A tiny Seed of Doubt
I had a tiny seed of doubt,
I laughed at first, it's true
I even tried to spit it out
But couldn't and it grew.
It grew for it was being fed,
Its incubation brief,
And is it grew became instead
Not doubt but shear belief.
And as the little acorn
Becomes a giant tree,
What started as a tiny seed
Became reality.
Our doubts are traitors, it's been said,
But look out for the liar
And ask what put them in your head.
There's no smoke without fire.
by Terry Donovan
As a tradition, every Friday evening the boys of Slytherin House sat together, a most noble selection of Britain's oldest and coveted pureblood heirs, with some Ogden's Old Firewhisky - only the best was good enough for boys of their upbringing after all - to talk about girls.
Unlike their usual choices of topics, namely pureblood girls, Blaise Zabini endeavoured onto an untrodden path by musing about inappropriate what-ifs, about alternatives that should make their stomachs lurch in disgust. Being more on the new money side of the pureblood circle, he had always been less versed in the proper demeanor taught within the older families. It had not been the first time that he had shocked them with some preposterously modern idea. This time though, he had brought his open-mindedness to a new level, and completely blindsided them with an invitation to disregard blood status for one night and expand into half-bloods, mudbloods even!
As expected, Draco snorted derisively, raising a platinum eyebrow at his friend. He had always known that his less traditionally educated friend was not as picky when it came to girls but that was just unbelievable.
To think about those girls as possible shags, friends, or even worse, girlfriends, was off-limits to people of their status. Certainly, all girls had the same body parts, but associating oneself with Mudbloods meant stooping to the lowest level, losing your image and dishonoring your ancestors.
Much to Draco's surprise, his fellow Slytherins entertained this venture into a fantasy land where ancient bloodlines meant nothing. Albeit hesitatingly, more and more joined into the conversation.
First, they started off safe, half-bloods only. Then, their attention turned towards Mudbloods, all under the pretext that it was merely a harmless mental experiment. Of all the options among the Hogwarts school girls, Zabini had to bring up the insufferable know-it-all, Gryffindor golden girl, and Mudblood extraordinaire, Hermione Granger . To add insult to injury, more than one of his friends chimed in on the observation that she hid some rather nice curves beneath her shapeless school uniform. Especially, her arse was mentioned as a redeeming quality of hers, as if a pert behind could ever make up for the fact that she was an undeserving lowlife, dirt beneath their feet.
There was no way Draco could tolerate such thoughts. A nasty remark that their ancestors must be turning in their graves sufficed to put an end to it. Quickly, their conversation returned to their regular flock of birds , or rather den of snakes.
Unfortunately, it had been too late.
All the what-ifs, although unbidden, would not leave Draco's mind. An idea had been planted in his head.
A seed fell onto dry soil.
The following days, Draco caught himself watching Granger more often. It started with his eyes lingering just a second longer than was proper, could be called coincidental, on the muggle-born he so despised. Gradually, subconsciously, Draco's gaze strayed more frequently towards her. In class, during meals, among the Quidditch spectators.
He dismissed it as random accidents. He justified it by telling himself that she was difficult to ignore with her conspicuous and offensive behaviour. He reasoned that he could hardly help noticing her, always surrounded by Weasley and Potter, one his favorite target for a snide comment, be it about the his family's poverty, his blood traitor pedigree or his lack of talent, the other a sorry excuse of a wizard, his sworn enemy.
Later, he caught himself considering the things she said, her theories, her questioning of certain unwritten rules of Wizarding society, and he hated her for it. Worst of all, he would often agree with her after considering her notions. In moments like these, when she attacked everything he had been taught since childhood, the rules he had lived by for years, Draco lashed out. He could not bear the feeling of being small and insignificant that crept in upon him whenever she demonstrated her magic skills and wit, whenever she stood her ground and met him eye to eye. Indignant that she would dare to speak up against him, the superior Wizard by birthright, he resorted to the most vicious insult, his foolproof way to hurt her.
Mudblood .
