Hmm, well I just wanna say sorry for the lack of updates! Crazy here, but hopefully, as summer rolls in, everything will flourish! So enjoy!
By Darkwing731
((--Chapter Four--))
A Hard Realization
-
And laughing, Ginny skipped down the table and sat next to Harry, while Ron looked up and smiled at her.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat; smiling blushingly, she followed Ginny's lead and sat down with two of her best friends and her boyfriend. All thoughts of Malfoy were swept from her mind.
But they would soon haunt her through her sleep.
Ginny and Hermione both shared this secret, and although Hermione was glad to have a companion that she could discuss this 'Malfoy Mission' with, it still bothered her. Hermione hadn't really thought about how to extract any information from Malfoy, but at the thought of it, it seemed impossible.
However, all thoughts of him dissipated in a moment when she found her seat next to Ron. Luckily, the boys hadn't noticed (or remembered, or cared for that matter) the little Girl Intuition moment Hermione and Ginny had shared. Or, if they did, they hid the recognition quite cleverly.
Hermione slid in the bench next to Ron and smiled happily at him. He returned it, but awkwardly so. She noticed in a moment that his ears were red, and suddenly she was aware that the majority of the Gryffindor's were sniggering. She looked around, and Ginny seemed to notice this too.
"What's going on?" Ginny asked Hermione. Both females turned their eyes to Harry, who seemed like he was more able to talk than Ron, at the moment. Said boy was sinking in his seat, his face and ears burning up and rivaling the color of his hair; Gryffindors, mostly boys, were pointing and snickering.
Harry beckoned Hermione and Ginny closer, and they leaned in. "He was telling them how he asked out Hermione, how he fancied her, and now everyone is making a fool out of him. I tried to tell them to piss off, and I told him those arses don’t matter, but now it's all of his other mates too!"
"Well that's unfair," Hermione said. "I mean, plenty of boys take an affectionate or romantic sort of route when they ask out the girls they fancy. It's more appealing to females."
"Yes, but Hermione, you don’t understand men at all," Harry said. Ginny looked like she was fighting the urge to smirk or to smile.
"Yes I do!" Hermione argued.
"No, Hermione, you don’t." This time it was Ginny intervening. "It's like you and Quidditch. You don’t understand the game."
"That was a nice metaphor, Gin," Harry commented.
"Why thank you Mr. Potter."
Hermione scowled. "I do know what I'm doing!"
"That's not what Ron said," Harry said dryly. Hermione cast an aggravated look at said boyfriend, who was still sinking into his seat. He looked up at the mention of his name.
"What?" he asked miserably.
"Honestly Ron, ignore them. They take pleasure in the fact that their words affect you!"
"Stick and stones may break my bones, but hexes will hurt me faster," he snapped. She raised an eyebrow at the distorted nursery rhyme.
"Ron," she started, but he let out a huff of indignation and clearly she could see his pride was deeply wounded.
"Just don’t, Hermione." He made to get his things and pack up to leave, and Hermione gaped at him.
Before he could make another move, Hermione grabbed his shoulder and put her lips against his ear.
"Don’t let them get to you. Look at this: they've already made us quarrel, and just a quarter of an hour ago we were snogging. Ron, don’t do this," she breathed pleadingly in his ear.
When she pulled back, his blue eyes were guilty, but bright. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I suppose," he grumbled. She smiled faintly.
"Sorry about what? Being a poof when you have a girlfriend?"
The comment was made by someone that Hermione did not take time to recognize. In a flash, Harry had gotten his wand, Ginny beating him to it, and Hermione had successfully dragged Ron out of the hall and out of the messy situation.
"What's next, what's next…? Potions." Ron cursed loudly, and Hermione gave a little roll of her eyes.
"With Slytherins?" she asked quietly.
"Who else?" Ron asked, folding his timetable and putting it in his robe pocket. "There's no one else for Snape to torture us with."
Ron and Hermione were the first and only students outside the Potions room. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and suddenly the air was thick with tension. Hermione knew that, most likely, without the jeering of his fellow Gryffindors that had happened previously, he would've made a move to kiss her.
"Ron," she said hesitantly. "Why did you get so upset when they said all of those things?" Okay, perhaps kissing him might've been better than the conversation that she just put between them. This, she noticed, made him tense up and made things seem terribly awkward.
He gave a stiff shrug. "I dunno," he mumbled. He looked up at her reluctantly, and she gave him a look. "Pride."
"For telling the truth?" she asked softly. He nodded, after a moment. She let out a scoff. "You know, that is just pathetic," she complained. A look of panic crossed his face.
