

"Mother does, sometimes," Draco said wearily. "For as long as I remember, at least. She's careful to not get hooked, like you seem to be, but when we were playing hosts to the Dark Lord she stayed under the cloud most of the time. I think she emerged from her fog just to check to make sure father and I were still alive, and then she was gone again."

This was more than Hermione had ever heard about Draco's family. Most thing were public knowledge, all the dark arts, money, esteem, power. Hermione never thought for a moment a strong looking woman like Narcissa was keeping herself barely lucid. The esteem she held for the older woman rose considerably.

"You know," Hermione began carefully. "We, Harry, Ron, and myself, we received so much appreciation and thanks for what we did, but it would have all been for nothing if not for your mother. It all comes full circle."

"What in Merlin's name are you going on about?" Draco demanded.

"Love," Hermione said simply and drained the rest of her glass. She got up and crossed the room to Draco and set the glass gently on the surface of the sidebar. "Harry's mother died for him, and your mother's first concern was only for you, not herself or Lucius. Had she not loved you so, the world would be a very different place today."

"Like hell."

Hermione put a tentative hand on his arm and didn't back off when he flinched so slightly at the physical contact. It wasn't a repulsed movement, but a surprised jerk of the arm she touched.

"I can't fix you," she said sadly. "I can't tell you to appreciate that after everything you've lost, you're going to be fine. We are not those lucky ones. I wouldn't have changed a thing, though. Like that crystal over there, there's some beauty in the destruction, once you shed a little light on it."

Draco glanced over at the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire was dancing off the hundreds of reflective surfaces like a magic spell made corporal. It was both heartbreaking and beautiful, how perfectly destroyed they were.

Draco looked down at Hermione doubtfully, her hand was still resting lightly on his arm. She looked like she wanted to do something and hadn't the nerve.

"I never actually thanked you for your generosity," Hermione said in a voice like an afterthought. Without hesitation she rose up on her toes and pressed her lips lightly against his cheek.

Before Draco's brain could process the movement and the touch, she was gone.