The more he used the word, the more pathetic he felt and the harder it made its way past his lips. Still, he forced it out time and time again. It never missed its goal. A sharp breath left her lips, as if he had landed a physical blow. Her eyes widened every time, rotating through a visible cycle of shame, doubt, guilt, resentment, annoyance. In the end her gaze settled into a disappointed stare. Even after what must have been the hundredth time, she displayed disappointment like she expected better from him, like she had not given up hope in him.
Anger and hatred, Draco could deal with, but seeing her shoulders slump as she shook her head in disbelief made him feel disgusted with himself.
The seed grew roots, pushing deep into the soil,anchoring itself into the ground.
Every night he lay wide awake in his bed, a cacophony of snoring, sighing and babbling accompanied his guilt-ridden reflections. The harshness of his taunts and sneers clearly upset her. He should have rejoiced at the sight but the thought alone made his insides twist into a hard, painful knot. Among his friends he rarely pondered about the effects his words and actions had, but with her, it was different. Although he swore the sick feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with Granger, Draco's jabs lost their bite and were soon replaced by teasing his former self would have found laughable.
In the end, he had to admit to himself that all his previous perceptions of her were wrong. Her success in class was not pure luck; she was indeed the brightest witch of her age. Her boasting about her accomplishments was not conceit; she was proud and rightfully so. Her magic skills were not inferior to his; she was his equal, even superior in many areas, as her grades proved one for one. Worst of all she was not ugly; she was beautiful and everyone attending the Yule ball had been a witness to her radiant glow. Regardless of this realization, every fiber of his being warred with him, his thoughts in a constant conflict.
After weeks of tormentingly contradictory thoughts,the strangest thing happened to him. For the first time in a long while, Draco fell fast asleep without his routine of tossing and turning. Unlike his usual dreams with its blurred edges and slightly off feeling, this dream was sharp and clear, more memory than fabrication of a sleep-addled mind. Deja vu.
On the day of his departure to Hogwarts, Draco had been brimming with nervous energy. Ever since he could remember, his father had told him that once he entered Hogwarts nothing would remain impossible for him. He had painted this incredibly fascinating and alluring picture of Hogwarts, tucked away in the Scottish countryside. The best Wizarding School there ever was and will ever be, his father had called it. There, he would be taught by the best professors, who would help him unleash his boundless magical potential. And just like his forefathers he would be sorted into Slytherin where his ambitions could be met.
Impatient to finally board the Hogwarts Express, Draco had run ahead of his parents that day, plunging into the masses of Muggles, for once not caring about possibly being tainted by their proximity. So focussed on getting ahead, he had lost sight of his parents, no trademark whitegold hair in sight.
Luck was on his side, though, as he caught a glimpse of a girl sitting on a bench, Hogwarts acceptance letter in hand. Draco would recognize that particular shade of sealing wax anywhere. Without thinking twice, he approached her, confidently posturing himself before her so she had to notice him.
Peering up at him, a kind smile graced her pink lips. Her simple "Hi" was not spoken in that high-pitched tone the girls his mother forced him to play with used around him. Her voice was soft, yet unwavering. When the girl noticed his gaze on her acceptance letter she quickly stuffed it into her bag, trying to hide it.
"I got mine, too", he boasted, pulling his from his satchel.
Excitement sparkled in her big brown eyes, her smile broadening into a wide toothy grin. Her two incisors slightly bigger than the other gave her the look of a cute bunny.
"I can't wait to finally see it in person! Merlin, I must have read Hogwarts: A History about a thousand times this summer!" Bumping up and down on the bench, she beamed at him. Never had Draco met such an openly enthusiastic girl before. Proper etiquette had the girls he knew only ever display a moderate measure of emotion at all times. It was refreshing to see her literally vibrating with anticipation, reflecting his own excitement. Draco could not help but to return her smile.
" Hogwarts: A History is quite the classic! I myself have read it plenty of times over the years." Academics had always been his forte and he had not a single doubt that he would outdo his peers easily. To meet a like-minded and equally studious soul made him feel immediately connected with his new friend. Maybe they might even end up in Slytherin together, although she struck him more as a Ravenclaw, judging by the exaggerated number of times she claimed to have read the book.
