CHAPTER 6: IN THE WAKE OF WAR
“Lemon drop,” Hermione piped up as loud as she could.
The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open, revealing a stifling cold common room. Malfoy carefully stepped through, keeping his hand on top Hermione’s head in case it was bumped against anything. After sitting her on the fluffy sofa, he used his wand to start a blazing hot fire.
The two sat in silence for ten minutes, Malfoy occasionally glancing around the room. Hermione had her eyes narrowed on the fire.
“What do you suppose could be keepi-” She began, but gave a small gasp.
“What? What is it?” Malfoy inquired.
“I- I just saw Harry, in the fire… or, I thought I did… but he disappeared. Why would he do that?”
Then she saw his face pop up again, this time wearing a look of mingled disgust and confusion. But he immediately disappeared again.
“Look there! Did you see him? That’s odd, why wouldn’t he just stay put?”
“Because I’m wondering what the hell Malfoy’s doing there,” a voice spoke from the flames.
“Harry!” she yelped. Instinctively trying to reach him, she nearly fell off the sofa. Malfoy caught her around the waist just in time.
“Thanks,” she whispered to him, quite embarrassed. He rolled his eyes.
Hermione and Malfoy could hear another voice coming from the flames, one that didn’t belong to a visible head, but was quite recognizable nonetheless…
“Malfoy?! Did you just say Malfoy, Harry? Get that bloody twit out of our common room, his Dad was one of them! His Dad was one of them, Harry! I’ll pop through that fire and-”
“Ron, shhhh!” Harry yelled behind him at the wall.
Malfoy stared at the ground, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed at his last name. He didn’t dare look at Harry.
Hermione bit her lip- she hadn’t the time to consider their reactions when they found out she was hanging around Malfoy.
“Hermione, are you alright?” Harry asked. His bright emerald eyes peered through the orange flames and stung Hermione with the need to hug him.
“I- I think so…” her voice trembled. She needed him and Ron there; she belonged with them.
Malfoy sat hunched over beside her, keeping both eyes glued on her every move in case she made the ridiculous decision to fling herself into the flames again.
“Are you ok? Oh, how’s Ron doing?” she added, remembering Percy.
Hermione could tell Harry didn’t know what to say- if he told her they were fine, he’d be lying. If he told her anything otherwise, the few lashes that were now barely restricting her tears would be overrun.
“I’m… I’m doing ok under the circumstances,” he thought that answer was his best bet. “And Ron… well, obviously the Weasley’s have a lot to be getting on with… they’ve been taking some time with just the family the past couple days. Ron’s here now, though… he wanted to say hi.” Harry’s voice was low with despair.
“Oh, Ron…” Hermione began crying. “I’m so, so sorry, Ron… I don’t know what to say… I wish I could be there for you… I’m so sorry…” she whimpered.
“It’s alright Hermione…” Ron’s voice trailed away unconvincingly.
There was a moment of silence in which Harry’s face stared determinedly at the ground. When he looked back up, a single tear escaped from his eye and slowly crawled down his cheek. Hermione buried her face in a pillow.
Malfoy twisted uncomfortably in his seat. He took notice that a full minute had passed in complete silence. He felt so out of place; so undeserving to share this moment with them. Whom had he saved? What had he done? Nothing remarkable; unless you count tormenting them for six years. He finally understood why they’d always reserved a special look of disgust just for him. Malfoy felt paralyzed by his own self-loathing. He could almost feel the walls of his life crumbling around him…
The moments ticked by so gradually that Hermione felt like each ticking sound was an affirmation of Time’s mocking attitude toward their situation. But finally feeling strong enough to ask, she mumbled…
“What happened, Harry? I haven’t had any idea what’s been going on…”
Heaving an audible sigh, Harry looked up and began explaining everything, his tone drowning in sorrow.
“It started after Mr. Weasley got us from King’s Cross. When we got to the Burrow the Dark Ma-“ he suddenly stopped and peered directly into Malfoy’s eyes with a threatening glare.