"In retrospect, I think that the way you asked me out, rather the night before, was much more original and romantic than just a plain 'will you be my girlfriend?' Really, if you rounded up the boys that actually did have girls, then they would all be on your side, I guarantee." She had nearly poked him in the chest with a defiant finger as she declared all of this.
He looked uncertain for words, so he remained silent. She nodded triumphantly.
By now people had started leaving the Great Hall, and Slytherins and Gryffindors had filed down the hallway slowly, each splitting and leaving to their respectable, and distanced, places.
When the whole class had assembled, Snape slammed open the door, and the doorknob laded square on Neville's stomach, who yelped. Snape threw him a look of contempt, and beckoning the Slytherin's first, they all filed in.
Ron was unhappy to part with her for obvious reasons, partly because she was a genius, but she insisted that she sit with Neville so she could help him.
Professor Snape seemed to be a very bad mood, and he clearly wanted to thrash out—especially against the Gryffindors.
"Listen up, you imbeciles!" he snapped at the class. Any whispered conversations that had been happening stopped immediately. "Today you'll start working on a potion that takes a week to complete. It is essential that you pay attention, because it is more than likely this will appear on exams."
At the mention of the exams, Hermione straightened in her seat immediately.
"Madam Pomfrey has requested that because the Quidditch season will be coming up, that she acquire a larger stock of her healing potions. Healing is an imperative skill to be able to survive in the Wizarding world, and because of this, the course of this year will be based on healing potions, most of which will go to Madam Pomfrey. Or, the rare few that manage not to blow their cauldrons to smithereens."
Snape stared coldly at Neville, who shrunk in his seat, terrified.
"Copy down the notes on the board, and by the time this class ends, your potion will be a dull blue and very thin. Go!"
The class scrambled, and Hermione, although annoyed at having to wait in line, secretly thought that this term of Potions class would be alright. It was good to know these basic healing things, and who knew? Maybe they would come in handy for Hermione later on.
At dinner, Professor McGonagall summoned Hermione and Malfoy from the stream of hungry students. She instructed them to tell the prefects of their house of the small Christmas celebration, and to spread the word through Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hermione was attentive and ready to do this, but as she cast a glance at Malfoy, she knew that he was not.
Malfoy looked terrible. His skin was gray, oily and paler than it had ever been. His hair was flat and mussed, and the wearing lines that dug under his eyes were darker than she had ever seen. His scar still stood out hauntingly, but it was not a sign of anger and danger as it had first been. Now, as she looked over Malfoy once again, she could tell that this boy was exhausted, and not a part of him breathed with life anymore.
When the Professor was done, Hermione waited around to talk to the Headmaster for a moment, but her eyes were following Malfoy out of the Great Hall. His shoulders were broad, but the abnormally small shirt hung loose on him, his movements slow and fatigued, and his body hunched over and weary. He left the hall without speaking to anyone, and without grabbing a bite to eat.
That's unhealthy, Hermione thought, mouth frowning in immediate concern.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore inquired, catching Hermione off-guard. She started for a moment, and then came to her senses.
"Professor, I was wondering about the staircase that leads up to my room," she said.
"Oh, what about it?"
"How am I supposed to fix it so it will allow boys up?" Hermione realized a moment after she said it how badly interpreted her statement could be. "I mean," she said quickly, blushing furiously; "Harry or Ron."
Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "Friendship is a great thing, and what you share with those boys is completely understandable," he said knowledgably. She nodded. "All you must do is knock on the right banister three times, and that is all."
"Thank you Professor," Hermione said graciously. Ron and Harry would be very envious of her room when she allowed them to see it, finally.
When she went to turn away, Dumbledore stopped her. "Miss Granger, I was wondering if has there been any progression in the task I had given you?"
"Not yet, sir. I plan on doing several things before I do, but perhaps I should check in with things once a week or so?" she said, uncertain of what she should do.
"Oh no, that won't be necessary. I was just wondering, is all," he said, not unkindly. With a friendly smile, he nodded to her dismissal, and she went to enjoy her dinner.
Hermione slid into the bench next to Harry, across from Ron, and it seemed the two boys were deep in a conversation that was entirely serious.
"What's up?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice. Harry looked at her, then exchanged glances with Ron.
"It's nothing Hermione, but I…" Harry faltered and looked a bit guilty.
"But you what, Harry?" Hermione asked suspiciously.
He let his head drop into his hands, and his fingers grazed over his hairline, and sketched his scar for a moment. Somehow, in an instant, she knew what was wrong.
"This summer, I um, had a few dreams about Voldemort." He said this very quietly, and he looked at neither Ron nor Hermione.