A little out of his comfort zone, confronted by a witch who was clearly so different from the girls he was used to, Draco was at a loss for words. Silence settled between them and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Ah, I'm so rude. My name is Hermione, and yours?" Suddenly nervous, she shot up from the bench and thrust her hand towards him, pressing her lips together in an embarrassed smile.
"Draco", he answered and shook her proffered hand. Strangely, instead of letting his hand go after their handshake she held on to it.
" Draco ." She carefully formed each syllable of his name, leaning her head slightly to the side, thinking. "As in dragon or like the Greek lawgiver?" Curiosity sparked in her eyes and he smirked.
"Like the constellation, actually. It's a Black family tradition." Only then did she let go of his hand.
"So you're a Black? Quite the ancient Wizarding bloodline!" The last bit had come out as quite the impressed shout, clearly signs of her nerves at now being acquainted with someone of the Sacred 28. Embarrassed at her outburst, she brushed one of her unruly locks behind her ear. Although wild, her mane lent her something endearing.
"No, I'm a Malfoy . I would have thought the hair had given that away." Draco gestured towards his glossy whiteblond hair. "My mother is a Black, though."
"I'm a Granger." The girl giggled, sitting back down and patting the place beside her, inviting him to join her.
Granger . Perhaps she was related to the Dagworth-Grangers, who were one of the lesser known and less long-established pureblood families, but purebloods nonetheless. Certain that he was in the presence of a pureblood witch, Draco plopped down on the bench beside her and began rummaging through his satchel. Before long he found what he was searching for, pulling out his favourite treat: liquorice wands.
"You want some?" A gift from his mother, they were meant as snacks during the long train ride but he could bear to part with some.
Thanking him, she took one, flourishing it in a round movement like one would a real wand, before she nibbled at it. Laughing at her silly imitation, Draco joined her with a swoosh of his own and commenced to suck on his sweet.
Savouring their sweet and bitter treat, they chatted idly. Upon telling her that he had lost sight of his parents, she readily offered her and her parents' assistance should he not reunite with them in time. Thus, they soon finished their liquorice wands, waiting on the bench for her parents to pick them up, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd for his parents. Her legs dangled back and forth, her gaze wandering every so often back to him. After they had searched the flock of pedestrians unsuccessfully once more, the girl unpacked a purplish blue bag.
"Do you like chocolate?" Her fingers pinched the top of the bag, ready to rip it open in case he answered in the affirmative.
"Like chocolate? I love chocolate?" At his exaggerated declaration of love, she laughed heartily, tearing the packaging open. Only then did Draco notice that this was no Wizochoc but something called Cadbury . Combing through his extensive knowledge on Wizarding manufacturers, he could not remember even once hearing about that particular brand. A horrible hunch settled in his stomach. If he did not know it, the thin chocolate disks she offered him must be Muggle-made. All the little things he had noticed about her, that he had found strange but endearing, suddenly revealed their true origin. The girl might be Muggle-born, a Mudblood .
Seeing him hesitate after his strong confirmation of liking chocolates, his hand hovering indecisively in the air, she furrowed her brows at him.
"Is something wrong?" The concern in her voice made him swallow thickly.
"No, I'm just not hungry anymore." His response sounded lame and he knew it but confronted with the revelation that she might be his inferior, dirty even, he could not help it. His father's countless lectures about proper relationships and harsh disdain towards people of Muggle heritage replayed in Draco's mind. Although he felt like fleeing the scene, his manners forbid him to do so. After all, he could be mistaken and she could be a half-blood.
Shrugging, she took one and bit into it, humming appreciatively at the taste. wafer.
"See. It's filled with caramel. Are you sure you don't want any?" With her turning the bitten side towards him, Draco could see a golden thread pulling out of the center of the chocolate wafer. The sight combined with her mmmmmmh made his mouth water. His curiosity and want must have been written plainly on his face for she took another from the bag, offering it to him. "No need to be shy. Take it."
