The Stone Inside You
"You do the math, you expect the trouble. The seaside town. The electric fence. Draw a circle with a piece of chalk .Imagine standing in a constant cone of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless. A stone on the path means the tea's not ready, a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still hasn't hit bottom." Seaside Improvision, Richard Siken
_
Hermione blinked her eyes open. The hard transfigured cot she slept on was digging painfully into her back. Sitting up, she raised her arms above her and stretched, groaning at her stiffness. She reached down and spread her fingers on the cold wooden floor, feeling a sharp twinge low on her spine. An undignified whimper escaped her mouth.
I’m never sleeping like this again. Or drinking.
As her brain slowly slipped back into consciousness, Hermione waited for the feelings of regrets to hit her. But when the previous night’s events flashed before her eyes with the staggering inevitability of a car crash, she didn’t feel anything but a flutter low in her stomach and a light-headedness that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
She tried to ignore it, but there was a glaring realization forcing itself to the front of her mind.
I kissed Draco Malfoy . More than once.
“No,” she groaned out loud. “You’re not doing this now, Hermione.”
But as she willed herself to stand up, her mouth feeling like cotton, she thought that it;d be easier to regret the entire ordeal if Malfoy had been the malicious bastard Hermione had expected him to be.
Unfortunately, Malfoy had decided it was the right time to be decent. He had insisted that she stay at his apartment to sleep off the liquor, and after making sure she was okay, left to spend the night at the Manor.
Now, Hermione couldn’t figure out what her next step was supposed to be.
If there even should be a next step.
She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth, itching for a tooth brush. The sun was peeking through Malfoy’s large windows. She stared at it, her mind reeling.
“No,” she reminded herself.
Her head hurt, and she wasn’t eager to analyze Malfoy’s actions before she’d had a cup of coffee. It was just her overactive brain, trying to sabotage her as it always did.
Hermione forced herself to walk towards the fireplace. Before she left, she turned around to take in the room, trying to memorize as much of it as possible. It was a beautiful place. Too beautiful to go to waste like that.
“I hope Malfoy does something with it,” she mumbled.
Then she grabbed a fistful of Floo powder, surprised at her own reluctance to leave the temporary safe haven that place had become.
_
Hermione was laying on her bed, reading the fourth chapter of Flying High: The Global History of Broom Racing , and waiting patiently for the hangover potion to alleviate the throbbing in her head.
In the secrecy of her own thoughts, she could admit that Malfoy was right -- a well-written book on the history of flying could actually hold her interest, even if she wasn’t likely to change her mind about flying itself. As her headache ebbed, she felt almost content. Crookshanks was purring from his place by her feet. The sound calmed and comforted her, and Hermione felt her eyes grow heavier.
She sat straight up when her door abruptly opened.
“What?” she yelped.
Harry didn’t say anything as he closed the door and approached the bed, sitting down on its edge. He looked grim, and Hermone had a feeling that she wouldn’t like whatever he was going to say.
“You left yesterday,” said Harry. “Without letting anyone know.”
“Harry,” said Hermione with forced patience. “I don’t appreciate you barging in my room like that. What if I were naked?”
“Are you serious, Hermione?” snapped Harry. “If you were naked, the door would’ve been locked. And I’m trying to talk to you about something serious.”
“I realize that,” she said slowly, “but I’m also very serious when I say that you should ask for permission to enter even if my door is wide open.” Ignoring Harry’s scowl, she continued. “Harry, you and Ginny went up to her room. Bill and Fleur had left. Ronald was sulking in his bedroom and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren’t in the condition to keep anyone company. What was I supposed to do?”
“I came down ten minutes later to check up on you, Hermione,” said Harry in an accusing tone.
“And how on earth was I supposed to know that?”
“You would’ve known if you hadn’t left.”
“Harry,” said Hermione, snapping her book shut. “I feel like you’re looking for a reason to fight with me, and I’m not going to indulge you.”
“You think I enjoy arguing with you, Hermione?” asked Harry. He watched through narrowed eyes as Hermione set her book on the bedside table and stood up from the bed.
