Draco knew he stared at Hermione, but the only thing he repeated to himself was she'd kept it. She'd kept it. She'd kept it. But not only had she kept it, Granger was holding it. His ring.
He'd purposefully dropped it yesterday. It was a stupid, selfish reason, but he'd done it anyway because a small part of him hoped she would return it. That would give him an excuse to speak to her—actually speak to her.
Draco grimaced remembering his words. He'd accused her of forgetting how to swim. And hear. He hadn't known what else to say so he'd resorted to what he knew best—insults. He'd have to work on that.
After she'd recoiled from it, Draco had assumed she didn't want anything to do with him, let alone return his ring.
Perhaps he'd misjudged her.
Draco blinked and realized he'd been staring at Granger while she looked at him like he'd gone mad.
Hermione jutted her chin forward. Hello?
He glanced at the front of the classroom where Professor Oakwald rambled on about something he didn't particularly care about. Then he looked back at her. He pointed at the ring and shook his head. Not now.
Though he turned to face the front of the classroom, his mind wandered for the rest of the lesson. He also couldn't help but feel Hermione's sidelong glances at him every so often. They were quick, subtle looks, but he felt them like an icy touch on the back of his neck.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Draco looked up at the professor as students filed by his desk. He hadn't realized class had ended. "Yes, Professor?"
Professor Oakwald smiled softly. "I'd like a word, if you would."
"Of course." He glanced at Hermione, but she kept her head down as she gathered her textbook and parchments. He adjusted the strap of his bookbag and stood taller. "Am I in trouble, Professor?"
Raina Oakwald waved her hand. "No, no. I just have a question. Well, a long-winded explanation before I get to my question." She folded her hands on the large bureau. "In two weeks, I'll be covering a section on fear for Halloween. It's meant to be spooky and fun, but I realized that after the events in May, not everyone may want to face a Boggart for one of the classes."
Draco swallowed the panic that sparked at Professor Oakwald's words. "A Boggart?"
She nodded. "I spoke with the Headmistress because she believes that a Boggart could conjure concerning fears depending on the person, especially after the war a few months ago." She put a hand out before Draco could speak. "Now, I don't know the details, but Headmistress McGonagall was particularly worried about you and Ms. Granger. She said that the things you endured together might conjure a Boggart leagues worse than the other students."
She spoke to Hermione, too?
Draco wouldn't doubt their Boggarts would be similar if not the same. They had gone through the same nightmare, after all.
"So," Professor Oakwald said, drawing his attention back to her, "my question is: would you like the opportunity to back out of facing the Boggart? If you do and feel ashamed—which, first of all, you shouldn't—and if that's something of concern to you, I'll just say you're sick."
"May I ask what Granger said?"
Raina stared at him for a moment before she said, "As of right now, she said she'd do it."
Well, damn. If Granger said she'd face the Boggart, then Draco couldn't back out. He was tired of looking at his life and only seeing a coward. A selfish, spineless coward. He would change that, and perhaps facing a Boggart was the first step in that direction.
Lucius stood over his shoulder. "Good, son."
Draco shook his head. He wasn't doing this for his father; he was doing it for himself to prove that he didn't have to live his whole life being defended. He wanted to defend someone else—her—again. This time, if the opportunity came, he'd make it mean something. He'd protect her this time around.
Draco clenched a fist, the knuckles of his right hand aching and bruised.
He'd protect her.
He looked up at the professor. "I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"More sure than I have been in a while."
Raina Oakwald gave him the ghost of a smile. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. Just know that if you change your mind, you can let me know. Even if it's as you walk into class that morning."
"I understand, Professor."
Draco turned, but Professor Oakwald tapped her desk. "And Draco, are you alright?" She motioned to her own eye and nose.
"I'm fine, Professor," he said, but even as the words exited his mouth, his face throbbed. "Just got a little rough at Quidditch practice."
Her eyes gleamed; she knew he lied. Instead of calling Draco out on it, though, she nodded. "If Quidditch ever becomes too much, I would suggest seeing Madam Pomfrey."
"Yes, Professor."
Professor Oakwald glanced past Draco's shoulder and inclined her chin. "It seems you have someone else wanting to speak with you."
