Hello dear readers!
First, I would like to thank beta reader Panda Patronus for their help on this chapter.
Second, I would like to thank YOU for being here and giving my story a chance. I hope it won't dissapoint!
This is a long and emotionally charged chapter so I really hope you enjoy it!
Chapter 5 – Changing Perspective
Hermione did not understand Draco Malfoy.
Alone in the cottage, Hermione felt the weight of solitude settle around her, enough for her to finally admit that Malfoy's departure had left a void. She wondered if it was because he was essentially the reason behind her predicament, or because he had taken the killing curse for her?
Was she his prisoner or was she a willing participant in his charade?
Was she scared of him or was she scared because he wasn't here?
"Arrghh!" Hermione grumbled as she hid her face in the palms of her hands, hunched over the aged wooden desk in the cottage's study. She'd been spending almost every waking hour in that room, pouring over the many tomes the bookshelves had to offer in an effort to find something, anything, about Voldemort. Yet she couldn't help her thoughts wandering back to Draco Malfoy every now and then.
She hated this. She hated him.
' No…I don't think I hate him. I wish I did ,' she thought as she rubbed her temples, ' my life would be easier if I hated him, if I didn't empathize with him .'
Her previous questions may have been left unanswered, but knowing that she did not, in fact, hate Draco Malfoy was something she was certain of. She also understood why he defied Voldemort's orders and did not kill her.
However, what she did NOT understand is why he had to go so far as to kill his own uncle for her.
The moment she had seen the notorious Rodolphus Lestrange enter her parents' living room, she had been fairly sure that Malfoy would've had to bite the bullet and kill her. That would have been his natural reaction, and she would have understood it. Hell, she would've even forgiven him for it.
After all, he was a Death Eater, and he couldn't have risked blowing his cover or putting himself or his family in danger. Right?
Wrong.
And Merlin, how frustrated she was at having been so wrong!
Not only did he duel his own uncle to protect her, but he also jumped in front of the killing curse that Lestrange had aimed at her.
The speculation over the inner workings of Draco Malfoy's brain was giving her a headache, mostly because she could not fathom a single logical reason as to why he had done this for her.
And if there was something Hermione hated more than anything, it was not knowing the answer to a question.
As she reopened her eyes, she took a moment to glance around at her surroundings, her gaze narrowing at the muggle literature bookshelf in the corner. Her lips twitched into an involuntary smile as she recalled one particular thought she'd had when she had first landed in front of the Transylvanian cottage that fateful night: She had felt as if she had been transported to the Shire in Middle Earth…an observation she thought Malfoy would neither understand nor appreciate.
Wrong…again.
It had been many days since Hermione had immersed herself into the world of magical theories, dark arts, and historical accounts of Voldemort's rise to power. The cottage's modest library had proved to be a valuable resource, but the cryptic letters from Malfoy left her craving for more direct contact.
His letters arrived periodically, delivered by owls that would swoop in through the open window in the kitchen, always in the evening, bypassing any potential prying eyes. Malfoy's scrolls contained fragments of information, updates, and cautious inquiries about her progress.
These letters were also what had proved her wrong once again.
She couldn't help smiling at the acronyms Malfoy would use, always referencing characters from Tolkein's "Lord of the Rings" rather than their own names.
The Lord of the Rings…of all things!
Maybe he was a legilimens and was intentionally spiting her. It would definitely make more sense than Draco Malfoy reading Tolkien.
Yet that muggle bookshelf in the corner stood before her eyes almost mockingly.
Nevertheless, Malfoy's owls almost never lingered, and would fly away as soon as she would unravel the letters to read them, leaving her no opportunity to write back.
The slimy ferret didn't trust me to be discreet enough.
It seemed though, that he did trust her enough to share valuable information with her. In one letter, he had told her about the increasing activities of Death Eaters and the tightening grip they had on Wizarding Britain.
And that did nothing but make her feel more guilty about leaving her friends behind.
Was Hogwarts still safe? Probably… but she could only wonder how long that would last.