"Harry!" Hermione hissed. "Did you plan on telling us? Or even Dumbledore? Any of the Order members?"
"I didn’t think they really meant anything," he mumbled. Hermione made a noise, but Ron shushed her. "I mean, I know there must be something happening for his emotion's to be so strong that they leak through to me, but honestly Hermione, they were nothing special."
"What were they about?" she questioned immediately.
"I won't say here," he said in a low voice, casting a wary glance around. "But later, perhaps tonight in your Tower, Hermione. If we can't go into your room, then we'll just silence everything so Malfoy can't overhear."
"No, I found out how to get you and Ron up the staircase. I'll tell you after," she said. Harry nodded, and looked at Ron again.
"D'you think," Ron started; "I mean, after all those murders and things, that Malfoy killed off more people than just his mother?" It was unclear to whom he was directing this question to.
"No!" Hermione said fiercely, and both boys looked a bit confused. Harry had a shred of suspicion in his eyes, but they were gone as soon as Hermione justified herself.
"I don’t know exactly what happened when Malfoy killed his mum, but I don’t think he was capable of the Killing Curse. If he isn’t, then how is he supposed to kill off more people for Voldemort?"
"Well I didn’t mean directly all the time," Ron said. "He could’ve, you know, been the one strategizing or something."
"I don’t think that's possible either. Not Draco Malfoy, anyways," Hermione answered thoughtfully, now pulling food onto her plate. "Where's Ginny?" she asked suddenly. "She ought to be here for this conversation."
"With Luna, giving her help on Transfiguration homework, I think," Harry answered. "And we'll fill her in later."
Harry was quiet for a moment, and both Hermione and Ron were waiting for him to resume speaking.
"What about his dad, Hermione?" Harry asked finally.
"Lucius has been on the run too long, I would think," Ron said, taking Hermione's silence as an opportunity to speak. "He wouldn’t be able to sit in one place for too long, and killing someone would attract too much attention."
"I don’t really know," Hermione mused, scratching her chin. "No one's really seen him since the end of our fifth year, and I don’t even think Malfoy has seen his dad. Maybe—" Hermione broke off suddenly.
"Maybe what?" Harry said quickly. He saw Hermione's face distant with concentration and dawning realization.
"He never considered… maybe that's why he's so unhappy… Oh, where is Ginny?" And Hermione picked up her things and rushed off before the boys could get another two words out of her.
"I hate it when she does that," Ron said. Harry smirked a bit.
"Well, she's your girlfriend, you'll have to deal with that from now on."
Ron rolled his eyes and continued eating, but the glow in his ears and cheeks sent a different message.
"Luna Lovegood: where is she?" Hermione asked quickly, stumbling over to the Ravenclaw table.
"Library," called out on of Luna's few friends. "She's with Ginny Weasley."
Yes! was Hermione's immediate thought, and she gave a quick thanks and rushed off again, hardly having eaten any supper.
Hermione, after much panting but steely determination, made it to the library. She pushed open the huge doors, greeted Madam Pince, and set out in search for Ginny and Luna.
When she found them, Ginny was waving her wand over a feather quill, (repeating the wrong spell, Hermione assumed) and looking quite frustrated. After a moment, the redhead gave up, leaving Luna looking a tad crestfallen as she cried: "Where is Hermione when you need her?"
"At dinner, I suppose," Luna answered at once, her voice dreamy.
"Quite the contrary," Hermione said, coming out from behind the shelves and sitting down at the table.
"Speak of the Devil," Ginny said, grinning.
"What’s this you need help on, Luna?" Hermione asked hurriedly. "Sorry, but I need to steal Ginny so I decided I'd take over and help; from what I could see, Ginny couldn’t manage the incantation."
Ginny scowled, and Luna smiled good-naturedly. "I needed to turn this into a rodent of some type. McGonagall didn’t clarify which, but she said to do it and take down the effects of what happened the first time for our essay."
"Oh, that's easy," Hermione said, supplying the charm at once. Luna did the incantation, and her white feather turned into a little hamster like creature.
"Excellent! Thanks Hermione!" Luna said dreamily, cooing over her hamster.
"Good. Ginny, let's go and Hermione latched onto Ginny and dragged her out of the library, filling her in with the thoughts of the Malfoys and what they could mean in the hallway.
"No, Hermione, I don’t think that's possible," Ginny told her after Hermione had finished her theory. "If Lucius had been the one to kill Malfoy's mum, they would've known it."
"It's not entirely impossible for Lucius to get away with it though," Hermione argued back. "He could've used Malfoy's wand instead, leaving his son to look guilty."
