Disclaimer: all characters and the wider wizarding world belong to J. K. Rowling.
October rolled into November and Hermione noticed the Slytherin students were starting to come out of their self-imposed restraint bit by bit. Even Greg Goyle, who seemed to her less and less like the hulking bully he had in previous years, had sniggered at a tripping jinx thrown by a fifth year Slytherin at a group of Ravenclaws, who retaliated with tickling hexes until the whole corridor was in stitches.
Only that afternoon she'd had to break up a group of Gryffindor fourth years led by Dennis Creevey who had taken offence to Theo wolf whistling at Hermione as she hugged Neville in the corridor. It didn't seem to matter to them that she'd explained that Theo was a friend and as much as it was outdated and she would be discussing gender inequality with Theo in great detail later, friends were allowed to wolf whistle at one another. Honestly, the way they were carrying on you'd think she was some delicate flower, not a war heroine.
She had managed to avoid rounds for most of the term, delegating the responsibility to the younger years. But it was finally her turn and she'd picked Malfoy to partner with her. She'd made an effort to partner him with people she could trust to be professional and so far, nobody had disappointed. The other benefit of completing rounds with Malfoy was that, as seventh years, they could both handle themselves so they could split up the route and cover twice as much ground.
She was just finishing up, coming down to the main hall from Ravenclaw tower to meet Malfoy in the entrance hall, when she heard a commotion in the hallway leading to the dungeons. She drew her wand and advanced quickly and quietly.
Rounding the corner, she saw Malfoy on the floor surrounded by a group of five, writhing in what appeared to be agony, but laughing hysterically. One of the group was obviously a lookout and as soon as she arrived, they ran, casting shield charms against her impediment and petrifying jinxes. She managed to catch one and quickly bound him and summoned his wand to her open hand before entering the hallway.
She approached the scene slowly. Malfoy looked so vulnerable she almost had to fight the urge to hug him. Almost.
"Malfoy? Are you ok?"
He looked up slowly. His grey eyes were dry, but it was clear he had been holding back tears earlier. He tried to force himself to scowl at her, as he had done a hundred times before, but he didn't have the energy.
"What do you want, Granger?" He sighed. "Come to cheer on your little Gryffindor hit squad?"
"Gryffindors?"
Hermione approached the incapacitated and bound wizard a few paces from Malfoy. She recognised the reddish-brown hair immediately and as she turned him over, she looked into the furious eyes of Dennis Creevey.
"Oh Dennis," she muttered sadly. She checked he was ok and wasn't going anywhere before turning back to his victim.
"I had nothing to do with-" Hermione insisted, but he interrupted her with a scoff.
"You seriously want me to believe that those Gryffindorks just happened to find me on the one night we patrol alone?"
"I don't care what you believe," she was trying to keep her temper under control but his sneer was so familiar she felt like it was before the war, that they hadn't been civil all term. "I can't say I've ever really cared for what you believe, Malfoy!"
"There it is!" He crowed, but there was no victory in his voice, as it cracked. "Come on then, gloat, tell me this is what I deserve for taking the Mark, for being a pawn, for being evil-"
"I don't think you're evil" she interjected, the anger dissipating at his tone. "I mean, you did some pretty awful things, but you were a boy, following in your father's footsteps. It doesn't make you evil. Misguided, unwise, even. But not evil."
He blinked once, twice, and just stared like he was seeing her for the first time. He still couldn't find the malice he was looking for.
"You know, for someone who always seemed to know what to say to cut me deepest you don't know me very well at all. I don't gloat." she huffed.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. Here he was, bruised and curse damaged on the floor and she was protesting that he'd insulted her honour. She was something else.
They stared at each other for a moment before he let his head fall back and sighed.
"Alright, so you're not here to gloat. What are you doing down here then, didn't trust me to complete my rounds alone?"
She looked at him as if he had grown a new head clean out of the top of the first one.
"I was finishing up my own rounds and I heard something, and I thought you could maybe use some help," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I mean, I know they didn't use any particularly dangerous spells, but you look like you've taken quite the thrashing."
She wanted to help.
He sat looking at her with his mouth wide. For the past two years he had done everything on his own, first his impossible task, then surviving his own house, then the battle and finally his trial. Ok, so people had tried to help along the way; his mother, Snape, Dumbledore, and his friends had tried in their own small, Slytherin way. But he'd been too young and stubborn to accept any help until it was too late, and nobody wanted to help anymore.
Well, almost nobody, apparently. Hadn't the Griffindors already thrown him enough lifelines this year to prove that statement?