Her question was answered on the 19th of September, 1996.
Hermione flinched as the sound of thunder reverberated through the cottage's stone walls, clutching her book tight against her chest as she instinctively slammed her eyes shut. She had always hated thunderstorms, and the fact that one had decided to grace the Transylvanian skies on her birthday, of all days, felt like a cruel smack in the face. She brought her knees closer to her body as her back lay against the multitude of cushions she'd thrown together in the quaint reading nook by her bedroom window, while the sound of thunder dissipated and was replaced by a pattering of raindrops against the cold glass.
As much as she loathed thunderstorms, she loved the sound of rain against the windowpane. A contradiction? She did not know, but she was glad for the reprieve in between thunders, allowing herself to breathe in and calm her frayed nerves.
Another roll of thunder crackled against the room's walls, and she decided she needed to distract herself differently. She slowly got up from under the soft blanket that was covering her, choosing to wrap it around her shoulders instead as she descended the stairs towards the kitchen. In an attempt to make light of her frightened state, she began humming the words to 'Wonderwall' by Oasis absentmindedly as she prepared herself a cup of hot chocolate.
"I said maybe…you're gonna be the one that saves me…"
She cringed as she realized that last lyric reminded her of the platinum haired ferret who had landed her in this mess.
I will be damned before I let ferret-face ruin one of my favorite songs.
Another thunderclap roared through, making her jump as she reached for the kettle. She let out an annoyed huff as she squared her shoulders, pouring the hot milk into her mug as she swirled her spoon, to combine it with the sweetened cocoa powder. Once satisfied with the concoction, she raised herself to sit on the counter, relishing in the comforting warmth that engulfed her as she drank.
She was turning seventeen in a couple of hours, a full-fledged adult by Wizarding standards.
And it was the first time she had ever spent her birthday alone.
It wasn't like she ever had many friends, with her birthday celebrations mainly consisting of her parents, grandparents, and a couple of neighboring families. She would try to invite her schoolmates, yet none but her old friend Mary would show up. Most kids kept their distance from the 'freak' she was back in primary school, mostly due to her bouts of accidental magic.
Mostly, but not entirely.
She bitterly recalled the instances of bullying that she had endured at such a young age because of her advanced intellect and scholarly eagerness, which made her a prime target for mean-spirited comments.
Kids could be so cruel, but none had been as vicious as Draco Malfoy.
None had made her cry as much as he had.
She would always try to hide it, holding back her tears until she reached the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, making sure to close the velvet curtains of her four-poster bed as she cried herself to sleep. She thought Hogwarts would be different, that the Wizarding World would be different, that she would finally feel accepted, that she would finally feel…normal—like she belonged.
But he immediately made sure to shatter her expectations with his callous words and derogatory remarks…and his icy glares and haughty smirks, succeeding in making her feel small, unwelcome…
Ugly.
She winced as her thoughts unwillingly went back to the first time she saw him:
She was helping Neville find his familiar after seeing the poor boy so flustered and on the verge of tears as he roamed the train's corridors. She told him to check one side of the train's compartments as she checked the other. She eagerly went from one cabin to the other, with no success. As she reached her tenth stall, she politely knocked before slowly sliding the compartment's door, her breath catching as her eyes landed on a boy that she could only describe at first glance as…beautiful.
He stood out from the rest of the children sitting with him, his hair a shade of platinum she had previously only thought possible through hair dyes, recalling Billy Idol, her mother's celebrity crush. It also didn't help that all of his features were objectively stunning, what with his high cheekbones, his porcelain skin, his straight nose—but what fascinated her the most were his silvery gray eyes.
He looked like he had come out of a fairytale.
She had not realized that she had been standing there with her lips parted for a few seconds already, with all eyes on her, expectantly.
"Who are you? What do you want?" a girl with black bob and strikingly dark eyes—Pansy— asked her, her tone portraying her apparent annoyance.
