Disclaimer: J.K. Rowlingové patří nádherné kouzelnickém světě a znaky (s výjimkou těch, které jsou původní).

"There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other." – Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Malfoys do not show weakness.

He tried to stop it, but even as he did, he knew that he was too far gone – he was showing too much, but there was nothing he could do to stop the silent onslaught of tears as fierce despair drowned him. Somehow, he had found himself on the ground, unable to withstand the force of emotion within him once they had left the class. It was too much – he lowered his face to the cool stone floor and let the tears fall, unbidden.

Draco knew that his father had done many unforgivable things – but he was still his father. Though he knew that his family was one that operated differently from what was generally accepted to be the usual, his parents had always been there for him. Not once had his father ever admitted his love for his son straight to his face, but he had always been overly protective and caring in his own roundabout way.

His father was a different man when away from the prying eyes of the world. A man who cared implicitly about his son and his wife, a man who wanted more than to shield and protect them from the cruelties of the world, a man who would do anything for their survival.

Even after he had sworn his full allegiance to the Dark Lord, his father had always put family first. There were moments when his masked demeanour, one that Draco had adopted for himself, had slipped. He had prevented Draco from becoming a Death Eater for as long as they could – the plan before he had been disgraced being that Draco go through his time at Hogwarts, at least, unmarked. And he knew that both his parents – wandless, defenseless – had searched for him high and low during the Final Battle. It had always been family first.

And now, it was just him and his mother. Draco could not imagine a world without his father. Even when he had been at Azkaban, Draco had always known that he would come back for them – that Draco would see him again.

His father was gone.

Hermione stopped several steps behind him, watching as the icy blonde young man sank to his knees in the corridor and curled in on himself. She hesitated, not sure if she should offer comfort or just stay where she was. She had never seen Malfoy nearly quite so distraught, and frankly had no clue what she should do. After a moment, she walked closer, gingerly, and knelt beside him, staying silent. He seemed to have forgotten about her, absorbed in his own emotion.

She had seen Harry like this once before – after the loss of Sirius – and Ron too – after Fred had died. But she had always known what to do then, she had known what to say. Malfoy was entirely new terrain, and she was lost.

And so she kneeled there silently as he cried, keeping watch over him. A first year peered from around the corner, and, met with her withering glare, backed away silently.

After several minutes, though it seemed infinitely longer, Draco slowly stopped crying. His breathing was still ragged, and he remained silent and in the same position. Hermione left him for a minute more before she tentatively laid a gently hand on his back. She felt him stiffen, almost as if he had forgotten that she was there.

'Draco,' she said quietly. 'Do you want to go somewhere more private?'

The young man was slow to respond, looking up after a long pause and wiping his face, nodding. His face was unnaturally pale, even more so than usual, and the dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes contrasted greatly against it. He took a deep breath and Hermione watched as his grey eyes returned to steel, his mask nowhere near the intensity that she was used to, but on, nonetheless. He began to get up, and she scrambled to her feet as well.

'Eastern Tower?' He shook his head, face impassive. Hermione nodded, understanding – there was the chance that other students might be there, seeing as not many people in their year took Muggle Studies so it was a spare period for most others.

'How about the Room of Requirement?' she asked, and at this Draco turned to her, brows furrowed, and he tilted his head at her inquisitively. 'You know, on the seventh floor – the Room of Hidden things or whatever you want to call it…'

Hermione saw a flash of recognition in his eyes.

'No,' he said, shaking his head decidedly. Hermione remembered their encounter there during the Final Battle and decided not to press the matter.

'How about outside?' she tried, and, finally, Draco nodded. They were silent as they walked down the corridor, and opened the wide doors to the grounds. They walked for a while, with no particular sense of direction. The weather, for once, was ironically pleasant, the sun warm and the skies clear. They stopped by the lake, Draco looking out at the clear water and sighing deeply. Hermione sat a few steps behind him, not looking directly at him as she spoke.

'We – I – didn't expect to you in classes today.' Draco turned and stared back at her, eyes unreadable. His hands were in his pocket, and he had loosened his tie. After a moment, he turned back and answered.