Too tempting to withstand, Draco took it from her, although he made sure not to touch her hand, better safe than sorry. The milky chocolate melted on his tongue, the buttery taste of caramel spreading in his mouth. Never had he tasted a chocolate this delicious. It was sweet paradise, so tasty that he could not suppress a mmmmmh of his own. No matter how loath he was to admit it, this little Muggle-made treat was finger-licking good.
Any thoughts of the possibility that something Muggle could be good quickly vanished from Draco's mind, at the sight of his parents navigating through the throng of people towards them. His father was roughly shoving people to the side with the aid of his snake cane, cutting a path through the crowd. With a hard stare and lips pressed into a thin line, Lucius Malfoy approached them. The expression on his father's face was familiar. It was his disappointed face but this time disgust was added to the mix. As the realization struck Draco that his father, unlike him, had immediately recognized the girl's Muggle origin, he shot off the bench and hastily bid the girl goodbye.
"Draco, it's unbecoming for a wizard of your standing, a Malfoy , to associate with a girl such as her .", his father hissed as Draco met them halfway, digging his fingers painfully into Draco's shoulder. In public his father played it safe, but were they in private he would have called the girl a dirty little Mudblood . Of that, Draco was sure; he had heard his father use the term multiple times before. Feeling thoroughly chastised and ashamed, Draco kept his eyes trained on the ground, swearing to himself that he would never be that foolish again to assume someone's blood status.
Heavy silence followed them to platform 9 ¾, his father's grip not once loosening on his shoulder. Before Draco could join his friends, his father stopped him, turning him roughly towards him.
"You won't start your schooling off like that." Twisting the top of his walking stick, his father pulled his wand free, training the tip at Draco. " Obli- "
Sweaty and breathing heavily, Draco startled from his disturbing dream. The strange realness of his dream gave him a hard time adjusting to his surroundings, to his reality. This was Hogwarts, fifth year Slytherin boys' dormitory. Then why was the buttery taste of caramel still fresh on his tongue? Sure, he had had both caramel and chocolate before, but never in that heavenly combination.
His first meeting with Granger sprang forward in his memories. A girl with bushy brown locks had slid open the door to their train compartment, her eyes immediately fixed onto his, a bright smile on her lips. Her "Oh, hey there!" had seemed entirely too familiar back then. She had asked about Longbottom's toad and at the mention of that sorry excuse of a pureblood he had sneered at her, earning him snickering laughs from his friends. That was when her cheerful face had fallen, disappointment clouding her features. It was always disappointment with her and he never understood how she could have any expectations from him to treat her differently.
The two scenes – the dream and how he remembered his first meeting with Granger – warred in his head, causing him a splitting headache. Throughout breakfast, Draco debated with himself whether his father had truly erased this memory or if it, indeed, had been just a dream. In the end, he decided that it had been a dream, although a realistic one at that.
Afterwards, he reverted back to his old self, became even more vicious in his deduction of points as part of the Inquisitorial Squad. Those were the best months of his Hogwarts years yet, having the respect of those who mattered and being feared by those who did not.
Everything took a turn for the worse at the end of the school year when his father was sent to Azkaban after the failed attempt to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. With his father locked away, Draco returned to the Manor to find it occupied by Death Eaters, one worse than the other, lurking in his childhood home.
His father's failure put him and his mother in the focus, both under the constant threat of death should they not make amends. Tasked with the impossible, killing Dumbledore, Draco began to see the flaws in the Dark Lord's agenda. Ironically, the night he took the Dark Mark and swore to serve their goal was also the beginning of the end, his beliefs in blood purity crumbling. Every evil deed he had to witness only brought him closer to the revelation that his father had condemned them to be the victims of a complete madman. Every killing in front of his eyes, let him see that regardless of their blood status they all bled the same red, their blood indistinguishable.
A sprout breaks through the surface, growing slowly but steadily,nourished plentifully.
