Author's Note- While reading, please consider that this is the first story I've ever attempted to write. I tend to stick to poetry and essays as opposed to fictions and novels. So, try to be lenient. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, however. I hope you stick through to the end of the story, for I promise not to dissapoint. ; )
CHAPTER TWO: BIRTH OF IRONY
No one at the Gryffindor table spoke, but instead, tried to inconspicuously turn around to face the Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were huddled together, jerking every now and then, presumably from their soundless tears. Malfoy, however, sat alone at the end of the long, polished table, arms crossed and gazing out into nonentity. His eyes were glazed over, his forehead slightly wrinkled, deep in thought.
“Bloody hell…” Ron whispered.
“Damn it all,” Hermione shot out. “The better half of me is relieved, you know… despite what this means for the Ministry. I feel…” she broke off again, careful how she chose his next words. “I feel righteous, I guess… like they deserved it. But, I have this small… ache… in the pit of my stomach for those gits,” she finished, pointing to Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.
“It’s not as if they chose that family, or that life…” Harry said all too quietly, clearly unaware he was talking aloud.
“Dumbledore once told me, you know, that it’s not our abilities that show who we truly are, but our choices. We can hate those prats for all their years of… well, being prats… that was their choice. But what family they were born into wasn’t.”
“Awww, Harry, you’ve gone soft! You know they supported their dads, and that was their choice! Anyways, the way I see it, the Ministry had it coming…” Ron mumbled through bites of pie. “…bet they reckon they should’ve listened to Harry a bit earlier, eh?” He continued, triumph in his voice. Hermione rolled her eyes, gave Ron an unmistakable look of frustration, and dashed out of the Great Hall.
“But they’re on our side now, and we need all the help we can get, Ron. And…” he paused, then gave voice to his thoughts without fully meaning to. “…and I know what it’s like to go without a dad. I didn’t choose that any more than Malfoy did.”
Ron looked suddenly very embarrassed for coming off so harsh about the matter. Neville patted him on the back saying, “It’s alright mate… Harry knew what you meant.”
**********************************
Hermione sat on the grand staircase, fuming over Ron’s lack of sensitivity; not for Malfoy, per se, but for the whole situation. She knew she’d regret her temper when they’d left and she was lonely for them, but right now, despite herself, she only felt awful for the three Slytherins who were now without a father.
‘Sure, they’ve been gits, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel sympathy for losing their Dad…’ she tried reasoning with herself. ‘Harry’s right… their father’s occupations wasn’t their doing.’
Just then, Crabbe and Goyle walked past the staircase, heads hung low. This, however, failed to disguise their red, puffy eyes. Hermione mused for a moment about saying something to them, even if it was just a simple, “I’m sorry,”
She lost her nerve, though, and watched despondently as they disappeared through the dungeon doors.
Next second, Malfoy stalked out of the Great Hall, head hung just as low. His eyes were curiously normal considering the circumstances, but his morose demeanor still pierced the very air in which he stood.
She wasn’t going to lose her opportunity… even if all he did was ignore her, she had to extend an olive branch of sympathy, no matter how transitory and temporary it might be. Gathering her courage, she stood and quickly made her way across the corridor.
“Malfoy!” she called. He stopped dead in his tracks, but didn’t turn to face her. She edged slowly around, her eyes crumpled in concern.
“Errr… I, ummm, just wanted to say, I’m really sorry about your Dad…” she said, her voice barely audible.
He didn’t speak. But he didn’t walk away either. He just continued to stare at the ground, his attention focused on looking anywhere but at her. He couldn’t have her seeing him vulnerable. Hermione wanted to say more, but wasn’t sure what that was. She searched around, and finally decided to add,
“I don’t know what it’s like… to lose a parent… so I won’t say I know what you’re going through… but- I, errr… I’m sorry, Malfoy,” she finished lamely.
He stood there, physically unable to speak. Unusually, no malevolent thoughts came to pass his mind, no witty insults came to pass through his lips; he had nothing left to say, to anyone. He could barely feel.