'It was a closed execution.'

'Oh,' she said, frowning sharply. 'I see.'

She knew that the Wizengamot had been executing the Death Eaters in private ceremony, but she had always assumed that they had allowed for family time beforehand. How inhumane! She pushed it aside though, the last thing Draco needed at this particular moment was for her to go on a rant about something that they could not change.

For a long while, Draco stood, silent and still as a statue, seemingly deep in thought. Hermione watched him carefully, picking at the grass around her absentmindedly. All of a sudden, he bent down and picked up a stone, hurling it harshly into the water with all his might.

'Damn it all!'

Hermione jumped at the sudden outburst, leaping up to her feet and going to stand beside him. She could see now that tears were streaming down his cheeks, and as she moved to put her hands on his shoulders, he turned his face away from her.

'I'm not weak,' he whispered. 'Stop it, stop crying. I'm not weak.'

'Hush,' Hermione murmured, tentatively pulling him into a soft embrace. She could feel his shoulders shaking as she held him, his mutterings continuing as she rubbed her hand up and down her back. He was slightly taller than her, but he was leaning over, weakened from the raw emotion.

'It's okay to cry,' she said softly. 'It doesn't mean that you're weak, it just means that you're human. Everybody cries.'

'Malfoys do not show weakness,' he muttered, voice strained. Hermione just shook her head in response.

'Who's here to see it, besides me? It's not like I'm going to tell anyone.'

Her question was met with silence, Draco not pulling away.

If someone had told her the year before that she would be comforting the Ice Prince of Slytherin, she would have called them crazy and laughed in their face. As it was, a little giggle escaped her, and Draco stepped back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and suspicion.

'Are you laughing at me?' he asked.

'No, of course not!' Hermione said, sobering up quickly, then explaining herself. Thankfully, Draco seemed to see the humour in it too, the corners of his lips twitching slightly in something Hermione could vaguely accept to be a smile. He shook his head.

'It's really not funny,' he said.

'It's really, really not,' she giggled, giving him another hug, and Draco, surprisingly enough, letting her for a while before pulling away once more and sitting down on the grass. He stared out at the lake again, and Hermione joined him on the grass. They sat in companionable silence, Draco's thoughts still faraway but far less despairing than before.

It was ages before either said anything, the silence broken by Hermione checking the time and realising that Muggle Studies had finished, and that their next subject, Ancient Runes, was nearly over too. No use going for that bit of class then, she decided as her stomach let out a small rumble – it was almost lunch. She knew that Draco would avoid the Great Hall, but she wanted to get some food into his system.

'It's nearly one o' clock,' she said. 'Fancy some lunch?'

'I'm not hungry,' he said, predictably.

'Well, you've got to get some food in you,' she insisted. 'We could eat in the kitchens?' He seemed to turn that over in his head, and after a moment more of hesitation, he agreed grudgingly. They stood up and began to walk back to the castle. As he opened the wide doors, Draco stopped in tracks, turning around to regard her abruptly.

'Why are you doing this?'

'Doing what?' Hermione asked, feigning incomprehension.

'Why are you being nice to me? You hate Lucius.'

'Yes,' she said. 'But he was still your father, and you're my friend.'

Draco was silent for a while, then he gave a small smirk.

'We're friends, eh?'

'Yes, I'd like to think so,' confirmed Hermione. 'Now could you please get a move on so that we can get some food, I'm famished!'

Draco quickly opened the door wider, holding it open for her. As they walked to the kitchen, side by side, Draco let himself smile slightly, a real smile. When they reached the kitchens, and Hermione stretched out and tickled the pear of the portrait entrance, she felt a light hand on her shoulder.

'Thank you,' he said, and as she turned to look at him, she saw his grey eyes, usually ice cold, filled with warmth and gratitude.

Times may be rough, the fates had not been kind to him – but he at least he had a friend.

A/N: Poor Draco! I really shouldn't be writing right now, but the chapter was calling out to me and it had to be done so I could study in peace. Thanks for all the support – your reviews, favourites, and follows are super lovely, and I really really really do appreciate them ever so much!