He turned to see the edge of Hermione's shoulder peeking out from the classroom doorway. She waited for him.
Draco muttered his thanks, the back of his neck warming as he strode toward the door. He brushed past Hermione, and before he could face her, she snagged a small portion of his robes between her thumb and index finger. His gaze dropped to that hand, but Hermione didn't let go. Only when Draco had turned to face her did she release the grip she'd had on his sleeve.
He cocked his head. "Granger." The voice that exited his mouth sounded much calmer than expected considering how his heart pounded.
Hermione's deep brown eyes stared up at him, an ember of that fire in them. This time, when their gazes met, she didn't balk. She lifted his ring between them. "I believe this belongs to you."
Shit. He hadn't prepared what to say. What did he say to that?
"Yes." Draco kicked himself. Clearly, it was his ring. What an idiot. He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "What I meant was thank you." His fingertips closed around the ring, his hand brushing Hermione's. He could have sworn she inhaled sharper than usual. "Thank you for returning it to me."
Hermione shrugged. "I didn't want to keep what wasn't mine."
Draco couldn't decipher her tone. Was it as simple as what she said. or was there disdain hidden in the gaps between words?
"I appreciate that," he said, finally taking the ring from her grasp. He motioned down the staircase, letting her ease in front of him.
Hermione shifted away from his extended arm but didn't lower her chin.
When they were in between floors, Draco cleared his throat and pulled a book from his bag. "I supposed I should return the gesture." He tapped the air with it before handing it over to Hermione. "You left this on the bridge."
A smile nearly appeared. "Thank you," she said and then exhaled. "It seems like I'm saying those two words to you quite a bit lately."
Draco slid his hands into his trouser pockets and leaned back slightly. "Well, don't thank me yet. I accidentally got blood on the cover." He pointed to the gash above his eyebrow. He'd thankfully managed to stop the bleeding before dropping his blood all the way across the castle. "I…apologize for that."
Hermione shook her head. "Don't. It's just a book. If I can still read it, then no harm was done." She turned and Draco fought the urge to catch her wrist to keep her from leaving. He racked his brain for something else to say.
"It's good," he blurted.
Hermione halted and tilted her head. "Excuse me?"
He pointed. "The book. It's good."
"You read it?"
"'Course."
A mischievous grin appeared before she said, "I didn't know you could read."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Did Potter tell you I said that?"
"Well, considering you said it about Goyle, I'm not the least bit surprised."
"Between you and me," Draco whispered, "I'm still not entirely sure if he can."
Hermione chuckled.
She chuckled and that sound—no matter how short-lived it was—made him grin. He wanted to say something else funny just to hear it again.
However, her expression turned stony and lifeless as quickly as it had awakened with that soft laugh. She inclined her chin at Draco's face. "I heard Goyle in the Great Hall gloating about what he did to you."
The gash above his eyebrow pounded with his heartbeat in response. "He probably didn't mention I was the one who'd started it." He shrugged, a sly grin picking at his lips. "He deserved it."
Hermione nodded and whispered, "Defending my name, I heard."
Draco blinked and something like rage filled him. "Who said that?"
"Goyle practically admitted to it. You know him. He can't keep his big fat mouth shut." Hermione shrugged, the motion smooth, casual. "But Zabini mentioned your name."
That bastard. Zabini had mentioned his name where it concerned Granger? He shouldn't have—
"He...let me go," Hermione said, her soft voice pulling Draco away from his violent thoughts. "Zabini. I attacked Goyle and he let me leave."
Draco blinked. "You...what?"
Her throat bobbed and she took a step back. "Nothing. Forget I said that. I didn't hurt Goyle, I promise." A wicked gleam filled her eyes. "Well, not physically, anyway. I might have wounded his ego a bit."
Some form of pride swelled in his chest. He'd have to see what happened later. Merlin's beard, he wished he could have seen it. If Granger put Goyle's pride on the line, then she must have done something brilliant. That's what she was, after all—brilliant.
"Brilliant," he whispered, not entirely meaning to.
"You're not mad?"
Draco shook his head. "If you were pissed enough to strike out against Goyle in the middle of the Great Hall, then I'm sure you had a damn good reason."
It was Hermione's turn to blink. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before she breathed, "Yes. Though, I'm sure you probably know why."