"True, but didn’t you say that Dumbledore said that Malfoy said he killed his mum?" Ginny inquired, and then put a hand to her forehead. "That was like gossip with Lavender and Parvati!"
Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore! I'd forgotten about that."
Ginny's face lit up. "I know what we need to do. Come with me," Ginny beckoned, running in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
"What are these for?" Hermione asked, half suspicious and half curious. Ginny was holding out two journals: one blue, and one black.
"One is for your personal daily recordings, which you don’t have to do, and the other is to keep track of information about Malfoy. I mean, you've forgotten one little fact, so you should record happenings and precious information so you don’t forget."
"That was quite a stroke of brilliance, Ginny," Hermione commented, taking the journals and putting them away in her bag. "You should have them more often."
"It also crossed my mind that you should do something to ensure the security and safety of it. Chances are, with you on his case, Malfoy is going to be very angry and will do anything to put you at bay, which may include him hoarding your personal belongings as threats," Ginny explained, now lowering her voice as people began to enter the common room.
"Another good stroke of genius," Hermione pointed out, beaming. "I think I know just the thing to put on these journals, or at least one of them to make sure they're going to be safe for always. You just wait."
"There they are!" came Harry's voice. He and Ron suddenly appeared beside the girls. "Why weren’t you guys at dinner? And Hermione, why did you just up and leave like that?"
"None of your business," Ginny said quite firmly. Ron raised an eyebrow, and Harry gave both girls a calculating look.
"I don’t know what you're up too," he started, sounding wary.
"It concerns neither of you," Hermione said, looking between her two male friends. "Now, shall we fill Ginny in?" The boys nodded, and the other Weasley looked confused.
"What?"
"Never mind, let's go and I'll tell you in a moment."
Hermione guided them through the portrait into the silence that was eerie compared to the Gryffindor common room that was always bursting with life. The four of them went automatically to the sofas and cushions crowding around the fire, and Harry and Ron began to talk to Ginny rapidly.
"Gin, I had a couple of dreams over the summer… about Voldemort," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably.
"Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone?" she asked shrilly. Hermione nodded in agreement.
"They didn’t seem so important."
"Okay, whatever. Just tell us now what they were about, if you don’t mind," Ginny said impatiently.
"Alright," Harry agreed. He paused for a moment, trying to fit these dreams into words, before speaking slowly. "The first… the first was about… Grimmauld Place. Something inside of it, I… I really can't remember. Voldemort wasn’t there," Harry explained hastily to the looks of horror and panic that had crossed the girls faces; "but he was probing someone's mind who had been there… they were—they were looking for—for…" Harry couldn’t put it into words, and he looked quite frustrated about it.
"I-I don’t.. I can't…" He looked like he couldn’t even finish his sentence. By now, Ginny was urging him to move onto the next, but when he did, he looked regretful, sour almost about something.
"A Malfoy was there. I couldn’t tell which… Junior here—" He jerked his head at Malfoy's door— "Or his dad or his mum. One of the three. All I could remember was seeing them kneel… a lot of people were around them, and two others were dueling, but everything was just a mess. Someone got killed," Harry said, kneading his forehead.
"Andromeda," Harry blurted out suddenly.
"What?" Hermione asked, worried. Ginny and Ron shushed her. Harry pressed his fingers into his forehead.
"They wanted… in Grimmauld Place… she knew, I think… she had it… Gods, why can't I remember?" Harry cried.
"It's alright, Harry," Ginny said softly. "We can go to Dumbledore later tomorrow or this week and he can help, I'm sure."
"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed. "You know him, he's always got the right ideas."
"Not always," Hermione argued softly. Ron and Harry looked confused, but Ginny seemed to sense where Hermione was heading and quickly shook her head. Hermione dropped her gaze with a nod. "He just can't answer everything with the most perfect answer. A lot of things… he can't explain them either." And of course, she was talking about Narcissa's death and Malfoy's participation.
"Well, that's not really true," Ron started to say, but Harry cut him off.
"She's right," he concurred quietly. "He doesn’t know where the Death Eaters are, or Lucius Malfoy, or if Lucius is even alive anymore. None of the Order knows, not even Snape."
"Is he still even at large to the public?" Ginny asked. Ron shrugged.
"He's been out of jail since last May, but he just…" He looked around, and all four of them whispered: "Disappeared."
And so many other lost souls had too. There had been gruesome, horrible murders that summer. Some of them could be explained, while many others couldn’t. The media was in a frenzy, and things at the Ministry were still crazy and disorganized, selling the wrong facts as usual.
