Chapter Six

Hermione

Harry and I walked through the doors of the Great Hall on our way out of dinner. It has been a week since my encounter with Draco, and since then, we have shared absolutely no form of social interaction.

Ron and I also haven't talked, besides muttering an apology when we run into each other in the corridor. Which means we're not together anymore, I suppose. Oddly enough, it doesn't bother me as much as I anticipated.

"It's really nice outside, Hermione," Harry says, "and you haven't been outside since we came back. You should come and sit out on the Quidditch pitch while the Gryffindor team practices." I contemplate his offer for a moment. My homework is finished, and I haven't had any time outside since we arrived.

"Sure, I could use a little sun, anyway," I laugh, and he smiles. We change our direction to the main entrance. Tons of students are heading there also. Some are dressed in Quidditch gear, obviously going to practice.

Once we step out of the door, I realize that the weather is actually very nice. The sun is shining, yet it is not hot; it's almost a bit cold, due to the slight breeze.

"Have you talked to Draco?" Harry asks, and I look out at the Black Lake as we venture towards the Quidditch pitch. He knows that Ron and I haven't talked.

"No, not since last week," I answer, and I wonder where he is. If he's outside, or in the common room. I bet his hair looks beautiful in the sunlight.

"Are you still Quidditch captain?" I ask him, changing the subject. Although I do genuinely wonder if his position withheld throughout all of the troubles of the past few years.

"Why, yes I am." He smirks, obviously proud of his title. I laugh at him.

I undo the braid that my hair was in, and my wavy hair falls back into place around my shoulders, warming me up. A group of students await Harry at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. Everyone waves and smiles when they see him.

"I suppose I'll just sit on the bleachers then." I say as the others rush to get their brooms. Honestly, just sitting on the bleachers spectating a Quidditch practice is one of the last things I want to do, but it's better than being inside.

"You know, Hermione, you could always join the team." Harry suggests, going to the team preparation rooms, where the Quidditch supplies are.

"Are you , Harry? Have you ever even seen me fly on a broom?" I scoff. I'm not good at flying; I'm more of an academic person.

"Yes, I have seen you fly. You're a fairly decent flyer-" He explains.

I repeat, "Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean," He says.

"Well, no, thank you. I'm more of a student than an athlete." I respond as he grabs his broom.

"Mhm." He slides on his Quidditch gloves as he walks out onto the field. The field has been replaced, for it was very damaged and unusable after the war. Now it looks just as it had before.

I stride up the steps and take a seat at the very top of the bleachers. Suddenly, I wish I had something to read; Quidditch practice usually lasts very long, and Harry will want me to stay the whole time. I get out my wand and exclaim, I turn around and look at the castle entrance, waiting for a book to come flying through it. And I keep waiting, waiting, and waiting until I finally get hit in the face by one giant piece of literature. The joys of being a witch.

The book is , a documentary about my school. It is quite like I flip through the pages, mostly observing the pictures, since the ruckus from the Quidditch field is distracting. Most of the stuff I already have knowledge of, anyway. I sigh and close the book, since I cannot concentrate and there is no reason to reread information.

I saunter down the steps to the front row of bleachers and sit down. Boredom is taking over. People whip past me on their brooms. I bite my fingernails and examine my shoes as if they're interesting.

"Hermione, watch out!" Harry yells, and I look up.

A bludger is two feet from my face. I dive down into the bleachers instinctively, which is great, because one more hesitated second and I would've had a broken nose. The bludger crashes through the bleachers, tearing the wood into splintering pieces. Harry rushes over.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, helping me up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I answer, brushing off my robes.

"I don't know how that happened. I'm so sorry," He apologizes. The bludger has recovered and is flying through the air towards the players.

"Don't worry about it. Hey, I'm going to go get my coat, okay? It's getting chilly," I respond, and he opens his mouth to say something, but I prevent him from doing so. "Yes, I'll come back." I hop down from the bleachers and head towards the exit.

It was the truth; I was feeling a bit cold. I could just use , but the sitting here watching the Quidditch action is not what I want to be doing right now. Think of all of the books I could read! But I have to come back. Harry's just trying to watch out for me-

. My coat is in Draco's and my common room. I left it there the first day back. Surely he's not in there- he can't spend every moment in there. It would be so awkward! I mutter a prayer as I walk through the castle doors.

Young students greet me, and I wave awkwardly as I walk past the Great Hall doors. Most of the portraits aren't in their usual pictures for some odd reason. Absolutely no one is in the corridor. The journey to the common room seems endless, with many twisting turns and tiring steps.

I haven't even been to our common room since the day we arrived. It is very nice, and I do wish I could make more use of it, but he's always in there. And if using the common room means running into him, it's something I'm willing to give up. It sounds rude, but it's not intended. I could be friends with Draco, if it wasn't for the constant tug at the back of my mind reminding me who he is.