He probably did, yet Draco asked the question anyway. "Why did you do it, Granger?"
A humorless chuckle. "Because I'm tired of hearing that word used against me—to belittle me and my power. I'm tired of sops like Goyle getting away with it, too. I'm sure he's pissed—no, he's more than pissed—but I don't care. I'm tired of feeling weak and powerless." Hermione took a breath and then looked up at Draco. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all that."
"No," Draco said with a shake of his head, "you have every right to feel as you do." He looked away. "I know I played a part in that as kids." And I'm sorry, he wanted to say. But he swallowed the words. Apparently, he hadn't grown that backbone quite yet.
Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.
That word clanged through him repeatedly, and each time it sounded more vicious. As if the word itself were poison on the tongue.
Hermione's tone was gentle, but her words were sharp. "If you expect me to forgive you for that—any of you lot for that—then you're wrong." She leaned away from Draco and backed into the stone wall.
You lot. Yes, Draco supposed she was right to group him in with the other Slytherins. He was no different from them. The scar on the inside of his forearm proved it. He was Marked just like all the other Death Eaters.
"No." That word was barely more than an exhale. His throat bobbed. "No, I expect your hate. I expect your disdain, your wrath, and your pain. Anything but forgiveness."
He expected her to hate him, which is why her clutching his ring earlier had shocked him so much. He would be worried if Hermione didn't hate the sight of him or sneer at the thought of him next to her on that forest floor. He deserved her anger, and he would survive it.
Hermione's nose scrunched in that way it did when she contemplated. After a moment, she said, "I don't hate you. I've tried to but I don't."
Those words floated between them like smoke from a pipe. Draco wasn't sure if he entirely believed her. Memories of the forest made him blink.
"You should," he whispered.
"And you should have turned me over to the Dark Lord," Hermione retorted, a spark of fire in her voice.
Draco nodded. "I should have."
"You should have," Hermione echoed, "but you didn't." As if she were seeing the events of that day unfold before her eyes for the first time, she breathed, "You fought him instead." Their eyes met, and though Draco wanted to sink into the wall rather than bear the intensity of her gaze, he made himself look. He made himself feel her pain, anguish, and anger. He made himself feel it and then absorbed it, as if that meant she'd have a little less pain to deal with.
Draco inhaled sharply when he realized exactly what he'd do for her—what he'd give to take away the trauma and reignite that fire in her eyes. He could see that flame within her, but it was buried deep under the unspoken words from those two days in the forest.
The suffering from months ago threatened to suffocate.
His index finger reached toward Hermione's hand, but he cleared his throat and looked away. She hadn't let him drown in his tortured thoughts, so he'd keep reaching out his hand.
Even if that meant he drowned in the process.
Hermione was right. He had fought the Dark Lord. He'd fought him and failed.
The Dark Lord had gathered his Death Eaters to the Forbidden Forest while he searched the castle for Harry Potter. Draco had been with his mother and father among those chosen to assist the Dark Lord in the forest.
Draco had wanted to run. He'd wanted to fight. He'd wanted to do anything but stand around while Voldemort wreaked havoc on his home—Hogwarts.
He'd just given in to the silky lies his father fed him when the Dark Lord appeared in a cloud of inky black with his skeleton-like hand wrapped around Hermione Granger's throat. She'd barely been conscious and yet she'd managed to set fire to the Dark Lord's robes. After putting the flames out, Voldemort had hissed something in her face and thrown her to the forest floor.
In the chaos, Hermione had run for him—had run right into the wall of Death Eaters just to plead with him.
To help her.
Please, Draco. Please, help me.
He'd taken her arm in his hand, the fear palpable on her. He'd had two choices then: throw her back to the wolves which would most likely end in her death or ostracize himself by turning from the Dark Lord and aiding a half-blood.
He hadn't had the time to think because all Draco remembered was the Dark Lord drawing the Elder Wand from his robes and pointing it at Hermione whose throat was bruised and face was streaked with dirt.
Terror glinted in her eyes, but she did not look away or balk. She stared at the Dark Lord with a hatred and boldness he had seen before, and wicked pride sparked in him. That expression on Hermione's face awoke something in Draco.
She was going to die. Voldemort was going to kill her.