A blush crept up her face as she shook her head, bringing herself back to earth. "I…I was wondering if you've seen a toad anywhere around the train? A fellow first year has lost his familiar."
"Well, that's his fault for choosing a toad, slimy little creatures." An olive-skinned boy with a sly smile answered her, the one she would later know to be Blaise Zabini. A smaller boy with curly brown hair snickered next to him—Theodore Nott.
She chose to ignore his unhelpful comment, her hands landing on her hips, "Well?"
The platinum-blond looked at her with an amused smile, but answered politely "No, I don't think any of us has seen it, unfortunately. Sorry to not have been of adequate assistance."
She was taken aback by his eloquent and gentlemanly response, her cheeks flushing even more as she averted her eyes away from his handsome face.
"Oh…okay…thank you."
She heard him say "Good luck!" as she turned to leave them, a smile stretching across her lips.
Her little crush on him was quickly hit with a heavy blow, once he had found out about who she was.
Hermione Granger…muggleborn.
A girl unworthy of his good manners, or of his kindness.
Suddenly, she was torn away from her thoughts by the sound of an owl pecking at the kitchen window behind her, a letter wrapped around one of its legs. She quickly opened the window to let the creature in, softly petting its head as she unwrapped the scroll, flinching backwards as it quickly flew back away.
Dear Arwen,
I hope this letter reaches you well.
Gandalf's protective grip on Isengard is still strong. Merry and Pippin are fine, still in Isengard, and their year is going almost as any other. Be reassured.
I understand it must be hard to spend this particular day alone, so I hope you enjoy my gesture of goodwill.
Best,
Aragorn
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. Dumbledore was still the headmaster, he was still protecting Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron were okay, going about their sixth year. On the other hand, she couldn't help but feel pained at the fact that she wasn't able to attend Hogwarts herself. She thought bitterly of the classes she was missing, the friends she couldn't laugh and have fun with – No, I can't afford to be swept up in sadness right now – she thought as she put her mug in the sink, wondering what Malfoy meant by 'gesture of goodwill', baffled that he even knew that it was her birthday.
She was not left to ponder for long as another owl swooped with a beautifully wrapped cardboard box.
Hermione thanked the animal as she took the pink box, giving it a careful look. It looked like it came from a pastry shop, gasping as she read what was written on it.
E
PARIS
Her eyes widened as she gingerly opened the box, revealing a delectable array of macarons of different flavors.
Malfoy had gotten her sweets from Paris! What?!
The owl hooted at her, and she realized that she had missed a small envelope attached to its other leg. She quickly opened it to see a blank piece of thick glossy paper. She turned the envelope around and read:
Say your full birth date out loud to reveal.
She tilted her head to the side amusedly, reminded of the Marauder Map's nifty spellwork.
"September 19th, 1979."
She sharply inhaled as she clapped her hand against her mouth, her eyes watering as she realized what it was.
It was a moving photograph—a wizarding photograph—of her parents lounging about happily in a park, with the Sydney Opera House visible behind them.
She turned it around once she noticed that Malfoy had elegantly written a message, revealing itself at the back.
They're safe. Don't ask how I know or how I got this.
She hugged the photograph against her chest and cried, relieved that her parents were safe and sound.
This birthday was not so bad after all.
As October unfolded, the air grew crisper, and the trees surrounding the cottage shed their leaves in a cascade of gold and crimson. The rustling leaves heralded the arrival of autumn, painting the landscape in warm hues that comforted a lonely Hermione, whose only connection to the outside world was through owls from the boy who was once her biggest bully.
It also didn't help that his letters were few and far between, which only left her to wonder what he was occupied with, and why he wasn't writing to her more often.
On one particularly chilly afternoon, Hermione found herself yearning for a distraction, groaning as she closed yet another dark magic tome with no added information on Voldemort or how to defeat him. In an impromptu decision to break the monotony, she decided to indulge in a bit of baking. The scent of autumnal spices filled the air as she bustled around the quaint kitchen, gathering the ingredients for an apple pie.