The fateful day snatchers dragged the Golden Trio into the manor, Draco wanted to scream, to run, to give up. Scream at Potter for being caught when he was meant to be their last hope. Run from the inevitable prolonged servitude he would be forced to endure once Potter was dead. Give up the pretense that he supported the Dark Lord's cause, any notion of blood purity long forgotten. Instead he had done nothing. He neither identified Potter nor helped Granger when his crazed aunt had tortured her, carved Mudblood into her arm with a cursed knife. Unbidden, his dream from fifth year forced itself into the forefront of his thoughts. Granger's screams echoed in his mind simultaneously with her dream giggles, a horrible dissonance that made Draco's stomach twist into a knot. Never had he felt more relieved than when his father's former house elf swept them all away, although it meant punishment for him and his parents.
Fatigued by rounds and rounds of curses, dealt out by none other than his aunt, Draco lay in bed, staring at the velvet canopy above. The enchanted silver thread imitated the night sky, his namesake constellation always in the middle, its stars inviting him to sleep, to dream. After everything he had to witness and endure, he should have been plagued by nightmares. Instead, that cheerful girl awaited him on the bench in King's Cross station, sharing his anticipation for Hogwarts, offering him delicious candy. Often, Draco would take refuge in this might-be memory. Since he could not be portrayed as a complete failure, but could hardly be celebrated as a success either, Draco often served as a cautionary tale. As the son of a fallen-from-grace Death Eater, he was a constant reminder to the Dark Lord's new followers.
When the penal curses became too painful or the abusive words became too much, he liked to fantasize about a world where the dream was a real memory, the turning-point in his life. He had no doubt that they could have been friends.
The lush green sprout grew into a sapling, straight and sturdy.
Locked in a holding cell, deep within the bowels of the Ministry, awaiting his trial, Draco found solace in the dream once more. With the outcome of his parents' trials unknown to him, all he could do was wait. For all he knew, they would send him to Azkaban, making him the youngest inmate in history. He had aided the Death Eaters in infiltrating Hogwarts in sixth year. He had condemned Dumbledore, who had offered him help and protection, to death by disarming him. He had failed to help Potter and his friends, while all it took was a simple denial that the snatcher's bounty was the boy who lived. And worst of all, he had sought to capture Potter and hand him over to the Dark Lord. In that moment of temporary insanity, Draco had chosen wrong once more. When confronted with the choice of the easy way -saving himself and his family - and the hard way - saving the Wizarding world as it was by just leaving Potter to do his thing - he had chosen selfishly and had come to regret it immediately. Unresisting, he would face the consequences of his wrongdoings. As he was escorted into the hearing room, Draco had no illusions that anything other than Azkaban would be his sentence.
Both Potter and Granger speaking in his favour came as a shock to him, paralyzing him in the accused stand. Listening to them paint him as a victim of his circumstances, Draco almost came to believe them himself.
Almost.
Unlike the jury, he was painfully aware that he always had a choice. Sure, choosing the right side would have brought danger and repercussions, but it was one of his options at all times.
Reluctant grumbling followed the statements and some Wizengamot members even dared to accost Potter and Granger, despite their seemingly untouchable war hero status. In the end, however, they were not intimidated and stood by their point of view: Draco Malfoy was the product of his environment, forced into a situation he had not wanted. Alone their commitment was what changed the Wizengamot's mind, and helped Draco to a more lenient verdict: house arrest and having to finish his education in Hogwarts before he had to take a job with the ministry.
The sapling shot into the sky, developed into a full-grown tree, its branches spreading wide, its leaves a deep green.
Only his father was sent to Azkaban that day while he and his mother were bound to the Manor. His childhood home was haunted with memories of cruel deeds and evil vermin. In the months before his mandatory last year at Hogwarts, Draco spent most of his time roaming the vast grounds, walking aimlessly for hours on end, fleeing the confines of the manor's walls, where every corner held a different reminder of his wrong choices. Few rooms remained untarnished by dark magic, limiting his choice of indoor places of retreat. Often, Draco found himself in the library. After years, he pursued his long forgotten hobby, reading, again. With no pressure from school or the Dark Lord's mission, he found joy in the countless books of their private library. He would read anything that even slightly piqued his interest, regardless of the topic. One book in particular had a strong appeal for him: Hogwarts: A History . Even besides his strange dream, he knew that it was Granger's favourite book and that somehow made the book more special than all the priceless tomes his ancestors had collected over centuries. With every repetition of reading that book he found something new he should have cherished about the school, and slowly the dread that settled in his stomach whenever he thought about returning to the castle was replaced by the anticipation he had felt before his first departure at King's Cross.