The world around him stood still and no noise reached his ears except the pounding of his blood. Draco's slender fingers found the hilt of the strange wand he'd gotten to replace his since Potter had disarmed him at the Manor. Its loyalties, at least, were with him.
The Killing Curse formed on the Dark Lord's lipless mouth, and Draco pulled out of his mother's grasp, drawing the attention of every other Death Eater present for the execution of Hermione Granger.
He had no other thoughts in his head except one: save her.
He had to save her even if that meant condemning himself.
Draco shoved Hermione to the side and sent a silent spell toward the Dark Lord, blasting him across the clearing. The Killing Curse shot between them and missed Hermione by just enough that she still breathed.
Draco's hands trembled at what he'd just done, and his inhales were so sharp his lungs burned. He'd pulled his wand on the Dark Lord to save a half-blood, and yet he didn't regret it.
Only moments later, Draco would pay for that act of defiance and betrayal tenfold.
He touched a hand to the gash in his temple and dug the tip of a finger into it. The biting pain drew him from his thoughts and reality focused in around him like the lens of a camera.
Hermione watched him with those brown eyes, but a moment later, red blinded him. Draco turned his face to wipe away the blood oozing from the wound he'd reopened.
"Let me—"
Draco's fingers wrapped around Hermione's wrist, halting her.
Her eyes met his, a spark of fear in them, but that fright wasn't aimed at him. No, she jerked slightly as though she had expected pain to blossom under his touch, even though his fingers hardly grazed her skin.
His gaze narrowed as he searched her face. Had someone put their hands on her?
He shifted the position of his fingers to show that the hand was more a reminder of his presence and strength rather than an exhibition of force. Draco would never mean to harm her, and he glanced between them to prove it and realized he'd been caressing his thumb over a section of exposed skin on Hermione's wrist. The muscles in his hand twitched and he ceased the motion hopefully before she could comprehend it.
Why had he stopped her? What had she said?
Let me—
"No," he breathed. "Let it be." His damn voice betrayed him. He was surprised she couldn't hear his traitorous heart pounding from within his chest.
Hermione blinked. That fear disappeared and curiosity replaced it. "Why?" she said with equal quietness. "Aren't you in pain?"
His throat bobbed. "Yes."
"Then why—"
"Because I'm comfortable with it." Draco glanced beyond Hermione, but the staircase remained empty. "Pain is the only thing I can feel, so please," he breathed, "let it be. Without it, I'll fall into a void."
She nodded and relented her hand. "All right." She pulled out of Draco's grasp like wind through willow branches.
Though he had nightmares of the pain he'd endured, it was pain that kept Draco from going numb. That's why he drank fire whiskey—because it burned going down and heated his insides. It made him feel something other than the crushing cold and numb he'd given himself to after the war.
Hermione's expression hardened slightly. Not entirely, but enough to mask whatever emotions she'd just felt. "What you just said about pain…focusing you—keeping you present?" she said, throat bobbing, "Mine is the cold."
Draco couldn't stop the words before they exited in a rush of air. "Is that why you were in the lake yesterday?" Why you almost fell to your death?
She chuckled, but the sound was dull. "No. I saw Harry. He startled me and I reacted. Ended up toppling off the railing I was sitting on."
"I guess it's good I was there, then." The truth of why he'd actually been below the bridge bit at his mind, but Draco refused to acknowledge it.
Hermione nodded. "You saved my life twice. Actually, you've saved my life three times now."
Draco took a breath. "I believe that means you owe me, Granger."
Her eyes widened. "I'm a little scared as to what you might have in mind, Malfoy."
He chuckled softly. "Nothing too terrible, I promise." Draco thought for a moment, his heartbeat spiking. "Meet me at the place where everything is hidden."
Hermione quirked a brow. "Tonight?"
"Tonight. At seven."
She turned, and Draco noticed for the first time that her curly brown hair had been pulled into a half-up bun with the longer bits spilling over her shoulders. She glanced back at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Very well."
Hermione adjusted her bookbag on her shoulder and began descending the stairs. Though Draco wanted to reach out and stop her, he curled his fingers into a fist. He watched her leave, and he could have sworn the band of the ring she'd returned warmed around his finger.