Chapter 10
And yet, somehow, still not enough.
The statement hits Hermione like a bludgeon.
It’s not enough. To have stumbled upon each other and carefully crafted, against all odds, a universe all their own; to not find, but make, a world where they are entirely safe to just be.
‘Here, I’ll place a star, you can follow it through the dark.’
‘You don’t have to be afraid, I didn’t make any monsters to hide from.’
A world they escaped to, where they shed their armor and exposed the soft, raw parts of themselves.
‘Here, let me tell you about this scar. I trust you.’
‘Can I show you something? This bruising is deep and ugly, can you handle it?’
Is that not enough? Is that not the whole point? Is that not what they are fighting for?
If it ends like this, did that world still exist?
It was real. It mattered. It was enough.
“I want it to be enough.” She tells him, tears continuing to fall down her face.
For a moment, she imagined dropping her wand. She imagines surrendering and trusting him to do the same. She imagines they find a way, somehow, to both survive each other.
What a lovely fantasy it is, and what a dream to welcome death.
——
Year Five
“She’s a monster!” Hermione looked around the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom as she paced and Draco could see her anger rolling off of her in plumes of steam. The classroom was now void of most of its familiar artifacts due to Umbridge’s unconventional approach to the DADA coursework, but it still felt comforting and familiar to Draco despite the circumstances. “Not only is she neglecting our education for her own agenda, but she’s actively torturing students!”
Draco allowed her to pace at the head of the classroom while he leaned against a table in the front row. She had started pacing as soon as she walked in and hadn’t slowed; Draco had been walking a line between validating how she was feeling and keeping her from wearing a hole in the stonework. She had been like this most of the year, every week when they met Hermione had more terrible things to say about Umbridge. Draco didn’t blame her, but of the few hours he got to spend with her each week, he hated to use any of it focused on the old hag.
“I don’t trust her either,” he said, leaning back on his hands pressed against the top of the table, “but she has the whole power of the ministry on her side. And given how pleased my Father is with her presence in the castle, that’s probably not all. There’s just nothing we can do.”
“Oh, bollocks to that.” She turned on a heel to glare at him and Draco felt a rush in equal parts of terror and amusement.
“Uh oh,” He smirked at her, “that’s werewolf fighting attitude, I’m afraid.”
“I’m being serious, Draco! We have to be learning actual, useful spells to fight against You-Know-Who and the death eaters.”
“I agree with you.”
“And I managed to teach you how to fight a boggart for an entire year in this classroom without anyone being the wiser.”
“Unsuccessfully teach, but go on.”
“We’ve been over this, you would have been successful.” She rolled her eyes at him, “But anyways, if Harry would just get on board, we could be teaching everyone, or at least all the Gryffindors— no offense— the things that they actually need to learn! We could be preparing and making good use of our time instead of staring at the wall of this blasted classroom trying not to drool on our desk tops!”
He laughed incredulously at her plan, then smiled in a way that he hoped wouldn’t seem patronizing.
“Hermione, how could you possibly get away with teaching a secret Defense Against the Dark Arts class without being caught?” She stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Draco smirked despite himself, “I’m not disagreeing with you that people need to be learning these skills, but it would never work. For one, you’ve nowhere to do it. The two of us sneaking into this classroom once a week is very different from the entire Gryffindor house. And then, you’re just expecting that no one will spread the word? Brag about what they’re learning to a mate? Show it off to impress some girl? Are you just planning to ask nicely that everyone keep it a secret and then trust that they will? Again, that could work with one or two people, but you’re talking dozens!
“I’m on your side, here, but it’s one thing to teach one person one spell, it’s another to teach an entire house an array of defensive magic. Plus,” He releases a small sigh, smiling at her, “Umbridge wasn’t here our third year. She wasn’t in charge when we fought the Boggart. If she was, I don’t know that we would have made it two weeks. She has eyes everywhere. We are pushing it enough with continuing to meet here.”
He stood up and walked over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and squeezing.
“I think it’s noble what you’re trying to do, and we will think of something, but that won’t work.”
She raised her hands off her hips and instead crossed them in front of her.
“I have to do something, Malfoy.”
“We’re back to surnames, now? Have we time-turned without my knowing?” He smiled down at her, but her face remained cold.
“No, I’m just cross with you. And when I’m cross with you, you’re Malfoy.”
“You’re not cross with me, Hermione.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down her biceps, “You’re cross with the situation, and you know that I’m right.”
