Chapter 3
3. Chapter 3
Up until this point, Hermione had thought that the people that would drive her to insanity were Harry and Ron, but that person turned out to be Draco Malfoy.
He was so civil it made her want to hex him. He respected his side of the room, was surprisingly tidy for someone who had never needed to clean anything in his life and, besides the book that belonged to her bookshelf but now rested on his nightstand, he kept mostly to himself. He even attempted to make conversation.
Of course she wouldn’t see much of him, she would wake early, leave early and come back late. McGonagall told her she needn’t worry about his meals (which she wouldn’t have anyway) and Hermione had put several strong wards on everything she didn’t want him near of. In a small act of kindness she couldn’t resist, and remembering her anger was misplaced, she left her collection of books available to him, she would never guard that source of companion from anyone, not even Malfoy, not even knowing that most likely the grand library in Malfoy Manor would curse her dead if she touched its contents. She was angry at life itself for putting her in the position she was currently in, but she wasn’t cruel. Besides, the loneliness and boredom would drive him crazy eventually , and she didn’t want to be there to witness it, let alone live with a madman. At least that way he would be occupied.
He tried to apologize almost every time he got to se her, and, once she caught on his intentions, she avoided like the plague. Hermione was simply not in the mood to forgive.
Her rancor was growing with each day, and pushed her to bite snarky remarks even towards her own friends. Although she didn’t have any friends, not really. The same way Harry and Ron had each other’s back, she’d come to realize so did everyone else. They always sided with them, letting her feeling like the odd one out, like on Yule Ball, where she was left to cry alone on the stairs. They made her feel so small, and at the same time like she was too much, how could both of this things be true?
This led her to seek solace. Not in her bedroom, since Draco Malfoy was there. Not in the library, since that was the place everyone looked for her. Not in the astronomy tower, since that was the place where Dumbledore had took his last breath. She had adopted a new hiding spot: in the Quidditch pitch, beneath one of the stands where the students would reunite to cheer on their teams. It was true that it hadn’t been her preferred location throughout her stay at Hogwarts, and that was exactly why it was so perfect. No one looked for her there, no one would even think of doing so. It was the last place she would be found, so she was at peace.
But peace never lasted, and she had to go back to the dining hall to get dinner, where she would be miserable, and then go back to her room, where her fate would not be much different.
She took a seat next to Neville, who turned out to be one of the only people she tolerated lately. Ginny would of been her first guess if a year, or even just a few months ago, someone would tell her Harry and Ron wouldn’t be part of her daily life and she had to spend her days in someone else’s company. But she wasn’t. Ginny turned out to be a reminder of what she had been trying not to feel since the boys left her behind: as Ron’s little sister and Harry’s kind-of-girlfriend, she would always favor them. It was so hard being there for her, because even though Hermione was feeling just as worried for them, and understood Ginny’s feelings, she couldn’t help but wonder if she, or anyone, would be so affected if she would of been the one on the run.
The Weasley’s loved her infinitely, but the boys were so special her light always seemed to flicker next to them. Of course they were far more preoccupied for their son and brother, and the boy they saw as part of their family, rather than by her egocentric feelings. But the truth was, even though they loved her, they obviously didn’t see her as part of their family like they did Harry, because she already had one. Except she didn’t anymore. She didn’t have parents that cared for her wellbeing, at her own doing.
She had dinner quick and quiet, contemplated going back to her hiding spot for a little longer but felt too tired and instead went back to her room. Damn Malfoy, he could apologize all he wanted but she was past caring about silly words and their silly meanings. And that came from the bookworm.
“Are you okay?” Malfoy really had no idea how not-okay she was. “I know it must be annoying to have me here, but I’ll go crazy if I keep getting ignored. I might start to think I died and this is my punishment”.
She ignored him like she did every day. He would take the hint and stop talking and leave her alone. Or he would ramble. He tended to ramble way more than what she expected from someone like him, mostly considering it was directed to someone like her.
“You know,” he continued in a light tone, “I don’t really think punishment is the right term. Maybe a manifestation of irony from fate.” He seemed more thoughtful, like he was trying to finalize to formulate a thought he had left aside.
That called her attention. For the last month he talked about books he read, anecdotes from his childhood or dances and galas that he was forced to attend. All light topics that wouldn’t upset her. He never touched their story, their interactions and the way he was taught to think of her.
“During last year, since I’ve got the Mark, really, I started to think everything in my life had been wrong. But I had a lot of time to think while hidden, I guess.”
“What did you think about?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask. Malfoy looked surprised she was willing to engage with him, but continued to look down, concentrated on the thread he had started to pull inside of his head.
“I was a prat. I’ve always been, always knew it. But I don’t think I ever truly realized how messed up it all was. I just can’t believe it took me having to be marginalized to come to that conclusion.”
His words stumbled slightly, and his eyes were lost on some somewhere on the floor. Hermione noticed the almost empty bottle of firewhiskey near the foot of his bed. He’d been drinking, but how? Maybe he asked the elves to bring it to him?
“What I’m trying to say, Granger, is that I never questioned the traditions that made me believe witches and wizards like you were dirty, and I know it’s not an excuse, but, being you were the most affected because of my ignorance, you deserve an apology.”
“It’s okay, really, there are more pressing matters than my feelings right now.” The harshness in her voice was so out of character for her, yet it was so genuine. Didn’t he see it? Or was Malfoy so blinded by his own revelation that he didn’t understand that her feelings and his apologies meant nothing? He had always been selfish, it made sense he wasn’t able to see past his own troubles and deemed them important enough to raise into the light of confession. And now even Malfoy had found a way to exorcise his guilt and shame, meanwhile she was rotting inside from so many remorseful thoughts.
“I mean it, I-“
“Really, Malfoy. Leave it. If you’re drunk you should sleep. And if you’re feeling guilty it’s not my problem. I don’t really care what made you do any of the things you’ve done, or what you think of them now. I also don’t care to be the one to absolve you of your mistakes. I can ignore them to make coexistence tolerable, but I don’t want to hear you bitching and moaning about your disgraces. Enough.”
He looked, hurt? A better word would probably be disappointed, perhaps. She was too fed up to analyze him now. She left to the bathroom, feeling her body vibrate. Of course she would ignore all the things he and his family put her and her friends through. She would ignore the way everyone around her made her feel. She would ignore the way McGonagall just gave her a babysitter’s job to keep her busy, with the illusion that she was helping. She would ignore it and swallow it and bite her tongue and keep on going because her feelings were secondary to the cause. Because during a war it didn’t matter that she felt alone, that she was alone, that her parents would never be able to get their memories restored, that her bestest friends left her behind, that Ron had used her body to say goodbye and squished her hand instead of saying I love you back before leaving. It didn’t matter that the only companion she had was Draco Malfoy. Because they were at war, and her sufferings were just casualties.