Elbow deep in the flour mixture, she reveled in the tactile joy of preparing the dough. The rhythmic motions of her hands provided a welcome escape from the arduous research, which so far had been as difficult as trying to find a needle in a haystack. This exercise was exactly what she needed, smiling as she realized she was feeling more relaxed than she had felt in a long while.
During her culinary undertaking, her newfound tranquility was suddenly shattered by the sudden sound of a resounding pop. Startled, Hermione's wand found its way into her hand as she turned around, ready to confront the potential threat. To her surprise, she was met not by a sinister presence but by the sight of a timid-looking elf, staring back at her with big, curious eyes.
The elf, with large, bat-like ears and a patched-up ensemble, looked similar to the house elves Hermione had encountered at Hogwarts.
"Good day, Miss," the elf squeaked. "Tilly is bringing something for you", she said.
Fear and curiosity warred within Hermione as she observed the elf, wondering how they came to be here, what they were delivering, and most importantly, who sent them.
"Who are you? Why are you here? Who sent you?" Hermione spat out defensively, her wand still tightly clutched between her fingers.
The elf bowed her head and spoke again, its voice gentle, as if sensing the witch's wariness "My name is Tilly, Miss! Master Draco sent Tilly."
Hermione's shoulders relaxed and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was still holding. With a polite nod, she allowed the elf to approach, carrying a weathered oak chest.
"This is for you, Miss," the elf explained, its eyes sparkling with a mixture of timidity and earnestness.
Hermione's gaze flickered from the elf to the chest, her curiosity peaking. "Why did Malfoy send you?"
With a proud smile, the elf replied, "Master Draco asked me to bring you this chest, Miss. He thought you might find it useful. Master said it had research material for Miss. Does Miss need anything else from Tilly?"
Hermione shook her head, but then couldn't suppress a question that bubbled to the surface. "Tilly," she called after the disappearing figure. "Is Malfoy, okay? How is he doing? Is he visiting the Manor?"
The elf paused, turning back with a small smile. "Master Draco is doing well, Miss. He is busy with Hogwarts and such, but Master sends his regards. If Miss needs anything, Tilly will help."
As Tilly vanished from sight, Hermione stood alone in the kitchen, a myriad of emotions swirling within her. The reassurance about Malfoy's well-being brought a sense of relief that left her perplexed.
She hadn't realized that she'd been worrying about him.
Why on earth would I worry about Malfoy?!
Hermione shook the thought away as she approached towards the chest slowly and carefully. She gingerly opened the top, its hinges creaking with age, her eyes widening in astonishment at its contents. The chest held a treasure trove of journals, parchments, and artifacts, all bearing the name of Abraxas Malfoy. Hermione seemed to vaguely recall that this was Malfoy's grandfather's name.
On top of the contents, she found a letter addressed to her, written in Draco's elegant script. It read:
Dear Arwen,
I hope this chest finds you well and provides you with the resources you need. In case of an emergency, just call my servant's name.
Best,
Aragorn
Hermione couldn't help but appreciate the subtle reassurance Malfoy was extending to her. The mention of emergencies hinted at the underlying dangers of their situation, yet the knowledge that help was just a call away provided a comforting anchor in the storm that surrounded her.
The chest, now open before her, held the promise of unlocking more than just dusty memories. It was a tangible link to the Malfoy legacy, one that has been ongoing for generations, and could possibly hold crucial information.
After having finished baking her pie and indulging in a piece or maybe even two, Hermione decided to rummage through the chest again. Among the many objects, Hermione found a small, leather-bound journal that seemed to be Abraxas's personal record of his time at Hogwarts. Her heart quickened as she carefully turned the pages, each one filled with meticulous handwriting that chronicled the life of a young Slytherin navigating the challenges of wizarding adolescence.
Abraxas's entries spoke of camaraderie, youthful ambition, and the complex web of alliances and rivalries within the Slytherin house. However, one name recurred with a frequency that drew Hermione's attention—Tom Riddle.