"Which leads us to something else that's important," Harry said. Hermione, knowing that Harry was going to start talking about Lucius Malfoy and anything illegal and particular murders he might’ve committed, she took the cue to tune out and think, having partaken in this conversation earlier.
Hermione relaxed against the soft armchair she was in and gazed into the flames, shadows flicking across her vision and through the room. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the fatigue creep over her senses, but forced her eyes open. She needed to think. Her eyes wandered to the darkened hallway that led to Malfoy's quarters, and yet again, her mind started roaming.
What happened over the summer? What had caused the horrible murder and devastating tragedy? It was obvious Malfoy was dealing with this in a terrible way—lack of sleep, eating disorders, rapid mood swings, perhaps even depression—and it was worse that he was dealing with it all alone. The thought of having to bear that weight while the rest of the world mocked and jeered at him for murdering his mother was an unbearable and impossible thought to Hermione.
It made her resolve that Dumbledore was the smartest man alive, for if he hadn't assigned this task to her, she might've just taken it on by herself.
Firelight was dancing, but a second later it pooled into the darkened hallway as Ron grabbed the smallest armchair and tugged it closer so talking to Ginny would be easier. She listened to fractions of their conversations, but all the while staring at Malfoy's door, thinking.
"No, that's absurd, Ginny. You remember what dad said about Lucius Malfoy and all of the other Death Eaters…" Ron's voice trickled into her brain for only a moment before it was shoved out again rather abruptly as something quite startling entered her mind.
At the mention of Lucius Malfoy, slowly, ever so slowly, Malfoy's doorknob began to twist, and the door opened just a crack. A sliver of Draco Malfoy's thin body could be seen, illuminated strangely by the firelight.
But his eyes were gleaming, brighter and angrier than she had ever seen them, and suddenly the silver daggers were glaring right back into her own eyes. Narrowed, haunting and dangerous looking, they burned into her soul and she felt terrified.
She gasped suddenly and stood up swiftly; Malfoy was listening, and he was watching her.
"Stop!" she cried. They all looked at her as if she were a creature from another planet. "Up to my room!"
Malfoy! she mouthed to her friends, jerking her head in the direction of his quarters, and suddenly, they all got the idea and stood up. Rushing over to the staircase, Hermione knocked on the right banister three times, and there was a solidifying sound.
Harry cautiously put a foot on the first step, and when it remained solid, all four of them fled up the stairs and piled into Hermione's room after she had grabbed the doorknob for them. She slammed the door, heart pounding against her ribcage, and locked it, silenced it and several other charms in her panicking haste.
She let her back fall in a great slump as she heaved in and out, propped heavily against the door. The three others looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head, still gasping for air.
"Malfoy—was—there—listening—" She started coughing spasmodically, and Ron guided her to her bed to sit with an arm around her shoulders. When she was better, his arm subtly lowered to her waist.
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, pulling the chair from Hermione's vanity and sitting in front. Harry moved behind her, running his hands along the back of the chestnut chair and looking between the two girls in apprehension.
"You were talking about Lucius Malfoy, and—and Malfoy's door opened. And I saw him. He looked—" She broke off and started to gesticulate. "Terrifying. I can't really explain it."
"And he saw us?" Ginny questioned. Hermione shook her head.
"Heard us. There wasn’t any noise coming from his rooms, and you three were talking, arguing so loudly, I suppose, that he must've heard your voices, listened, and became angry when you mentioned his father and the Death Eaters. It makes sense," Hermione explained, her fear subsiding and her logic and curiosity setting back in.
"It does," Ginny agreed; "But why didn’t he come out and defend him?"
Ginny's question had Hermione think over this thoroughly for a long moment. Normally, Malfoy wouldn’t stand and let an insult pass over the Malfoy name, but wittily defend it. However, he had quietly listened and gotten angry. There was enough time for him to come out and retaliate, Hermione was sure, but she didn’t understand why he didn’t. Perhaps he wanted to see what else they could deduce for once, and compare to how much they thought they knew to how much was right…?
"Hermione, we're leaving," Ginny said, standing and yawning. "It's late, and I was going to start the essay that Luna and I had, even though it's due next week. I can do it sometime later though, I suppose."
"Alright. G'night Gin, Harry," Hermione said, nodded to them both as the couple intertwined hands and walked out, aware of the fatigue sweeping through her veins too.
Now aware that she was alone with Ron, she turned and faced him, suddenly aware of how tired she was. It had been a somewhat stressful day, and maybe she could loosen up and talk to him (or do other things) and relax just a bit before she went to sleep.