“Hermione…” he began, still looking at Malfoy; now Harry’s tone was drowning in revulsion.
Malfoy instinctively glared back, but quickly dropped his gaze to the dark red rug rumpled below his feet.
“Umm… yes?”
“Is it safe to discuss this with him here?” The emphasis Harry put on “him” clearly denoted a heightened level of hatred. It was more a rhetorical question. Harry wanted him out of his sight. All he could think about were the Weasley’s and how Malfoy’s mates were the cause their anguish…
“Oh, yeah… really, it’s fine Harry. I trust him.” She spoke steadily for the first time in hours.
Something in Malfoy’s eyes flickered. ‘She trusts me…’
“Right.” Harry still sounded unsure; truth be known, he had no idea why Hermione trusted him. Last time he’d checked, they loathed each other as much as anyone. But this wonderment took a backseat to Harry’s need to tell Hermione everything.
There was a pregnant pause in which Harry contemplated threatening Malfoy. He wanted to show that he trusts Hermione’s judgment, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out:
“Malfoy, if you ev-”
“Harry…” Hermione whispered pleadingly. ‘Please… don’t start this now,’ she thought.
Harry read her mind. He glanced at her, sighed, and then nodded. Only for Hermione and maybe Ron would he ever bottle so much anger.
“Anyway…” he finally continued through gritted teeth. “The Dark Mark was hovering above the house when we got there. We didn’t even stop- Mr. Weasley just turned around and drove off fast as possible. When we were a good distance away, Ron, Ginny and me were relieved that Death Eaters hadn’t popped out and attacked us. But then Ron noticed his Dad was shaking and wasn’t saying much. That’s when I wrote you that letter. When we got to Headquarters, Fred and George told us…”
Harry’s eyes wondered behind him and seemed to be looking at something through the wall. Hermione knew he was watching Ron. She saw Harry nod, and assumed Ron had said it was ok to go on. Though, when he did, his voice was noticeably softer.
“They told us they’d left Percy at the Burrow that morning. He- He’d wanted to finish some report.” Harry looked into Hermione’s eyes again and immediately wanted to push through the flames and hold her, but knew if caught, he’d be in more trouble than imaginable.
The Order was being very strict with Harry’s security, and having him tossing around through fireplaces would infuriate them. Harry just hated seeing her sitting alone and trembling, with no one but Draco Malfoy, of all people, to comfort her.
“We tried sending an owl,” Harry reluctantly continued. “…But… there was no reply. When nightfall came, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley disapparated to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley came back five minutes later, crying…” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “…And Tonks was holding her. That’s when we… when we found out.”
Harry wanted nothing more than to scream his fury. He felt as though his whole life had led up to this year, this one year, this one chance to do what needed to be done, for everyone’s sake. And now that he was there, it wasn’t how he expected. He’d expected pain and sorrow and injustice; but he’d expected it for himself. He’d anticipated physical pain and emotional turmoil- but not like this.
And far too late, Harry realized that one can never fully prepare oneself for the death of a loved one.
He hadn’t been ready to witness this…
Neither had Hermione. Both her and Harry were now utterly engulfed in the Weasley’s, but more so Ron’s grief. And while someone’s life had been unjustly taken, and while sadness pulsed through their veins quicker than blood, both Harry and Hermione couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of duty and of urgency that empowered them to move on- for Ron’s sake.
It had been several long moments since Harry’s last words.
Malfoy hadn’t looked up once. Apparently, the tattered red rug was immensely interesting.
“Hermione, I- I’m sorry…” Harry whispered.
Hermione looked startled. “For what?”
“For… for you being alone. For me not being there with you… I know what it feels like to be alone in times like these,” he thought back to the summer before fifth year. “…And it’s… well, I’m really sorry. For you having to find this out in a letter. For you getting hurt on account of me-”
“Don’t,” she said firmly. “…Don’t even go on blaming yourself for any of it. You’ve done so much... Don’t apologize… I- I love you Harry,” she smiled weakly. Tears gathered in Harry’s eyes; tears that, he felt, he’d been born with.