“And I hate when you’re right; it makes me terribly cross.” She tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he held her arms tighter, “So I win.”
“If I agree that you win can we sit down?” She nodded at him and stopped trying to break free, a smirk forming on her face, “Okay,” he released her, “you win.”
“Thank you.” She did a small curtsy and walked over to their spot on the floor. She had let that go too easily, and Draco knew it. She wasn’t giving this up, she had just decided to stop talking with him about it.
They sat side by side, but turned in towards each other, knees almost brushing. Hermione began rifling through her bag to pull out the snacks and CD player she brought each week. This routine was so familiar to them it took no words anymore.
This was what she did, he thought to himself. It’s a much smaller scale, to show up each week here with snacks and entertainment, but he could map out the progression in his mind. She’s prepared and thoughtful and takes care of people. She thrives off of it. But that is just how it happens. That is how she finds herself paralyzed by a basilisk and fighting a werewolf and chained at the bottom of a lake– she would give every part of herself for the people she cares about. She wouldn’t even think twice about it.
“It’s not all on you, Hermione.” He said quietly, “I know how loyal and protective you are, but every problem doesn’t have to fall on your shoulders. There are other people who can handle Umbridge– let Dumbledore or the other professors handle her. You don’t have to figure it out.”
She turned towards him and smiled, “I can’t just stand idle if I have the chance to help, Draco. That’s not me. If it was, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”
“I know that,” he nods, “and I’m grateful for that. But at the same time, I can’t stand the thought of-“
He exhaled, his jaw clenched as he tried to calm his racing mind. She wouldn’t stop, and he knew it. If she didn’t go through with this plan, she would just think of a new one, and a new one after that. She would always be at risk, and if she was caught or even suspected, there would be nothing that he could do. He wouldn’t be able to keep her safe. He would have to pretend not to care, maybe even celebrate it in some circles. The thought alone made his stomach twist in knots.
He took another breath and released a shaky exhale before continuing.
“If you come to this room with words carved into your hand, Hermione, I think I may burn down the entirety of whichever wing of this castle I find Umbridge in first.”
Her eyes met his with a deep sadness. Did she not believe him? No, he thought, of course she did. But it’s devastating, to feel something this intensely and only be able to show it through wrath, through hatred. He could never protect her the way she deserved to be protected, not outside of this room. She deserved someone to stand up for her, to protect her. He could never be that person for her, and he hated it more than anything.
The silence dragged on and Draco grew to accept that she wouldn’t respond. She couldn’t give him an answer he wanted and he knew it. She didn’t have an ounce of selfishness in her, and no amount of groveling would change that. She would always be at the center of conflict, and he couldn’t stop that, couldn’t even be there with her.
She went back to her bag, pulling out two CDs. “I brought some options.” She held the cases up on either side of her face, “This one has a lot of angst and this one is a bit more sad.”
He pulled the second one from her hand and inspected both sides briefly, reading through the track list with feigned interest. After a second, he set the case on the ground and swiftly pushed it across the floor to the room's far wall.
“I’m quite over feeling sad, thank you.”
“Gods, I was hoping you’d say that.” She laughed and put the other CD in, handing him his half of the headphones, “For a moment, I was starting to think you had a heart, Draco Malfoy.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He put the headphone in and laid on his back, closing his eyes.
She was right, the music was filled with angst. At times, it felt cacophonous, but he rather enjoyed it anyway. She would occasionally wave her hands in the air pretending to play muggle instruments, and when he mimicked her– despite having no concept of what the instruments looked or sounded like– she would let out the most incredible laugh. When the album looped, he stopped her from changing it, not ready to end their little game.
It had been over two years since they first met in this room, since she saved his sorry arse from his own arrogance, and in that time, everything had changed. In the outside world, evil was growing and looming, his own family wrapped up in the very worst of it. Hogwarts as an institution was under attack, and not even Dumbledore had the power to take control. He felt that everything around them was getting worse and worse, while everything between them got better and better.
In this room, he got to be the best version of himself. He didn’t have to blindly agree to prejudices or pretend to be interested in high society. He got to explore new things with curiosity, not with judgement. If he faltered, he wasn’t ridiculed; she educated and corrected him in a way that was more gentle than he deserved. In this space, they were vulnerable without exploitation, without expectation. They cared for each other in a way that felt foreign, that he hadn’t experienced anywhere before.
And while he was grateful for it, while he relished in it, he was terrified of it.
How long could they keep this room, and that world, separated?