She had just decided to walk away when he finally spoke, in hardly more than a whisper,
“I didn’t lose a father. I never really had one.”
Hermione stood frozen, shocked to the spot. Where had that come from? It was a brief window into Malfoy’s emotions, his inner most feelings on his father; something Hermione never expected to receive from him...
Malfoy could tell Hermione didn’t know what to say to this. He himself was unsure as to what made him speak such truth to such filth. He needed something to counter it… he took two steps away before turning around and saying, “Apology accepted, Granger.” He snickered, and then walked on.
********************************
“Apology accepted?! What the hell does that mean?!” Hermione spat out back up in the common room.
“Well, I reckon he blames us, Hermione,” Ron pointed out. “After all, we’re responsible for his Dad being there to begin with.”
“Oh, that’s rubbish! His dad being a big, fat, evil Dark wizard is what got him there! Besides, Harry made it public! Not me! He should be furious with Harry!”
“What the… Hermione, you sound like that was a mistake or something!” Harry shouted.
“Well, no, of course it wasn’t, I’m just saying… either way, it sure as hell wasn’t an apology, none of us owe him an apology! Stupid, fat, awful, evil little…”
“You know, that’s what you get for trying to be civil with a Malfoy,” Seamus piped in.
“Yeah Hermione, what were you thinking anyway?” Neville finished.
“I just- I don’t know, I felt sort of bad for the guy…”
“Merlin’s beard, it’s the apocalypse…” Ron said, amazed. “Honestly, I never thought I’d hear those sinful words come out that mouth of yours, Hermione. And I’ve heard quite a bit come out of that mouth…”
“I understand, Hermione,” Harry whispered. “It’s odd… and I don’t feel sorry for Lucius, but I know what you mean about Malfoy.”
Hermione gave him a smile of gratitude, and he reached across and gave her shoulder a loving squeeze.
“Right… I’m going up to bed. Early morning.” Harry said.
“Yeah, me too. Goodnight Hermione, night Ginny,” Ron called over his shoulder. “Coming Neville?”
“Yeah, just a minute! Hey, Hermione…” he leaned over to her ear. “Just wanted to say… I thought that was right decent of you tonight, saying those things to Malfoy. Took courage, I think.”
Hermione blinked heavily and smiled, “Thanks Neville.”
He patted her on the arm, and walked up to the boy’s dormitory.
**********************************
The next morning Hermione joined Harry and Ron to the Entrance Hall to see them off for the holidays. She had to continuously remind herself to suppress her tears, and she felt like a fool for being so upset about it. She’d gone longer than two weeks without them before… not much longer, mind. ‘Don’t be a fool, Hermione,’ she thought vindictively. ‘You know it’s not just their leaving that’s upsetting you… it’s everything, right down to Voldemort himself.’
When all their things were by the door and Filch was reading off names, Harry reached over and embraced Hermione in an affectionate hug.
“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he asked uncertainly.
“Oh, sure… I’ll be fine. Promise to write though,” she responded, the tears swelling up. “And be careful, Harry. No dangerous adventures without me, ok?”
“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” Harry replied.
Hermione looked to Ron now, who seemed to be struggling with whether he was going to give her a hug.
“You’re such a pansy,” she said, making the move to embrace him first. He gave her a weary smile as his ears turned four shades of red.
“Right then… well, have fun, Hermione.”
Ron was looking over Hermione’s shoulder as he hugged her, and noticed Malfoy walking through the dungeon doors, as Crabbe and Goyle walked outside and into the carriages.
“Uhhh…” Ron stammered.
“What?”
“I, err… I think you’re stuck here with Malfoy, Hermione.”
“What?!” She flung around, but couldn’t spot him anywhere.
“I just saw him go towards Slytherin common room… he was still in his night robes and all,” Ron said.
“Oh, this is just lovely. So I’m the only remaining Gryffindor, and he’s the only remaining Slytherin. It’ll be battle of the Houses, it will…” she stormed on, still not believing her terrible luck.