“It would seem so, since you’re picking on me for something so ridiculous,” said Hermione, walking over to her bookshelf. She pulled out a book and turned it over in her hands. “Harry, they should’ve been together as a family. Why are you mad about me for leaving when they clearly didn’t need me there?” she said, hating that she felt the need to defend herself from him.
“You are family, Hermione,” said Harry indignantly. “Don’t you realize it hurts when you talk like you’re not one of us? You’re always pushing us away.”
Hermione closed her eyes and counted to three. She still felt raw from the night before. Malfoy’s words echoed in her ear: They probably haven’t been good friends to you, either .
“Harry, I’m sorry that I haven’t been the best friend to you, lately,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe I should’ve been more clear that I can’t handle being in situations like that right now. I swear I’ve tried to tell you this before, but you still insist and I still make myself go--”
“So you’re mad at me because I want you to be with the family?” interrupted Harry.
“I’m not mad, Harry. You’re the one who seems mad.”
“I’m mad at you because you bailed on an important moment with people that consider you family. If you hadn’t gone home the second it became uncomfortable --” said Harry, making air quotes, “you would've known that when I came down, Ron did too. We talked, and less than an hour later, Ginny, Arthur and Molly showed up. We finished the dinner and talked about Fred and George. We played games.”
Hermione felt guilt surge inside of her.
“Things were shitty, but we turned them around like we always do.”
It didn’t require much effort to catch the accusing undertone in his words.
Deep down, Hermione knew she still wouldn’t have stayed. Her conversation with Ron was fresh on her mind.
“I’m sorry, Harry, but--”
“I came back to look for you and you weren’t there, Hermione. Where did you go?”
“That’s irrelevant,” said Hermione, her voice low. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, and I’m glad that things were okay in the end. But I stand by what I said, Harry,” she rushed the words out. “Did Ron tell you what he said to me?”
“Ron was hurt, Hermione.”
“I know,” said Hermione in a pleading tone. “I don’t blame him. But my head is a mess right now, and maybe we both need some time to cool off, but you realize he was upset with me, right? I doubt me being there was going to be help--”
“You’re wrong,” he insisted. “He would’ve liked you being there, we all would’ve.”
“I already apologized,” snapped Hermione, growing frustrated. “Which, frankly, is more than you’ve done. So can we move on?”
“What do I have to apologize for, Hermione?”
“You’re being a jerk, Harry, and you hid things from me, more than once. I know why, and I tried to move on from it. But sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” said Harry, standing up from the bed. “You’re a completely different person.”
“Of course I am,” snarled Hermione. “I’ve been a different person. I’m not as good as you at pretending everything is fine. Harry, it’s been less than a year since I found out that I lost my parents for good.”
“Are you going to let that dictate the rest of your life?” said Harry. Hermione flinched. “I don’t even remember my parents being alive, Hermione. I understand you’re upset, but maybe it’s time to start looking towards the future. Ron wants to give you--”
“You need to get out.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get out, Harry,” said Hermione, walking towards the door and pulling it open. “I can’t believe you’re using my grief to campaign for Ron.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know--”
“I don’t care,” said Hermione loudly. “I really don’t care right now, Harry Potter.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” said Harry, slowly stepping towards the door.
“That’s fine by me, it seems I’m very unreasonable these days,” said Hermione. He paused, as if waiting for her to change her mind and ask him to stay. “Get out, Harry.”
Hermione saw the color drain from his face. She braced herself for an argument, but Harry just clenched his jaw and marched past her. He slammed the door behind him, and she heard his feet pound the floor as he marched down the corridor.
Hermione stared at the closed door for a couple of seconds, then turned on her heel and threw herself on the bed. She grabbed a pillow and squeezed it to her face, feeling like there was a whirlwind inside of her.
Crookshanks crawled next to her, meowing loudly. He used his paws to nudge the pillow away. Hermione grunted, but relented, letting the pillow fall to the floor and taking Crookshanks into her arms. She rested her cheek on his fur and sighed, feeling a little less alone.
If Hermione closed her eyes, she could picture the cold wooden floors of Malfoy’s flat. He made me laugh , she thought. Strangely, the regret she expected still hadn’t come.
She had no idea why.
But maybe, thought Hermione--
Maybe it was because despite the overwhelming desire that had rushed through her when they kissed, what had struck her the most was how he’d made her laugh through her tears. Over and over again.