“And I would get myself hurt again for you, or Ron, without thinking twice.” She finished.
For the first time in several strenuous minutes, Malfoy looked up. He saw the two staring into each other’s eyes with such an intense level of feeling, that it sparked several sentiments in him.
Malfoy found himself quite sad, heartbroken, even. Which were emotions Malfoy had rarely given himself the permission to fully experience. He was sad that Hermione was going through so much pain, sad that he’d never understood Harry, sad that he’d teased Ron for so long, sad that his father caused any of this, sad that he couldn’t stop any of this, and moreover, sad that Hermione wasn’t looking in his eyes that way.
And he’d never admit it, but the slight burning feeling in his chest and the little pinpricks he felt in his heart were the comings of jealousy.
“So… I guess you got my letter then?” Harry finally spoke up.
“Yes,” Hermione began solemnly. “…Hedwig delivered it while Malfoy and I were at the edge-”
“The edge?!” Harry suddenly yelled. “You were there? You didn’t get it in time?!”
“No! No, it came just in ti-”
“Then what were you doing in Hogsmeade?! Did you see any of them?!”
“Well, yes-”
“What?!”
“Harry, listen-”
“Did they see you?! Were you attacked? Are you hurt?!”
Harry continued frantically.
“Yes, but-”
“WHAT?!”
“Harry- Harry?”
Harry’s face had just disappeared. Then, just as quickly as he had gone, he was back, this time body included. It happened so fast Hermione barely had time to register it in her mind.
And there, after several long, excruciating days without him, Harry stood in front of Hermione, worry etched into every wrinkle on his forehead.
It was a hurricane of slightly frizzing hair. Hermione was so stunned yet so quick on the uptake that she flung her body, full force, to crash with Harry’s. She’d never felt such an overwhelming power of relief and joy sweep through her. Her arms clung tightly to his back as she buried her face in Harry’s neck.
Harry held her, squeezing so hard it hurt Hermione’s back. But she didn’t care. Neither had noticed that they had sunk to the ground in a heap, completely entwined in each other’s arms. Harry rested his head on top Hermione’s, his eyes closed, determined to keep the salty manifestations of sadness within their cells.
Hermione cried for everything: Ron, the Weasley’s, Harry, Hogwarts, Malfoy, herself… but at this moment, she only cried out of relief that she was once again with one of her two best friends. They’d only been gone two days, but they were an agonizing two days. Hermione’s whimpers forced her body to jerk; Harry easily let her go to look in her face.
Pushing the hair out of her eyes, he softly asked, “What happened?”
Hermione glanced over to Malfoy who looked on with a stagnant, blank expression. Too many emotions were teeming through him, that not one could overpower the others to show on his face.
When Hermione looked back to Harry, she saw a tall figure walking closer behind him.
“Ron!” She seemed to have instantly found her strength, for she’d popped up in the air and flung herself into Ron’s outstretched arms.
“Oh Ron, I love y-you so much… I’m s-so sorry about P-Percy…” she choked on her words.
Ron just held her tight, knowing there was no proper reaction to a situation like this; and he wouldn’t have cared if there were. Then they too fell to a heap on the ground.
And for the first time in nearly seven full years, Ron cried.
Not a whimper cry, a sobbing so forceful his body shook. Hermione immediately adjusted to this new experience with him and held him in “her- arms, every now and then kissing his forehead. Harry sat beside them, holding Hermione’s free hand.
As the three huddled together, bound by grief and their common union of incident, Malfoy’s body began to tremble, his fingers shaking uneasily. He’d never felt so out of place in his life. He turned his head and looked determinedly at the portrait hole, stealing glances back at Hermione only when heartache, curiosity and mild jealously interlocked, forcing his head to turn.