“I wonder why he’s staying, but his little bouncers aren’t?” Harry pondered aloud.
“Beats me. Weird, though, eh? I’ve never seen him get on without those two. You know if there are any Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws staying behind?” Ron asked.
“Well, Ginny said there’s two fourth year Hufflepuffs staying, and a fifth year Ravenclaw. They looked familiar, but I don’t know them.” Hermione informed them.
“How does your back and ankle feel?” Harry asked.
“Oh, alright I suppose… my ankle is fine, but it still hurt to move my left arm too much, or sleep on that side.”
“Well, you be sure to take care of it. Don’t do off with the potion, hear me?” Harry said with a smile. Rolling her eyes in distaste, she gave him a brief nod of consent.
“What luck, Hermione… bruised back, and Malfoy for Christmas. Hey, if you get a chance, set him right with a good hex, won’t you?” Ron smiled at her indignation, and gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“Bye you two… please, please be safe!” Hermione called after them. She longingly watched their figures load into the carriage, and then watched their carriage fade into the misty distance of the December snow. When Filch shut the great oak doors, she turned around, feeling quite lost, and started for Gryffindor tower- but only to bump headlong into Malfoy.
“Ouch!”
“Pathetic, really. Standing there, freezing to death just to watch their carriage trot away. I didn’t know you were so dependent, Granger,” Malfoy sneered.
“Oh, like you’re any better? I saw your friends leaving earlier, too, and I’ve never seen you parted from them before… must be sickening for you.” Hermione retorted, all sympathy for him flushed away by his evil grin.
“Nah, not so much. The only thing that sickens me, really, are foul little mudbloods running about this school as if they own it,” said Malfoy.
Before Hermione could either punch him across the face, or think up a witty comeback, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Dumbledore walked across the Entrance Hall towards them.
“Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy! What luck to find you two together… please, follow us,” McGonagall called.
Hermione gave Malfoy a disgusted look and pushed him out of the way with her left hand.
“Ooo, anything to touch me, eh Granger? Masking your love with hate… all too typical, I’d expect you’d come up with a more clever plan to win me,” he said.
“You’re such a pig, Malfoy,” she spat. Smiling at her righteous anger and predictability, he trailed on behind her.
They followed the three professors into the teacher’s lounge, where Dumbledore sat on the puffy chintz armchair, smiled brightly, and motioned for the others to sit as well.
Malfoy sat as far away as possible from Hermione, as Snape and McGonagall purposefully positioned themselves between them.
“We’ve asked you here because an unfortunate circumstance has arisen,” Snape began. His eyes flickered to Malfoy, and showed him a look of regret, as if saying ‘I’m sorry for what I’m about to put you through’.
“It seems that Professor Snape here has some… errr, business, to attend to out of town over the holidays. This news is very recent, and so we’ve had to accommodate accordingly in regards to Ms. Granger’s required potion. Madam Pomfrey was very insistent that it be administered daily,” Professor McGonagall continued. “And so, Madam Pomfrey herself will be making the potion, but she is quite busy herself, as are we all, what with the looming… umm, circumstances,” she added uncomfortably, “and we haven’t the time to run up and down Gryffindor tower twice a day.”
“Which,” Snape picked up, “is where our young Mr. Malfoy here comes in.”
Malfoy looked around, quite confused as to his role in it all. Hermione, however, caught on immediately, and had to use every ounce of will to suppress a loud, disconcerted groan. And as if Dumbledore read her mind, he chimed in at just that second, smiling just as broadly.
“The reason this situation has been brought to you in such a serious fashion, is that frankly, we’re well aware of the… shall we say, tension, between the two of you,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice, remaining quite content as he sipped on a gilly water.
Hermione glared at Malfoy, who was sitting, arms crossed, staring at her as if she’d planned this; apparently he had caught on. ‘Tension is an understatement’, Hermione thought venomously.