That was what made Hermione want to be right back there with him.
_
The next morning, Hermione awoke to her growling stomach.
Grumbling under her breath, she patted the bed with her eyes closed, but Crookshanks wasn’t anywhere to be found. She popped an eye open, and her stomach made another loud sound. Afraid to face Harry, Hermione hadn't left her room for dinner, falling asleep with a hungry stomach and bitter heart. She turned to check her clock -- Harry was already at work.
Hermione freshened up in the bathroom and threw on a soft looking shirt and pair of sweats. Her cat was asleep in front of the door, as if guarding it from unwelcome intruders. She smiled, then nudged him with her foot and unlocked the door.
She tiptoed her way down the corridor, just in case he was still there. Hermione mumbled a prayer of gratitude when she noticed the apartment was safely empty, relief making her steps lighter. She decided to fix herself a proper English breakfast to compensate for last night’s lack of dinner.
When she was done cooking, Hermione levitated the plates to the small dinner table. Her stomach finally settled after a couple of bites of toast and a half cup of coffee. She grabbed a piece of bacon with a fork, then reached for the newest edition of The Daily Prophet. Reading the newspaper always felt like a punishment, but Hermione couldn’t control her curiosity. She’d rather know what was being said about her than be oblivious to it.
She smiled in relief when neither her nor her friends appeared on the front cover. But when she reread the page’s headline, blood rushed to her face.
Pureblood Bachelor Seen Canoodling with Political Heiress
By Padma Patil
As autumn gives way to bitter winter, everyone seems to be hunting for a special someone to cuddle up with. When the snow starts falling, ‘tis the season for a crackling fire and a cauldron full of hot, strong love. And for those singles out there, we’re standing by to provide the juiciest news to warm you right up. Rest assured, today we’ve got something blazing hot for you.
A couple of weeks back, we reported that Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass were seen making googly eyes at each other in the St. Mungo’s Anniversary Ball. And it appears that we can finally put our speculations to rest.
A reliable source told us that the former Death Eater (should we call him reformed?) and the daughter of one of the Wizarding World’s most prominent families are officially courting. Our source was vague with details, but one thing is for sure: both Malfoy and Greengrass are definitely off the market.
Daphne’s demure smile (and her family’s formidable political connections) might be just the thing to get the youngest Malfoy to finally settle down, , and we definitely would gush over some blond-haired, green-eyed babies. We’ll be keeping our eyes on this couple.
Hermione read the article twice before it sank in. She tore off the page and crumpled it into a ball, tossed it in the air, and burned it to a crisp.
As the ashes fell onto her plate and ruined her breakfast, Hermione felt the urge to find Draco Malfoy and set him on fire.
“That bloody bastard.”
_
“I read something quite interesting this morning,” said Theo, his voice a pitch too high.
He was at the bar, pouring firewhiskey into crystal glasses. Even with his back turned to him, Draco would bet his entire inheritance that Theo had a smarmy grin on his lips.
“Good for you,” Draco mumbled, then took a drag of his cigarette.
Predictably, Theo turned around with a smile. He carried a tray with four glasses full with amber liquid over to the table, setting one in front of Draco before placing the tray on the center of the table.
“Don’t be shy now,” said Theo, slouching into a chair. “I know that you kiss and tell.”
If you only knew, thought Draco.
He had kissed Hermione Granger. More than once. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Two days had passed with his brain in a fog, making it impossible for him to focus on anything for too long. It was a especial type of torture, the way his head had become so twisted.
“Earth to Draco,” said Theo, waving a hand in front of his face. Draco grabbed his wrist and squeezed, smirking when Theo grunted in pain. “Why are you so bloody aggressive?”
“Shut it, Theo.”
“You’re not going to dish?”
“Are you fifteen?” said Draco, exhaling smoke into Theo’s face. “Adults do not dish.”
“Whatever,” said Theo, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t stifle his smirk. “You’re shagging Daphne. I admit I didn’t see that one coming.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Pansy told me--”
“What’s going on?” said Daphne, stepping out of the fireplace and into the room. Pansy followed behind her.