He could hear Hermione telling Harry about Rookwood. From the way she’d talked about it, it was clear they’d had some personal experience with this particular Death Eater. Malfoy found himself wondering if they’d ever fought his father…
“B- but Malfoy convinced him that he w- was on Voldemort’s side, which bought some time for me t- to gather my strength,” he heard Hermione stumble over her tears. “I could hardly mo-”
“Wait,” Malfoy interjected. “…You heard all that? I thought you’d passed out?”
Harry and Ron shot Malfoy a look of utmost contempt. But Harry’s physiognomies were softened by the realization that Malfoy had, ultimately, helped save Hermione.
Nevertheless, Harry felt obliged to say, “I can’t believe you jumped out to save him,” once again, the tilted emphasis on ‘him’.
Hermione gave Harry a worried look, then met Malfoy’s gaze.
“I had… been knocked out, I mean,” she spoke quietly. “…I came through just when you were telling Rookwood about Lestrange injuring me.”
Malfoy looked utterly perplexed.
“And- and you didn’t think I was telling the truth to Rookwood? How’d you know it was a put-on?”
“You’re not that great an actor, Malfoy,” Hermione smiled weakly. But when she saw his glare remain serious as stone, she finished, in nothing more than a whisper, “…I trusted you.”
And though she’d spoken it so quietly, to Draco, her words seemed to reverberate against the walls and through his very soul.
“So that’s when I used the Total Body Bind on him," she turned slowly back toward Harry and Ron. "Malfoy carried me back up to the castle. I fell asleep in the hospital wing and just woke up about two hours ago,” she finished.
Ron’s tears had subsided, and he was sitting leaning against the stone fireplace. Hermione grabbed a blanket from the sofa and wrapped it around Harry, whom she noticed was shaking.
“Thanks,” Harry said without looking at Malfoy. “…For helping her.” His words seemed to drain him of any energy he had left.
Malfoy nodded, even though he knew Harry couldn’t see him.
*******************************************
A half hour later, Harry and Ron told Hermione they’d better get back to Headquarters. Malfoy politely left the common room and waited outside the portrait hole so that they felt comfortable saying the address. Hermione hadn’t wanted them to leave, but they’d succeeded in convincing her that they weren’t supposed to be there to start.
Harry promised to write Hermione first thing the next day, telling her the latest plans. Harry felt certain that, after two consecutive attacks, all the Order would be getting together for some serious planning; and it wouldn’t be complete without Hermione there.
Their last minutes together were spent wondering what had happened in Hogsmeade, and praying that no one had died. Hermione promised to talk to Dumbledore next day and relay everything he said. Hermione’s relationship with Malfoy never came up. Trite things such as that rarely do under the pretense of death and war.
Hermione pulled her body to a standing position, but kept her eyes on the fire. It had just gone red again, for the floo powder wore off.
Then a new sense of dread filled her thoughts afresh. She’d been so overcome with Harry and Ron that she’d forgotten Malfoy was even there. Not until he excused himself from the common room did she remember.
Hermione was hoping the experience didn’t make him feel worse; though she knew this was wishful thinking.
Crossing the room to the portrait hole, she braced herself for whatever blow was about to come. She knew by now that Malfoy had a tendency to mask his sadness and fear as anger, so she quickly built a mental fort in hopes of blocking any insults he might throw out.
But when she pushed open the portrait, she saw a man who looked as though the last thing he wanted to do was yell. Malfoy was sitting, leaning against the corridor wall next to a bookshelf.
Hermione directed all her strength to her legs as she climbed slowly out the hole.
“Malfoy?” she asked tentatively. “Are- are you ok?”
He looked up at her for a moment, then resumed his staring contest with the bookshelf. Hermione bent down beside him, but this action agitated her wounds and she hissed in pain. Malfoy turned around, caught her under her arms, and began lifting her again.
“You really are dense, you know?” his voice didn’t sound vicious, but there was no hint of laughter detected either.
“Come on, you should be lying down.” He said as he pulled her through the portrait hole.
The knowledge that a life-changing conversation was about to transpire came to Hermione when they had reached the sofa inside Gryffindor common room; for Malfoy was looking deep into her eyes with swells of glistening tears in his own.