“And so,” Dumbledore continued, “the plan is that our dear Mr. Malfoy will get the potion from Madam Pomfrey, and deliver it to Ms. Granger twice a day: once at 8 in the morning, and the second around 8 at night. Is this suitable, Draco?” Dumbledore inquired politely.
“Yes sir.” Malfoy answered, quite unenthusiastically.
“Good,” McGonagall interrupted. “Then I don’t expect to hear of any bickering from the two of you. You will both behave, as I trust you will, the way Hogwarts students are expected to behave: civilly and respectfully.”
Dumbledore smiled at Hermione, a twinkle in his eye, and dismissed them from the lounge.
Hermione did not turn to meet Malfoy’s stare as he followed directly behind her, back towards the Entrance Hall. ‘Ignoring me, is she? Stupid Mudblood,’ Malfoy thought. And with that he sped up a bit, and fiercely elbowed Hermione as he passed; not knowing he had hit her sore back.
She took a deep breath in pain, and nearly tumbled onto the cold floor. She grabbed hold of a picture frame just in time to prevent this, and Malfoy looked on as if she’d gone insane.
“What’s with you Granger?”
“You elbowed me in my broken shoulder, Malfoy!” she screamed.
Malfoy looked suddenly very uncomfortable. Instincts would have him apologize, but he remembered who it was, and thought better of it.
“Oh. I… didn’t know it was your shoulder. Too bad, eh?”
Hermione didn’t respond, she simply glared at him menacingly, stalked away and ran up the staircase as quickly as possible. ‘This is going to be a long holiday,’ she thought miserably.
********************************
The rest of the day lagged by, even though Hermione kept herself buried in her studies. She made up three quizzes that day, and completely finished all her Herbology homework, but she still felt swamped. By nightfall she was mentally exhausted, emotionally drained, and physically weak. Dinner had been quite bizarre; the House tables had vanished, and in their place stood a single, dark table with just enough seats for the remaining teachers and students. Somehow, Hermione managed to get a seat directly across from Malfoy, which seemed to diminish her appetite. And when eight o’clock came around, the fatigued Hermione was in no state to have Draco Malfoy knock on the portrait hole, revolting potion in hand.
But that’s precisely what happened.
“What? Hello?” she called out.
“It’s me Granger, open up!”
She plopped back down in her seat and gazed longingly into the crackling fire, remembering how beautiful it looked before Malfoy had distracted her gaze.
A moment later, he knocked again.
“Open up! What the hell are you doing in there?”
With a heavy heart, she stood and walked towards the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. She reached out, causing her back to swell with pain, and pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, allowing Malfoy to enter. She immediately walked away and sat back down on her comfortable sofa.
But he didn’t enter.
“Ummm, Granger? You want to take this so I can get back to more important things?” he called from outside the entrance.
“What? Oh, for heaven’s sake, you can come in, you know.” She said, as if this were the most obvious thing.
“What, you want me, to come in there? That’s like… the Gryffindor zoo chambers, it is. I’ll get filthy with your theoretical, courage and… whatever else it is you’re supposed to have,” Malfoy drawled.
“Oh, please. I’m not getting up again! You mine as well just step through!”
A minute passed, but finally, Malfoy hesitantly stepped through the portrait hole, his face alight with revulsion and annoyance. Once inside, however, he took in the scenery, amazed at the detail. Everything was red and gold, and he wasn’t sure if it were the colors or the fire that warmed him. Their common room was slightly smaller, but cozier. Huge, luxurious sofas were spread in front of the fire, a few spare armchairs outlining them. All the pillows had fluffy frills, the glass seemed to be enchanted to look snowy and frosty, and even the tables provided for homework purposes on the opposite side of the room were dark, solid wood, lined in gold paint. The light from the fire danced on the walls, gently illuminating even the darkest of corners; it even smelled pleasant- almost like the faint scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.
“You know Granger,” Malfoy began, shutting the portrait behind him, “if the Gryffindors ever find out you let me in here, they’ll reserve a spot at St. Mungos for you,”
“Yes, well…” she said, thinking he were probably right.