Still dreading his return, Draco apparated to the station just in time to catch the train. Although there were two final years returning to Hogwarts, most compartments were sparsely occupied, a testimony to the toll the students had taken due to the war. Many parents had decided to not let their kids walk the halls again where they had to watch their friends die. Another reason not to complete their education was the prejudice one had to face, especially among Slytherins. With his sentence, though, Draco had to brave the sneers and taunts. According to the plan he had laid out for himself, he wanted to board the train at the last minute and then search for an empty four seater, hoping nobody would disturb him. When he saw Granger sitting by herself, reading a book and nibbling on very familiar chocolate disks, he froze. His house arrest had given him plenty of time to reflect on his recurring dream and its memory-like quality. After everything his father had been willing to do, Draco no longer put it above him to have altered his memories. If he followed the corridor for long enough he was sure to find an empty four seater, just like he had planned, but Granger had him mesmerized, forgetting everything he had laid out. After staring unnoticed at her for quite some time, his body moved on its own, hand hauling the sliding door open a little too forcefully. Granger looked up, startled. At the sight of her wide eyes, Draco wanted to flee but his feet would not move. Instead, his fingers tightened their hold on the door handle and his back broke out in a cold sweat. Like this, he stood on the threshold, unable to make a decision until Granger lifted an inquiring eyebrow at him.
"Do you mind?" It came out a little more gruff than he had wanted, but she merely nodded and turned back to her book. Seeing as she had already granted her permission for him to join her in the compartment, it would be strange, rude even, of him to leave, so he sat down across from her.
While Granger kept on reading, Draco let his gaze wander, into the countryside, over her belongings, to the corridor, where multiple passing students shook their heads in disbelief, probably because he had dared to impose his presence on the Golden Girl. Although the silence between them was not unwelcome, Draco still felt like he should say something, anything really, preferably an apology for all the horrible things he had done and said to her over the years. In the end, it was an embarrassingly loud grumble from his stomach that disrupted the quiet. Not feeling particularly hungry that morning, he had skipped breakfast. In the meantime, his lack of appetite had steadily turned into painful hunger. A timid smile played along her lips, as she watched him press his hand onto his stomach in hopes to calm it down.
"Do you like chocolate?" The exact same sentence as in his dream. Draco swallowed thickly before going along with the script by answering: "Like chocolate? I love chocolate." Although it came short in terms of enthusiasm, it managed to draw a remarkable reaction from Granger. A shimmer of hope glimmered in her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly and as if on cue she continued with: "No need to be shy. Take some."
Nervous, his hands hovered just short of the proffered packaging. "Are those the ones with caramel filling?"
"So, you do remember." Sadness swam in her eyes, her voice a mere whisper.
"It seems as if father obliviated me that day." The admission hurt more than he would have thought. His father had erased the memory so he could start his Hogwarts journey untarnished. Although Draco was sure his father had done it to protect him, he hated that his father's ideas were so twisted that he had thought it necessary to go to that length.
"Back then, I thought I had made a friend." Her fingers played with her bookmark, her eyes avoiding his. Back then, they had felt the same and had he not been obliviated, doubt might have been sought in time for Draco to turn out better, wiser.
Fishing a chocolate piece from the packaging, Draco thought about all the times he had wished things had turned out differently during the months when his home had become a prison for him.
"If you are willing to give me another chance, I will make it up to you." The heavenly taste only intensified in his mouth as she smiled at him, only a moment's hesitation before she nodded.
How Hermione Granger found the strength to forgive him so easily was beyond him, but Draco would do anything to become worthy of her friendship.
With time, the tree matured, but not without facing obstacles; it braved harsh winds, torrent rainstorms and unforgiving pellets of hail, only growing with its challenges.