“Speaking of the devil,” said Theo, turning in his chair to greet them. “Not you , of course, Daphne.”
“After ten years, you’re still learning to respect me the hard way, Theodore Nott,” said Pansy in a sweet voice. “Don’t make me embarrass you.”
“Were you talking about me?” said Daphne, sitting down in the chair next to Draco. That made Theo narrow his eyes at them.
“First of all, you haven’t scared me in years, Pansy Parkinson,” said Theo. He nodded at Daphne. “Second of all, I was only saying good things, my dear.”
“Is that true, Draco?” asked Daphne.
“I can’t say. I barely hear what comes out of his mouth, it’s like he’s speaking gibberish,” said Draco. Daphne smiled at him.
They hadn’t talked about what they were going to tell their friends, but Draco’s policy was always to not say anything unless strictly necessary.
“You dare insult me at my own house?” bellowed Theo with feigned offense. He yelped in pain when Pansy sank her long nails into his shoulder. “This is assault! I’m sending you to Azkaban.”
“I was only saying hello,” said Pansy with a sardonic smile as she picked the chair closest to Theo.
“Save it.”
Draco crushed the butt of his cigarette down on the ashtray. He wondered if Granger had such easy relationships with her friends -- her rant the other night had suggested otherwise. No wonder she always seemed to be barely keeping a lid on it: she didn’t have anyone she could relax with.
But he had made her laugh, several times. She had acted like doing so surprised her, as if the act had become foreign to her. The thought of being the one responsible for it made him feel a strange sort of pride.
“Draco,” said Daphne, patting his thigh to get his attention.
“What?”
“Pansy was talking to you.”
Draco blinked, then turned towards Pansy, who was studying him through narrowed eyes. He arched a brow at her, and she smiled.
“Are you all silent and brooding because you’re worried about what I’m going to think?”
“Think about what?”
“Don’t be daft,” said Pansy, looking down at her nails nonchalantly. “We all know what’s going on here.”
Draco lit up another cigarette and looked at Daphne from the corner of his eyes. She shrugged at him, and Draco decided not to respond. If he didn’t admit to anything, they wouldn’t be able to accuse him of lying if they later found out about the ruse.
“They’re being all secretive,” said Theo, “as if they weren’t rubbing their lovey-doveyness all over the faces of the entire Wizarding World. I always knew Draco was an attention whore, but Daphne? I’m quite surprised.”
“You’re so dramatic, Theo,” said Daphne. “We went to the St. Mungo’s ball, everyone there was photographed.”
“Not everyone ended up on the cover of The Daily Prophet, ” said Pansy, sipping her firewhiskey.
“Not on purpose,” said Draco. “We stayed out of the way. It was Granger and the Weasel who were twirling like gazelles all over the dance floor.”
That arsehole, he thought bitterly. Draco had felt a mixture of discomfort, concern, and deep-seated anger as he had watched Granger sob uncontrollably. The Weasel was clearly being slimy. And Potter wasn’t much better if he wasn’t helping her fend him off.
“Draco,” snapped Pansy. “Are you bloody drunk already?”
“What?” he grunted. “I don’t even fucking drink.”
“You’re clearly not here, what’s going on with you?”
“This conversation is so dull I can’t manage to pay attention, that’s what’s going on,” snapped Draco. His statement was probably true.
“I was saying that I’m not angry at you,” said Pansy, sounding genuinely hurt. Draco bit down a momentary feeling of guilt.
“What would you even be angry about, Pansy?” he asked.
Pansy rolled her eyes, then turned to hand Theo her glass for a refill. He grumbled, but stood up and walked towards the bar.
“Because neither of my best friends told me that they were dating,” she said. “I’m mad, but I’ll forgive you because I’m happy for you. Especially you, Draco. After I dumped you I seriously thought you’d never find someone willing to put up with your shite.”
Draco raised his hand to flip her the bird, but couldn’t help but nudge her foot under the table. Pansy gave him a quick smile before rearranging her face into a scowl.
Granger doesn’t smile like that. Granger’s smile was all teeth, like she didn’t have anything to hide.
Draco groaned inwardly. He’d do anything to stop seeing her in everything. He didn’t need to look hard to find plenty of reasons why being around her was wrong for him.