He smiled contentedly at her, reaching forward to brush a stray curl off of her forehead. He opened his mouth to say something, and upon his ears turning bright red, closed his mouth and smiled shyly instead.
She nearly giggled, but let out a weary yawn and leaned forward and put her arms over his shoulders.
"Stay with me for a while," she said quietly, and he nodded. "There's been so many times when I just wanted to be able to lie next to you, hold your hand…" she trailed off, and there was a nostalgic look to her eyes. "I'm glad… about us."
"Me too," he whispered, his blue eyes bright. Together, they leaned forward and kissed softly, but only for a moment. They broke apart, and she leaned onto his chest, closing her eyes tiredly.
He leaned back, making himself comfy with her pillows, and she shifted on his chest. "Only—only for a while," he yawned. "It'll make you look awfully bad if I fall asleep here and went back to my dorm in the morning."
She let out a weary laugh and nodded. "I know. But if that happens, we'll get Harry to get stuff for you."
She was so happy, so warm and at home lying there, her head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, her arms around him. She curled closer to him, breathing in a heavy, tired sigh before exhaling again. Eyes heavy with sleep, she clenched a fistful of his shirt.
His arm wound around her shoulder, his fingers in her unruly hair. "I am blessed," he whispered to himself, glancing down at the girl in his arms, who was steadily falling asleep.
"Truly, truly blessed."
When Hermione woke, she blinked groggily and groaned, staring around at the black room. A body, Ron, was trying to shift subtly out from underneath her without waking the Head Girl.
"Ron," she groaned, her eyes refusing to open under the heavy weight. "Don't go, I'm still sleepy." A confusing statement, not exactly logical, but Ron smiled fondly anyhow. It would most likely be the same thing he would've said if she had been leaving his bed.
"I know. I'll be here in the morning. Go to sleep, Hermione," he whispered gently, standing up. She nodded sleepily, and he pulled the duvet up from beneath her and set it over her shoulders. She clasped it gently and sighed into her pillow.
With a kiss pressed to her cheek, he was gone at one in morning.
Careful to close the door silently, he gazed at Hermione stuffed under the covers, bathed in moonlight, for just a second longer before he turned away and shut the door completely. Making sure that the staircase would not give way beneath him, he dropped down the steps, casting a final glance at the dying fire and the soft glow it was giving off before pushing through the Gryffindor portrait, and up to his bed where he knew that his dreams would be more than pleasant tonight.
However, at the departure of Ron, Hermione could not get back to sleep. She was dozing in and out of misted dreams that were too weak to keep her asleep. Tossing to one side, she groaned into her pillow, vainly trying to fall back into her dreams, wondering at the same time what was so bloody important that it was keeping her awake.
After a long moment where she sighed and probed her own mind for problems or uncomfortable things that might prevent her from sleeping, abruptly, and loudly, her stomach was heard, growling away and gnawing at her insides for nutrients.
Food, she thought to herself blearily, and in almost robotic motions, she got up, found slippers and edged her way down the stairs, eyes shut against the cold air that filled the common room, and against the dull lighted coals of the fire.
Groping around in the kitchen, it took her several minutes where she blatantly refused to open her eyes even in the dark, to find a knife, bread and some peanut butter. When she did, things were all jolly and merry in her sleepy mind, and she made herself a sandwich.
A glass of milk and three and a quarter sandwiches later, Hermione was contentedly filled with food, and her mind was hazy with slumber again. For this, she was entirely grateful. She placed her dirty dishes on a random counter, yawned, and pushed open the kitchen door.
On any normal circumstance, Hermione just would've gone up to her room, and she was still in the state of mind where nothing else matter except returning to her warm duvet and sleeping again. However, her foot was in the air to take a step towards the staircase when the hair on the back of her neck rose, and a startlingly familiar but odd sound filled her ears.
Cracking open her eyes and rubbing away the sand, she blinked for a few moments before she registered what was in front of her, and her face twisted into shock and worry. All sleep was suddenly washed from her mind, and an almost maternal instinct overwhelmed her, overridden by the normal teenage girl curiosity.
Apparently, Malfoy did not know that Hermione was awake and in the kitchen. He must've believed that now, in the middle of the night, where there was no one to look at him and no one to see, he was perfectly safe to do as he pleased in their common room.
But what he was doing nearly made Hermione gasp instead of keeping her in a stunned silence.
The fire was very low, nearly at the point of hissing dead with the few vain sparks from the coals before it admitted defeat and turned to ashes. However, the light that splashed from it still glowed on every surface it hit, and it assured Hermione that what she was seeing was real.