“So… here it is.” He said, handing her the potion. She looked at it incredulously for a while, and then gestured for him to sit down. She figured that Olive Branch might do well now.
“I’d bet you love it, wouldn’t you, if I continued to grace you with my presence?” Malfoy drawled. “Well, you’re out of luck today Mudblood.”
“Look, we mine as well try to act civilly towards each other, else it’ll be a long holiday,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Listen to me, you stupid prat,” he almost whispered, clearly controlling his rage. “…I will not take orders from filth like you. Least of all orders that’ll have me treating you as if you’re anything more than filth.” He flung the vial at her, and she barely caught it with the tip of her fingers.
She’d never admit it, but it still hurt hearing someone say those things to her. What had she done to be so inferior? ‘Nothing,’ she thought defiantly. ‘That’s just Malfoy, little git that he is.’ She glared at him while chugging the potion in one fell swoop. He thought he saw the smallest flicker of sadness swipe across her eyes, but quickly did away with this possibility and turned around to leave.
Hermione conjured a butterbeer on the table. After taking a few sips to wash the taste out, she conjured another and yelled out to him.
“Want one?” Her readiness to forgive and forget surprised even her, but she thought it in her own best interest. Otherwise, she’d have to put up with his nonsense for the next two weeks. ‘Kill him with kindness,’ she thought.
He turned back around and looked at it questioningly.
“Oh go on, you just watched me do it, there’s no poison in there,” Hermione said.
“Why are you being so nice to me Granger?” Malfoy asked suspiciously. He wasn’t going to fall for any of her tricks.
“Well, that’s a good question, Malfoy, seeing as how you had your fair share of smart comments today… and you hit me in my back, of all places, so I can’t give you a logical answer,” she spoke, her voice full of quiet venom.
“Alright, then… how about an illogical one?” he persisted.
She made a heavy sigh, and said, “I suppose because we’re going to be associating with one another for the next couple weeks, and I’m not up for petty teenage drama, least of all around Christmas. So, I figured we should call a truce. Temporary, though it might be,” she added with a slight chuckle.
Malfoy still looked quite suspicious. He couldn’t believe he was even humoring the idea of being nice to her… but many things had changed over the past few days, so, he thought, this should be the least shocking.
“Whatever, so long as you’re not pitying me because of my father,” Malfoy replied, his voice soft and yet stern all at once.
Hermione didn’t know how to respond to this. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words didn’t come out. She turned away, and after some deliberation on her part, decided to reply.
“I’m not sure if what I feel for you is pity or downright disgust that you seem to be very unemotional about it. I was ashamed of myself for being so sensitive to it, and I got quite the beating for it from several Gryffindors, I’ll have you know… but I’m still sorry that any of this- Voldemort, the War- happened to begin with. And some odd part of me feels that you’re just as much a victim of it as I,” she finished, feeling good about her response. Until she saw Malfoy’s jaw hanging slightly open and his eyes scrunched in concentration.
“You… you said his name?!”
“Oh… that.,” she sighed with relief. For a moment, she’d thought he was about to scream at her. “Yes, of course I did. I’ve been saying it since the third year, I think it was. Why’s he so great to deserve anything better than a name? You know, he’s properly called Tom Riddle,” she informed him, sounding as though this were a nice, casual side note.
“And how in the hell would you know that?!” he practically yelled.
“Because in our second year, Harry got hold of his journal. He tried ensnaring him through it, by giving him hints about the Chamber of Secrets, disguising himself by his real name. Him and Ron found the Chamber, and I had been petrified, and Harry defeated him again, for the third time. It was Voldemort, but he was manifested as a memory of Tom Riddle, his former self.”
Malfoy was silent, still registering what she’d just told him. The look of skepticism was clearly etched across his face. He ran his fingers through his platinum hair, and looked about as if unsure to even believe what she’d just said.