"You actually want to help me?" he whispered. It was almost too good to be true, he feared that if he spoke too loudly, he might frighten the goodwill away.
"Yes," she whispered back, mind reeling at the change in his voice. "Of course."
He looked at her again, searching those brown eyes for the hidden meaning, but finding yet again that there wasn't any.
"Why?"
His voice was so quiet she almost missed his question. His grey eyes were swimming, she didn't think she'd ever seen Draco Malfoy look so rattled, and she didn't think she ever wanted to see it again. She sat on the floor next to him.
"Because you need help, and whatever you've done, whatever went on between us, we've known each other for 7 years. We survived a war. I've seen enough suffering to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. And I think you have too."
She stopped and looked down, picking at some fluff on her jumper. She'd been avoiding this conversation since the beginning of term. She'd forged a tentative friendship with Theo Nott, but if she were ever going to get past being awkwardly civil with Draco Malfoy, she needed to get the skeletons out of the closet. In the silence of the hallway she took a deep breath and forged on.
"I think that's why you didn't identify us. I don't know if he told you, but it's why Harry and I decided to defend you. You may not have had quite the rough deal that Harry had but you hardly had it easy. I mean, it can't have been pleasant to watch, I imagine, and in your house, I'll bet it was, well, I don't think I want to know."
Her voice trailed off into nothingness. The silence hung heavy between them. Slowly his chuckling brought her back to the present.
"You're laughing at me."
He shook his head although the movement caused him to wince and stop abruptly.
"No, I'm not, I'm just stunned."
When she didn't say anything, he continued.
"I mean, you and Potter, and even Weasley, though I'm loathe to admit it, had the roughest deal of all. A year on the run, a madman and his cronies – my father included – trying to kill you for years, threatening your families, your friends dying in front of you, being captured and-" he swallowed hard. He'd deliberately avoided talking about it, but he supposed she'd been brave enough to broach the subject, so he didn't need to be the courageous one.
"Captured and tortured, in my house, by my mad aunt no less, while I looked on and did nothing, except lie unconvincingly, and you're trying to imagine the hardships I faced because my parents had some interesting houseguests.
"I always thought maybe you were sorted into the wrong house, with your love affair with the library you had Ravenclaw written all over you, but you weren't. You're a bleeding-heart Gryffindor through and through."
She scrunched up her face.
"You say it like it's a bad thing. Being a bleeding-heart Gryffindor is what kept me going, what kept me fighting for the right thing. It's what won the war."
She paused, the weight of her words hanging between them like lead weights. Then she quirked an eyebrow and looked quizzically at him.
"Besides, I do not have a love affair with the library!"
His bark of laughter surprised even him. He tried to remember the last time he'd laughed like that but couldn't. It could have been fifth year.
"I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh when it wasn't at the expense of someone less fortunate than yourself."
His smile became even broader. His whole face changed, and Hermione almost gasped at the transformation. Even bruised and bloody his smile was breath-taking, and she found herself staring into grey sparkling eyes, losing herself for a moment.
She cleared her throat and looked away.
"Right, well," she fussed with her robes and the two wands in her hands. "Dennis isn't going anywhere soon so do you need help getting to Madam Pomfrey, or do you need any healing spells before we move you? I'm not excellent at them but I read a few books last year as a precaution so I can do a bit of patching if needs be."
He sighed again; his pride would have to wait. Besides, she'd had plenty of opportunity to gloat already and he wasn't going to make it to the infirmary on his own.
"My legs, they used some sort of binding curse, they're pretty banged up and I'm not sure I'd be steady on them."
"I could transfigure a stretcher if you'd like?"
"Merlin, no. I don't need that getting round the school. It's bad enough that I'll have to see Pomfrey in the first place, don't need them thinking I'm actually an invalid."
She nodded and began to work on some strengthening spells on his legs, doing her best not to touch the obviously bruised and battered limbs.
"Do you think you could try standing?" she asked tentatively and held out her hand.
It was a test, and they both knew it.
He looked at it for a moment before sighing again and taking it to pull himself up into an upright position, only to promptly stumble on unsteady legs and almost bring them both crashing down. She grabbed him quickly to stop them both from toppling.
Manoeuvring them so that she was supporting him with one arm around his waist and his arm around her shoulders she checked he was ok once more before setting off for the infirmary.
It was mercifully empty and Madam Pomfrey helped him to the first bed and began performing a series of diagnostic spells whilst asking a series of questions about the events of the evening.
Deciding that he probably didn't need an audience for a retelling of the evening's events, Hermione turned to leave, dreading explaining the situation to the Headmistress. Before she'd taken two steps, long thin fingers coiled round her wrist, stopping her.