In one entry, Abraxas described Tom as an enigmatic figure, charismatic yet shrouded in mystery. He wrote, with evident jealousy, about Tom's uncanny ability to command the attention of those around him, his proficiency in magic, and the aura of mystery that seemed to cling to his young fellow Slytherin.
Hermione's eyes widened as she realized the potential significance of these entries. Tom Riddle, the name that would later become synonymous with Lord Voldemort, had once walked the hallowed halls of Hogwarts as a student, a fact she already knew but had almost forgotten about from Harry's encounter with his diary in second year.
The discovery filled Hermione with a renewed sense of purpose. She hurriedly penned a letter to Draco, eager to share her findings and seek his insights.
Dear Aragorn,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have stumbled upon your grandfather's journal, and it contains intriguing details about Sauron during his time at Isengard.
Best,
Arwen
Hermione impatiently waited for an owl to show up with a letter from Draco so that she could send one back with it. Luckily, one did swoop into her kitchen the next day, with a copy of the sixth year's potions book no less.
She smiled as she held the book in her hands. Did he realize how upset she'd been about not being able to attend classes? Did he want to make sure she wouldn't feel left out?
Did he care?
Who knew Malfoy could be so…thoughtful? Between the macarons, her parents' photograph, and now this Potions book…she was confused.
Not letting the owl fly away without her letter, she quickly wrapped her scroll around its leg, hoping Malfoy would respond with haste.
Days went by with Hermione pacing back and forth around the cottage, unable to focus with the anticipation of his response keeping her on edge. A week later, finally, a sleek owl bearing the Malfoy crest arrived with a reply.
Dear Arwen,
Your discovery is fascinating and may be crucial to understanding Sauron's origins. If I find any more resources that can help, I will send them your way. In the meantime, continue your work, and be cautious.
Best,
Aragorn
The exchange of letters became a lifeline for Hermione, a thread linking her to the world beyond the walls of the cottage.
As October 31st arrived, Hermione's heart grew heavy, knowing she would have to spend 'All Hallows Eve' alone. Instead of dwelling on that fact, she immersed herself with the contents of the oak chest, venturing into Abraxas' third journal, the one detailing his third year at Hogwarts.
The weather outside mirrored the autumnal aura within the cottage as Hermione continued her exploration of the journal. In an attempt to cheer herself up, Hermione added some Halloween decorations to the living room, but neither the carved pumpkins nor the tinsels did much to uplift her mood. She huffed as she sank further into the armchair, delving deeper into Abraxas' third year, unveiling his experience with magical studies, social dynamics, and some of his hidden desires. The Slytherin common room, described in meticulous detail, with its emerald-green hangings and silver serpentine motifs, seemed to serve as a setting for most of his discussions with his fellow housemates. However, what captivated Hermione's attention was the mention of Tom Riddle once again. Abraxas's writings hinted at a growing fascination with Riddle's proficiency in the Dark Arts, though riddled with skepticism that she undoubtedly attributed to Malfoy's jealousy.
As she took a break from reading to make herself a cup of tea, the isolation of the cottage became more palpable. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of being a mere spectator, observing the world outside through the lens of dusty journals and cryptic letters. The idea of spending this particular evening alone again weighed heavily on her, especially when in the past five years she had happily spent it with Harry and Ron.
I wonder what they will be doing tonight…without me…
Suddenly, a knock on the cottage door interrupted Hermione's solitary musings. Startled, she quickly but carefully moved from the kitchen, her wand in hand, and cautiously approached the entrance. As the door creaked open, she was met with the unexpected sight of Draco Malfoy, standing in the soft glow of the setting sun.
"Malfoy?" Hermione uttered.
Draco smirked, a hint of mischief in his silver eyes. "Surprised, Arwen?"
Hermione's initial shock gave way to a subtle warmth. "What are you doing here? How did you manage to get away from Hogwarts?"
Draco stepped inside, brushing off nonexistent dust from his robes. "I figured you might appreciate some company. Besides, I used the students' visit to Hogsmeade as an opportunity to escape."