It was very real.
Malfoy was hunched over, his face in his hands and his shoulders shaking silently. His fingers were clenching the long hair in front of his eyes before he would rub his face for a moment and fist them again. He was trying to keep still, but his body was shaking badly and his suppressed movements could not stop the miserable sounds from escaping his throat.
After a moment, he threw his head up towards the ceiling, his face twisted in pain and lips trembling to keep down the howl that was itching to claw its way out of his throat. Tears poured down his cheeks, each one glorified by the glow of the fire, dropping into his nightshirt or hands.
A naked sob burst out of his throat suddenly, and he buried his face in his hands again, sobs racking his body, noises loud and raw. His frame was too thin, and every other moment he looked terrifying and ready to rip a person apart with his teeth and hands—but he was vulnerable and miserable and in such a harmful state.
Hermione didn’t even realize what she was doing until after it happened. Walking forward a few steps, she stopped at the edge of the couch and peered at him closer, and at the same time, breathing out his surname in a stunned voice.
"Malfoy?"
And then, quite horribly, she heard herself say his name, saw him tense up as if his blood had turned to stone, and she felt herself tripping over her own feet as she stepped backwards.
He was still, very still, and she stood awkwardly, aware of just how big he was and how small she was, just how easily he could wrap his fingers around her throat, just how much stronger he was, just how goddamned scared she felt at the moment.
There was a tense moment when his head whipped towards her, and Hermione plainly saw terror etched on his face for a split moment before it disappeared in cold, furious anger.
A sudden looming terror rose up in her like never before, and she backed cowardly into the wall as he stood up abruptly and faced her. He was more terrifying than he had been before as the evidence of his own miserable, tortured soul dripped down his face. His eyes, glowing in absolute fury, pinned her against the wall. It was neither his height, nor the haunting, deep scar, nor the way he was flexing his fingers as if he was dying to get his hands on her that scared her.
No, it was the melting murder in his eyes. Anger poured off him in waves, striking terror into her heart and wide eyes. She could neither move nor look away, but found herself sucked into the horrible, tortured mess that was his soul and his mind.
It was all a chaotic blur, suddenly, and a scream of fear rang through her ears, terror urging her muscles, but in the next moment everything went still around her as her body raged to keep moving, to keep fighting, to get away.
He had lunged at her, and she had automatically shrieked, ducked out of his way and high-tailed it for the staircase. He tripped her ankles, threw an arm around her chest with a loud snarl, and shoved her up against the wall; Hermione found herself inches from his savage, murderous eyes and started whimpering quietly.
Her breathing was jagged, her body pushing away from him naturally, her face frozen in terror. He, however, was very calm, but the swirling, tormented fury in his eyes was not. A muscle twitched in his jaw, catching Hermione's terrified eyes for just a moment, before she was glued again to his.
"Listen to me, you good-for-nothing bitch," he whispered in a smoothly calm, deadly voice. "I don’t know what the hell you were doing down here this late at night, but if you repeat anything about what you just saw—" Hermione was acutely aware that he was rapidly blinking the remainder of his tears away— "I will not hesitate to rip your throat while you're sleeping. Do you understand me?"
Hermione let out a squeak of agreement.
He snatched up her collar and shoved her harder against the wall, and the rage was now openly laid on his face. "I will know," he snarled, eyes narrowed maliciously, harder than ice; "If you tell a single soul, I will fucking know."
She let out a cry of pain as he gripped her by her shoulders and threw her viciously against the marble stairs; she landed on her side, her head smashing into the banister. She let out a groan of anguish and clutched her head.
"Do you understand me, you little bitch?" he spat at her, nearly lunging at her in rage. She let out a pained noise and nodded quickly, scrambling to her feet.
He caught her by the elbow, digging his fingernails into her flesh, and ripped her from the staircase. She would've fallen flat on her face was it not for his powerful grip on her arm, but a second later he had swung her around and was digging fingers into both of her bare arms.
"Whether you snitch or not, filthy little Mudblood, you have just put yourself in a dangerous situation. You better watch your back from now on, because I'll be watching you," he hissed in a colorless, hard voice, and threw her as hard as he could against the stairs.
He glared at her, and she recoiled timidly under his gaze, before he turned around and stormed off into his own quarters, slamming the door so hard behind him that the air sang.
For a long time after he had left, Hermione stayed motionless, ignoring the throbbing pains in her back, and trying to steady her racing, terrified heart. She couldn’t still her mind enough to think back on the situation, but at the moment she just wanted to calm the hell down, get back into her room and continue from that point after her nerves were out of this mess.