"Thanks, Granger."
Those piercing grey eyes were so open, so honest in that moment that she had to resist the urge to hug him. She just nodded and made her way to the Headmistress' office to report Dennis' actions, more confused than ever about the blond man who had returned to school this year.
At breakfast the following morning, news of the attack on Malfoy had spread like wildfire. It seemed to be all anyone could talk about.
Some first years were gossiping loudly by the doors of the great hall about how much blood he'd supposedly lost and laughing about how much paler he'd look. Hermione took 5 house points from each of their houses and shooed them to their classes.
She huffed as she plopped herself down on the bench next to Ginny.
"Honestly, it's not funny. It's not like they've ever seen a real attack, most of them were sheltered from the war. It is hardly gossip!"
"Oh, come on 'Mione, it's ferret boy, it's funny!" Ron jeered. "I heard he couldn't use his legs after they used too many tickling jinxes combined with leg-locker curses. Never thought of that combination, but it's genius! I'm sure George would appreciate the tip. Shame Dennis got caught though, poor little sod, he'll be in detention for weeks."
Ron continued to stuff food into his mouth throughout, without looking up. This meant he missed Harry and Ginny's warning looks. When he realised the table had fallen silent, he finally looked up from his food.
"Wha'?"
"You are unbelievable, Ronald Weasley! A student has been attacked, by Gryffindors no less, set upon five wands to one, and beaten and kicked and you think it's funny? I suppose you'd be ok if it were you, or me, or Harry in that situation. Would it be funny then?"
Ginny put a reassuring hand on her arm but accidentally touched her scar and Hermione promptly jerked her arm away and mumbled something about not having an appetite anymore before rushing from the hall.
"Nice one, Ron."
"I didn't do anything, she's just overreacting. She'll see the funny side by lunchtime. You know how she gets, remember the house elves thing?" Ron nodded as if his argument was made and returned to his breakfast. "Slytherins are the new house elves. She'll get over it."
Ginny shook her head. Her brother really was an idiot sometimes.
Hermione walked and walked; she had a free period and she had intended to use it to study but she knew the library would be the first place her friends looked for her. Besides, she couldn't have concentrated on her Potions essay, she was too worked up. Malfoy had suspected the rest of his attackers were Gryffindors and Ron's reaction had been telling - despite all her best efforts, house unity was taking a long time to change the minds of some people.
She was so deep in thought that she didn't realise where she was walking until her feet stopped in front of the large doors of the infirmary. She smiled to herself; her feet knew just what she needed to clear her mind. Pushing the door open, she slipped in quietly.
Madam Pomfrey was tending to a small first or second year boy who was hiccoughing large purple bubbles on the nearest bed. Hermione bid her good morning, and in response the mediwitch nodded her head to the far end of the room where a single bed was occupied. Hermione approached; her view of the occupant obscured by the curtain until she reached the foot of his bed.
He was sitting up, reading a potions book that had seen better days. She stood watching him for a moment, the sun from the high windows making his hair seem to glow, even with the curtain drawn to partially block its rays. Someone had obviously provided him with some clothes, and he sat in a green t-shirt that was so dark it was almost black. It was a striking look, even Hermione had to admit.
"If you're going to stand there and stare all day, I might consider charging for the privilege."
He put a leather bookmark in his page and carefully placed the book on his bedside table before finally turning his gaze to his visitor, who was blushing crimson.
"Oh, please," she muttered. "You love the attention and you don't need the galleons. I'm surprised you don't pay for people to stare at you, not the other way around."
Draco scowled in response.
"I see you're all better."
"Pomfrey won't let me leave," he grumbled. "I tried to convince her I was ok to go at sunrise this morning, but she wasn't having any of it. Something to do with studying the aftereffects, making sure my legs are up to the challenge of holding up my ego."
Hermione couldn't help her giggles at that. The raised eyebrow only encouraged her to laugh more openly and she sat down on the edge of the bed, chuckling.
"What are you doing, Granger?"
"Oh relax," she waved him off with a hand. "I'm just sitting, I'm not going to hug you, or anything. Don't get so worked up."
Draco observed as she crossed and uncrossed her ankles and fiddled with her hands in her lap. Even without having been taught to read people from a young age, he could tell she wanted to talk.
"Spit it out, Granger, the cogs in your head are unbearably loud."
She started a little at his abrupt breaking of the silence between them, but she smiled.