A genuine smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "You wanted to keep me company on Halloween?"
Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "I needed to check on the wards and make sure you have enough supplies."
Try as she might, Hermione could not hide the fact that she was smiling like a child on Christmas day. She quickly gestured toward the living room. "Sit. I was just making tea."
As they settled by the fire, a comfortable silence enveloped them, the crackling flames cast a warm glow. Hermione couldn't help but appreciate the unexpected turn of events. She had anticipated a lonely evening, yet here was Draco Malfoy, defying her expectations again.
"I brought something for you," Draco said, producing a small, elegantly wrapped package from the folds of his robes. He leaned forward from his armchair to hand it to her.
Hermione accepted the package, a curious glint in her eyes, "Whatever for?"
Draco smirked, "Open it, there is something very interesting inside."
She gingerly peeled the packaging to reveal an expensive-looking leather bound journal. Inside the journal's first pages, Hermione found a small, enchanted charm. When activated, it emitted a soft, silvery glow.
"It's a charm called 'Missaticum,'" Draco clarified. "You see, right before my aunt Andromeda was disowned, knowing that the day was surely coming, she created a spell to be able to communicate with my mother without the use of owls. She charmed two journals and gave one to my mother. Whenever one writes on their own, the other glows, informing the other person that a message awaits them inside. Unfortunately, my mother had her journal burnt by my grandmother a few months later when she found out about it after Andromeda's disowning."
Hermione's eyes widened, captivated by the significance of the gesture, rendered speechless.
Draco smiled, the soft glow of the fire reflecting in his eyes. "I thought it would be useful. In fact, as you may have already guessed, I have a matching journal. We can communicate in real-time through them, safer than with the use of owls. We'll reserve the latter for parcels only."
Hermione was impressed not only by the charm's brilliance but also by the intent behind it. "Andromeda was quite skilled to create such a spell. The foresight to anticipate her disownment and create a means of communication with her sister—remarkable."
Draco nodded, a trace of pride in his voice. "Yes, she is."
Hermione's shock at the pure genius of the spell lingered, mingling with gratitude for the thoughtful gift. As the glow of the Missaticum charm illuminated the pages of the new journal, she felt a warmth in her chest as she realized how, by being able to communicate with Malfoy at any time, she would inevitably feel much less lonely.
Did he do this for security reasons alone? Or was it because he knew she was close to spiraling on her own?
She decided not to dwell on those thoughts, instead focusing on taking advantage of his presence to know more about what has been happening at Hogwarts during her absence.
"How are Harry and Ron?"
Draco scowled, unable to hide his irritation, "They're fine Granger. As dimwitted as ever."
Hermione chewed on her lower lip as she pondered on what to say. A part of her really wanted to know if her friends missed her, if they grieved her 'death'…but another part wanted to bite Malfoy's head off and screech at him until he allowed her to reach out to them and tell them the truth.
"Granger."
Startled, she turned towards him, still on her lip "Do they…miss me?"
She immediately regretted asking, realizing how selfish and horrible it was to wonder whether to wonder about such a thing.
Malfoy groaned, and she wanted to punch him right then and there.
"They…I've seen them cry, Granger."
Yep, she hated herself for asking, feeling her own eyes starting to water. His eyes then met hers as he slowly approached her, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I understand how hard it must be to be here, Granger. I know you really want to tell them everything, but surely you must know why we shouldn't."
She said nothing, choosing to stare at her feet and giving him a quick nod, her finger caressing the rim of her nearly empty cup of tea.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a cascade of colors across the sky, Hermione and Draco shared some of the chocolate and candy that he had brought with him from Hogsmeade. Draco then reached into his robes and pulled out a small flask.
"Care for some firewhisky? It's Halloween after all," he asked, holding it up for her to see. Perhaps some alcohol could ease the tension between them and maybe lighten the mood.
Hermione gave him a slight smile, "Why not?"