“So you mean to tell me…” his voice broke off. He wasn’t sure what to say, or even what to think.
“Yes, I do. What reason would I have to lie about something like that? You have no idea, do you? What he’s been through? What he’s going through? This whole bloody war depends on him, and he’s sixteen! It’s ridiculous, and this whole time, you’ve done nothing but tease him and make his daily life at the only place he calls home a living hell,” she was raging now, had completely forgotten that Malfoy was, for once, being communal at the moment.
“Look, Granger, I’m not totally buying this rubbish. Let’s just say Potter did get his hands on You-Know-Who’s journal-” he was cut short.
“Oh, he did, believe me! If your father still had his senses about him, you could trot on up to Azkaban and ask the miserable bloke yourself, he’s the one that put it in Ginny’s cauldron, evil bastard that he is, setting Harry up like that!”
Immediately, Hermione felt repulsed with herself. How could she have said those things, now, at this moment, when Malfoy was actually being calm with her? When he’s just found out his father received a Dementor’s Kiss? She should have said those things before, when it made sense, like second year, perhaps. She lowered her head, too afraid to speak.
His eyes had gone suddenly very empty and cold. He leaned closer to Hermione, enabling her to notice every stitch of color in his eyes.
“YOU,” he began slowly, “Know nothing of what I’ve gone through, nothing of the life I’ve been forced to lead outside these four walls. Never again deduce conclusions about me. You- know- nothing.”
He leaned back, his eyes still harboring immense amounts of rage and intolerance.
“I don’t need this, least of all from you… dirty, nasty…” Malfoy’s voice trailed off as he turned to leave.
“Malfoy, wait…” Hermione reached out and grabbed his robes at the arm. He flung himself around and shoved her against the wall. Her shoulder ached and contorted in violent pain, but she bit her tongue.
“Don’t- ever- touch- me,” he said through gritted teeth. He let her go, and her round, chocolate eyes became glossy with tears.
“I’m really, really sorry, Malfoy… that was awful of me, I- I shouldn’t have said that,” she stumbled. She had let his arm go, but she held his gaze as tightly as ever, hoping he’d see the sincerity in her eyes.
Malfoy was caught off guard by her apology, and couldn’t bring himself to break their gaze. Her eyes were sorrowful, pleading for forgiveness, and full of… something that Malfoy couldn’t place. Emotion, perhaps? He couldn’t look away if he’d wanted to… She looked intently into his eyes, and found herself deciding whether they were stone cold slate gray, or sparkling, blue silver.
She had no time to choose, however, because at that moment Hedwig flew through the opened window and landed gracelessly on the table beside them.
“Hedwig!” Hermione shouted. “What’s wrong, you look awful! Malfoy, could you go get some water? Please?” she asked.
“Get your own damned water,” he hissed.
She looked back up at him, her eyes pleading for help.
With a small grunt of indignation, he stalked away into the nearest bathroom to fill a tray. Hermione leaped to Hedwig’s aid; she was clearly out of breath. She carefully untied the letter attached to her leg, and took the tray of water from Malfoy and sat it down next to her.
“It’s post from Harry…” she informed him.
“Post? All ready? Can’t live without each other, can you?”
“Well he did promise to write every day…” she began.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Malfoy rolled his eyes at this information.
“…but I didn’t expect a letter tonight,” she finished.
She opened the letter and immediately noticed that the handwriting looked rushed. Malfoy saw the blatant concern cross her face, and henceforth became increasingly interested in the letter’s contents.
She turn the letter right side up, and read aloud:
“Hermione: After the Weasleys picked us up from platform 9 ¾, we drove directly to the Burrow- When we got there, Voldemort’s Dark Mark was glowing right atop the house. We turned right back around and we’re on our way to Headquarters now. It seems we’ll be spending the rest of the Holidays there. Mr. Weasley seems really worried… Ron says he’s not letting on some information, so we plan on using some extendable ears to find out the details tonight, if they won’t tell us. Love, Harry”