Granger didn’t fit -- not with his friends, not in any area of his life. There was no amount of mental acrobatics available to make her seem right for him. She would take up too much space. Space he wasn’t willing to make for her, wasn’t even sure he’d be able to, if he could. It’s not like you have a choice, thought Draco, his heart racing. You’re weak as fuck and you can’t stop her.
It was clear in his mind, even when he ignored the small matter of her blood status and her control over his probation.
“We lost him again,” said Theo, watching him with mild concern. “What did you do to the poor lad, Daphne?”
“I’ve done absolutely nothing,” she responded, lifting her glass to her mouth. She gave Draco a long look, frowning as she studied him. “He’s acting strange, though.”
“I can hear you,” snapped Draco.
“Can you really?” asked Theo.
Draco sighed and stood up. He walked over the huge glass wall, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The Nott Manor overlooked a beautiful lake. He and Theo used to spend hours swimming there, when they were boys. These days, Draco had no idea why Theo had kept the house. It was too big for one person.
That’s what Granger said about your apartment, he thought. Before it could take over his head, Draco smashed the thought and cigarette butt against a nearby ashtray, then turned towards his friends.
They were all watching him with variations of concern.
“Well?” asked Draco. “Are you going to keep gaping at me like fish?”
Theo snorted. “If you’re back on planet earth, I have something I want to talk to you guys about.”
Draco leaned against the window and crossed his arms.
“Who are you gossiping about tonight?”
“No one in particular,” said Theo, ignoring Draco’s sarcasm. “I’ve been talking to my sources, and I’m very intrigued about some of the moves our dear old relatives are trying to pull.”
“Spit it out, Theo,” said Pansy. “I’m aging here.”
“You’re very impatient,” he scolded her. “It would do you good to learn the importance of timing. It’s key for storytelling.”
“So you admit you’re just fabricating things?” retorted Pansy.
“No such thing.” Theo shook a finger in denial. “My sources are very reliable. So, I’ve heard some whispers of changes within the Wizengamot…”
“What do you mean?” asked Pansy.
“If you’ll let me speak,” snapped Theo, “I was saying that I heard about changes at the Wizengamot. Since the first Wizarding War ended, quite a few families have had vacant chairs. For generations, nobody seemed to care. But all of a sudden, some families have been urgent to reclaim them. It makes you think--”
“Now that the war ended, everyone’s interested in the Wizengamot again, Theo,” said Daphne mildly. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I beg to differ,” said Theo. “They all have the sudden desire out of nowhere to get involved? I don’t think so. I bet there’s something going on behind the scenes.” Theo moved his hands to mimic pulling puppet strings.
“Who are you talking about? Don’t you have a chair?” asked Pansy, leaning back in her chair and trying to look bored.
“I don’t know exactly who,” said Theo in an irritated voice, “but I’ve heard there’s a lot of action in the Wizengamot right now. And I do have a chair, but it’s been vacant for over five generations now. The Notts have been more interested in money than political power, I have no plan to change that,” he said with a smirk.
Draco listened to the conversation with nothing more than mild curiosity. He looked in Daphne’s direction -- she was staring at her glass while Pansy and Theo talked over her. She glanced up when she felt his gaze, their eyes meeting. Draco shot a pointed look at their friends and rolled his eyes, and Daphne swallowed a chuckle.
“What do you think, Draco?” asked Pansy, turning to him.
“I think I should head home,” he said, moving away from the wall.
“It’s early!” said Daphne. “And we just got here.”
“But it feels like it’s been hours,” said Draco, stepping towards the table to grab his wand, “and we have a rehab meeting tomorrow.”
“You need your beauty sleep so you look all pretty for Granger?” asked Theo. He grunted when Draco kicked his chair. “So sensitive today.”
“I can’t stand you,” spat Draco. He bent down to kiss Daphne on the cheek. “Get yourself a bird and get off my arse, Nott, or I swear to Merlin--”
Theo threw his hands up in an appeasing motion. “I’m stopping now, I was just messing with you.”
Draco only shook his head and walked towards the fireplace.
As he stepped into his study, Draco felt annoyed at himself. He couldn’t keep letting every thought or mention of Granger grate at him. She was like a thorn on his side, ever present and incredibly bothersome.