Finally, she rose from the stairs, wincing as she went, and silently treaded back into her bedroom. She groped around for her wand to ignite the lights, unexpectedly aware of her violently shaking hands and body. She flicked the lights on after handling the thin wooden rod, and leaned against the doorframe, dropping to the floor slowly.
For no apparent reason, she dropped her head into her hands, and an overwhelming, sickening feeling rose in her throat. A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and she cried for a moment at the scariness of the previous encounter with Malfoy. After a hard sniff, however, she told herself to suck it up and stop crying, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.
She needed to be logical, not hysterical. No one ever got anywhere when they were hysterical, and Hermione Granger always got where she needed to be.
Trying to breathe deeply and evenly, she searched around for the journals that Ginny had given her, and flipped open to the newest page in the blue one, the one she had selected to write her thoughts on Malfoy. She sat down at her vanity, looking around for her inkwell and quill, before dipping the feather in the blackness and dating the page.
It started tonight, I suppose. Dumbledore's mission. I remember thinking earlier that if he hadn't given it to me, I probably would've taken it on by myself. I woke up very late, and went down for a bit to eat, and when I walked out of the kitchen he was on the couch, crying. I've never thought him to be an entirely infallible person, but could I ever imagine him displaying such an emotion big enough to make him cry? Absolutely not. He was always a bully to me. But this year, he just wants me out of his way, but now I'm going to have to refuse to move, no matter what. Dumbledore is counting on me.
Anyways, he was furious when he saw that I was there, intruding on his crying. He shoved me against the wall and threatened to rip out my throat in my sleep, something I probably would've wanted to do in such a humiliating situation. However, he told me I'm in trouble now, even though I haven’t a chance to tell anyone what happened (not that I could ever dream of doing so—morals, you know). He said he'll be watching me. As much as a cliché that is, I'm just a little scared. Lately he's been so unpredictable… well no, not unpredictable, but avoiding everyone and confrontation and just being so much meaner than he used to be. He's hurt and he wants to wallow, I'm sure, but he can't do it forever! I definitely need to help him.
I'm not really sure what's going to become of me this year, because I know I'll be under so much stress and I won't have enough time, and the time I do have will go to him— and not Ron. And if Ron ever found out what I was doing, would we last? Are we going too after the hell that Malfoy'll put me through? I'm not so sure, but gods, I hope so. Ron is everything to me… I can't handle not having the comfort of him by my side.
Vicious or not, Malfoy's shell will not go unbroken. I will break him down and find out what happened, and I will help him get better. He's got to heal. He's so unhealthy right now, and I just… I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I should be a healer instead of an Auror because I'm always trying to make everyone feel better. Hopefully, I'll succeed with Malfoy.
Hermione closed the journal after blowing the ink dry on the page a few times, and stared at the cover in a pensive silence. Of course Malfoy would react so violently after she had intruded on such a personal moment of his; she wouldn’t put physical threats past him. But the terror that had been on his face, what was it for? Was he scared that she had found him in such a weak, vulnerable state, or something else?
And what exactly was he crying about?
The thought graced her mind immediately: his mother. It made sense, of course, but in a way Hermione didn’t get it. But then again, how could she? She didn’t know the full details, she didn’t know what the hell had happened, and she didn’t know why Malfoy was left in this devastating mess. All she knew what that Malfoy killed his mother, but he loved her, but he was innocent, and apparently Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with the crime, and hadn't been sighted anywhere near his manor anytime recently, let alone anywhere else in the world.
So how in the world did this all add up?
Hermione had a feeling, that in the end, she would understand. Of course she would understand in the end, but she was too impatient to wait for it all to be over and done with. She wanted answers now; the demand was in her nature, she knew that. But she didn’t care. She needed to explain to herself why this all happened so she had one less thing to worry about in her life.
But Merlin, soon things like that weren’t going to bother her anymore. Because in the future, all she had to worry about was keeping her sanity… and her life.
And hunting down the truth from Draco Malfoy was going to put both of those in extreme jeopardy.
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Author's Note: So, liked it? Because most Draco/Hermione stories only focus on the couple (not all, just the majority) I'm trying to wind in the usual story of the books too: the threat of Voldemort. I'm just writing it from Hermione's point of view!
Anyways, next chapter, another confrontation between our two favorite kids, and some Ron/Hermione action! –laughs as some audiences gags- Gotta put up with it guys, you'll kill me eventually anyways!
Thank you A Roses Innocence for beta-ing this for me! Wonderful job, as always!
So please, I worked very hard on this (not really, but very rapidly!) so it would be very appreciated if you would please review!