He added some of it to their empty teacups as they clinked them in a makeshift toast and took sips of the warming liquid.
The firewhisky burned in her throat, but then subsided into a pleasant warmth. Almost immediately, she began to feel the effects of the spirit as her head felt lighter.
She really hoped he didn't notice.
"So, Malfoy," Hermione began, a sad look in her eyes, "How does it feel to escape the exciting Halloween festivities in Hogsmeade to keep the company of 'bookworm Granger' instead?"
Draco raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. "Well, it does have its perks. I get to poke fun at you AND avoid the chaos of student merriment."
"Are you teasing me, Malfoy?"
She hadn't meant to ask that out loud, and then the brat had the audacity to laugh out loud.
"You are easy to tease, Granger." He said, a smirk gracing his lips as he looked intently into her eyes, leaving her feeling scandalized knowing her face was as red as a tomato under his piercing gaze.
Damn you, Malfoy.
She threw her head back and chugged the contents of her cup in one go.
"Easy now!" She heard him say as the room twirled in front of her, causing her to grip the armrests of her armchair, wincing at the thought of further humiliating herself in front of him. She closed her eyes, trying to regain any semblance of control, but as soon as she opened them again, her vision resumed its swaying, prompting her to swiftly shut them again.
She felt his large hands grip her arms, steadying her in place.
"Open your eyes, Granger. Let me see them."
Her lashes fluttered open, and a tear trickled onto her cheek. He was kneeling in front of her seated form, his silver eyes searching hers.
Great, now I'm crying.
"Hey," he said, his thumb gently caressing her cheek as he wiped her tears away. "Please don't cry."
Hermione's heart halted in her chest at the way his hands cupped her face, his gaze gentle and his voice soothing. Her eyes quickly dropped to stare at her lap.
What is going on?
"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He whispered soothingly.
What is happening? Why is he being so considerate?
"Malfoy…I…"
And she broke down, her tears flowing freely as her breathing quickened.
It was all too much, as if alcohol had broken down the dam that had been keeping her tsunami of repressed emotions from overflowing.
She felt silly for crying in front of him.
She felt silly for being vulnerable in front of him.
Why was he here? Why was he being so attentive?
Why did he care?
"Is it because you've been here all by yourself for so long?"
Bloody legilimens—
"I'm sorry" He said, his voice a mere hush.
What?
Her lips parted as her gaze moved from her lap to his face. His brow was furrowed and his usually steely gray eyes looked softer, his long platinum lashes covering half of his irises and his head dipped lower.
He looked…ashamed?
"I'm sorry. You're alone and scared because of me. I…" His voice trailed yet his lips remained parted, his breathing getting heavier.
His hands never left her face.
Hermione wanted so desperately to understand why he was acting this way. But what was she to say?
The silence between them was uncomfortable, and it only seemed to stretch further and further…
"You…?" She finally spoke, only managing a single word.
He let out a long breath before speaking again, his captivating silver gaze meeting hers as her breath caught in her throat.
"I…never meant to do this to you." He whispered softly, his thumb continuing to stroke her cheek.
More tears rolled down her face as a sob escaped her lips.
Draco sighed, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the way I treated you in school. I'm sorry for all the pain I've ever caused you. You never deserved any of it."
She gasped, her stomach fluttering at his admission.
What is he saying?!
Hermione's shoulders shook as she cried harder, and then she felt him wrap his arms around her.
Her heart all but stopped at that moment.
She wanted to yell at him, to flinch from his touch and to strike him across the cheek, but she was too stunned to do anything.
He had just apologized to her for it all.
She looked back up at him and her lip quivered at the sight.
A lone trailed down his cheek while his eyes glistened like diamonds and a sad smile graced his lips.
And for the first time in six years, she saw him as the beautiful boy with the kind countenance that she had met on the Hogwarts express while looking for Neville's toad.
Draco apologized to Hermione!
How did you find this chapter? What do you think of Draco and Hermione's dynamic? Where do you think the story is headed?
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Until next time!
Cleo26