When I finally reach the wall where the door to our common room should be, it takes me a minute to recall the pattern that I have to draw to get inside. Once I do, the door opens, and the hinges squeak like most of the doors here. This school is tons of years old, anyway. I step inside, shutting it behind me. My coat is on the ottoman, so I venture over to it and retrieve it. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see something. I turn to see what it is, and realize that it's Draco.

He's doubled over on the couch, his head buried in his hands. His shoulders are shaking, and his hair is tousled. He doesn't even seem to notice me. What am I supposed to do?

For a mere moment, I contemplate walking away and not bothering him. But then I notice his arm again; it is no longer bandaged, and there is a long slash on it. It looks extremely painful. Finally, I decide to talk to him.

I sit down next to him on the couch, placing my hand on his back. He looks up at me. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and his face is wet from tears. He looks vulnerable, broken.

"Draco," I whisper, and he just keeps looking at me with his beautiful blue-gray eyes. "What's going on?" He opens his mouth, but shuts it, deciding against talking. He maintains his gaze, though his eyes have started glistening.

"I want to help you," I add. He runs a hand through his luscious white-blond hair.

"I-I don't belong here," He finally stutters, and then he looks away, into the fire.

I'm taken aback as I ask, "Draco, why? Why would you think that? You're Head Boy. They wouldn't-"

"Hermione," He cuts me off, "Have you not noticed? I'm alone here." I brush my hand across his back, and his muscles tense.

"I'm here," I reply. He's such a mess, but somehow, he manages to look handsome. Just like a porcelain doll. I should reprimand myself for saying that, but I don't, because it's completely true.

"You haven't ' in a week," His words sound like they would be spoken venomously, but they're not. He's still not looking at me. I reach over and place my hand on the side of his face, leading him to look at me; his skin is soft.

"I'm sorry, Draco," I say. Tears are even emerging in my eyes. "I am sorry. I never should've... You didn't even anything. I'm so sorry."

He just shakes his head and responds, "Do you want to know?"

"W-What?" I ask. He leans back on the couch, sighing, a tear falling down his face.

"Why it's... l-like this," He mutters, his breathing rugged, his voice rough. He's going to tell me his situation.

"Yes, yes. Please tell me." I answer, and he turns to face me on the couch, a tear treading down his face.

He begins to tell the story. It takes place on the day of the Battle of Hogwarts. I listen intently to every word, not once breaking eye contact with him. I can tell that it is painful for him to talk about. While he tells the story, he clutches his left forearm, where the Dark Mark resides. I don't think it's intentional.

All at once, I believe it; I believe that he has changed. It's not just the story that persuaded me, it's also his eyes. He looks at me with hurt, frailty, and desperation. I believe him with every fiber of my being. He will not hurt me, and I feel terrible for ever thinking it.

"... and I live in an apartment, a bloody lonely one. It feels like my world has crumbled down." With the last word, he breaks down in tears. I don't blame him; if I was in his situation, I'd cry as well.

Draco os the type who never cries, and seeing him cry makes me want to. His shoulders shake as he lets out violent sobs into his hand. I rub his back gently, hoping to help in some way. For a few minutes, I let him cry. Eventually, he rests his head in the crook of my neck. Isn't it supposed to be switched, the boy comforting the girl? Not in this situation. I haven't any troubles that even compare to his.

"Draco, I'm so sorry," I say, "No one deserves this."

He lifts his head up. "I do, Hermione. I was terrible, a very bad person."

"No, don't say that. You didn't have a choice. It's like a child with celebrity parents- forced into their type of life. Just as they are forced into fame, you were forced into your ways."

He nods his head. "I suppose so," He responds, "but no one cares about that. They just see me as a Death Eater, and I was. But not anymore," He lifts up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "It's ."

"Draco, don't blame yourself. Everything you did was due to impulse or your upbringing, okay?" I tell him, and I brush a strand of hair out of his face. "You keep telling me you've changed. Now you've got to believe it yourself."

Unexpectedly, he smiles. It's small and weak, but still shows gratitude. "Thank you, Hermione, for your help. And for giving me a chance."

I stand up and grab my coat from the back of the couch. "No problem."

And then he stands up and hugs me, placing his arms around my waist. My stomach jumps. I'm in shock at first, but then I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I can hear his steady breathing, feel the pounding of his heart.

I never thought I'd be hugging Draco Malfoy. I never thought I'd be hugging Draco Malfoy and like it.

When we let go, I see that he's smirking, which has always looked good on him. I smile.

"I've got to go now. I'll see you tomorrow." I turn and walk away. When I reach the door, I turn around and add, "Oh, and Draco? Don't ever slick your hair back again, I like it better this way."

I see him smirk again, and then I close the door and walk back towards the Quidditch pitch again, smiling all the way there.