"I wanted to know who else attacked you," she began, tentatively. "Dennis is going to be in detention for a very long time – and he'll see a mind healer to deal with the death of his brother properly – but perhaps the others could benefit from it as well.
"I know you probably don't want to say, I dare say a few years ago there'd have been an inquest and shouts of "my father" and-"
"Please don't mention Lucius."
His voice was emotionless and loud enough to cut her off mid-sentence, but he didn't shout. It was cold and reserved. She floundered for a minute, and her hands fidgeted in her lap again.
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not, Granger. He tried to kill you more than once. Don't be sorry he's in prison," he scoffed. "I know I'm not."
"I'm not sorry he's in prison, and it was Dolohov who tried to kill me the first time, for the record," she argued. "I'm just sorry for mentioning him and making you uncomfortable."
She summoned all her Gryffindor courage and offered him an olive branch.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
"No!" She recoiled from his raised voice and he sneered. "No, Granger. I know you bleeding-hearts love to talk it all out but I don't want to talk about it, I'm not telling you who else attacked me and I'm not about to join your sorry little war survivors support group."
"You'd rather keep it all bottled up and lash out at people who are trying to help?"
Draco smirked as her eyes flashed with that familiar anger.
"Exactly. You've been on the receiving end of that enough to recognise it, I should think."
"Why do you do that? Push people away when there's nobody to see?" Hermione watched as he flinched slightly, and softened. "I'm sure being aloof and unattainable is a real hit with the Slytherin witches but seeing as they're not here maybe you could just be you? You might like it."
A smile blossomed slowly on her face.
"You never know, I might like it too."
Brown eyes met grey and her smile faltered as he paled.
"You might?"
"I mean, people might like it," she spluttered, quickly. "Other people, you know, including me. It would be like an experiment. It might even work."
Hermione's voice tapered off, and her hands fidgeted as she averted her gaze. She laughed nervously.
"Merlin that was embarrassing," she muttered. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant it might make a nice change. You've been civil since the beginning of the year and I think you meant it when you said you wanted a clean slate. And Theo's such a darling; now he's not cursing the ground I walk on, that is. Maybe I could stand to be friends with other Slytherins."
Draco raised an eyebrow and surveyed the witch in front of him.
He'd spent so long disliking her, it just came naturally. Even when he was trying to be civil it came across as hostile. This woman, the only one trying to keep them afloat - trying to help, of all things - was trying to start a friendship with him. With the boy who had tormented her for years.
He tried to remember why he hated her, but it wouldn't come, his father's idiotic blood prejudices thoroughly discarded in his mind. Her teeth had been fixed a long time ago, her hair was more curly than frizzy, and although it did seem to have a mind of its own, she seemed to have grown into it. She was sharp and witty and funny, and undoubtedly the cleverest witch in the school, probably including the teachers.
He was awed for a moment. He realised he wanted to be her friend. As much as she seemed to bestow her friendship on many people, it seemed like a gift, and after the year he'd endured he deserved a gift.
And after all, a Malfoy always got what they wanted.
"I'm not sure how. I've never had many friends, Granger," he held a hand up to silence her protest. "I'm not unpopular by any stretch, but I have more acquaintances and certainly more people interested in my name and my vaults than I have friends.
"And after last year, I don't think it's a good idea."
Hermione's eyebrows knotted together and the overly quizzical look she gave him was almost comical.
"Why?"
He barked with laughter, but unlike his outbursts the night before it was colder, more calculating.
"Really, Granger?"
"Oh, honestly, people just need to get over it," she stated, matter-of-factly. "You were acquitted. Whatever you did, you paid your dues and you should be forgiven."
"Forgiven?"
He quirked an eyebrow, but her gaze was unwavering.
"Yes."
He pretended he didn't understand the double meaning in her simple answer.
He had thought a lot about forgiveness. His mother had told him endlessly that he was not to blame. She'd spent hours over the summer admonishing him for being melancholy, particularly after the trial, and encouraged him to put it behind him so that others would too.
But if he couldn't put it behind him, how could he expect others to?
"Forgiveness is a way off, Granger." He rested his hands in his lap. He looked so forlorn, Hermione had to again resist the urge to pull him into her arms and tell him she forgave him until they were both a pile of tears. This was so much easier with Gryffindor boys.
"But I'll make you a deal, when I do feel like I'm ready for forgiveness, you'll be the first to know."
Her smile was infectious, and he found himself smirking just a little as she left, promising to come back later with his homework for the day for the classes they shared.
In the corner of the infirmary Poppy watched in shock as the Head Girl left, making a note to speak to the Headmistress at dinner. She did love a good bit of gossip.