Draco let his muscle memory guide him as he left the study and he walked down the hallway without registering his surroundings.
He was startled when Minzy suddenly appeared in front of him.
“Master,” said the elf urgently. “The Mistress is looking for you.”
“Minzy,” blurted Draco, “please don’t show up in front of me like that.” The elf immediately bowed, her body shaking as she started kneeling. “Oh, please don’t do that. I’ve told you many times that I don’t like you kneeling. Stand up.”
“Minzy apologizes, Master. Minzy didn’t mean to startle you,” she whispered. Draco exhaled and waited as she straightened herself. “Minzy is very sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he grunted. “My mother is looking for me?”
“Mistress ordered Minzy to tell Master to see her as soon as Master arrived at the Manor,” said Minzy, nodding rapidly. “Mistress was very insistent.”
“Where is she now?”
“Mistress is in the tea room.”
“Thank you, Minzy. You’re dismissed.”
“Minzy will go then, Master.”
When she disappeared, Draco debated pretending that he hadn’t run into Mintzy and going up to his room instead. Knowing that his behavior would be blamed on Minzy, he drag his feet towards the tea room.
His mother was sitting in the left corner of the room in front of a small round oak table. Her pinky finger pointed upwards as she sipped from the teacup, the very picture of a traditional pureblooded witch.
She didn’t turn to look at Draco as he walked further into the room, but he knew she was aware of his presence.
Narcissa looked up only when he sat in the chair across from her. Her expression looked solemn in a way that made Draco want to immediately apologize.
“You asked for me, mother?”
“Hours ago, yes, but you weren’t home.”
“You were the one who insisted I should have more of a social life,” muttered Draco. Narcissa shot him a sharp look.
“Would I be wrong to assume you were with Theodore?”
“I was,” said Draco.“but Daphne was there as well.”
That seemed to appease her. She dabbed her lips with a napkin and cracked a biscuit in four, delicately lifting one small morsel to her mouth.
“That’s good,” said Narcissa. “I’m not trying to control you, Draco. I’m just worried you aren’t taking our last conversation as seriously as it deserves.”
“I’m dating Daphne now, aren’t I?” said Draco, his shoulders sagging. “I’m doing exactly what you asked of me, mother.”
Like I’ve always done , he thought, an onslaught of memories invading his mind -- the excruciating pain of having the dark mark carved into his arms, the fear of raising his wand against Dumbledore.
“It’s not supposed to be a burden,” said his mother. “I’m proud of you, but I hope you know Daphne is only the first step.”
“Step to what?”
“Restoring our reputation, of course.” Draco nodded, not wanting to get dragged into another argument. “This actually isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Which is?”
“Have you owled your father recently?” asked Narcissa in a concerned voice. “I’m worried about his health.”
“The healer examined him, mother. He said father had a nasty case of the sniffles, he’s probably better by now,” said Draco, his stomach lurching at the mention of his father.
“It’s still persisting, and he’s sounded very forlorn in his last few letters. He keeps asking about you, Draco,” she said, leaning forwards to grab his hand. “I insist you talk to him.”
“I talk to him, mother. I send him weekly updates about our investments, as he asked me to. I don’t know what else he wants from me,” he said, frowning.
“Do you want your last message to your dying father to be about investments?”
“He’s not dying, mother, he has a cold,” spat Draco, dragging his hand back. “The way you keep talking about it, it’s like you want him to be dead.”
Narcissa flinched. A crease formed between her brows. Draco looked down, stomach sinking with guilt.
“How dare you?” asked Narcissa, her voice low. “I love your father, it kills me to be away from him, especially in a moment like this.”
“I’m sorry--”
“Go to your bedroom, Draco,” said Narcissa. “We’re done talking.”
“Mother--”
“I said we are done,” she snapped, her voice final.
Draco slowly rose from his chair, hesitating. His mother wasn’t looking at him anymore, her gaze fixed on a painting of his great-great aunt.
“I will owl him a letter tomorrow morning,” he offered, stepping away from the table. “I’ll tell him about Daphne.”
A sharp nod was her only reaction. Draco turned on his heel, quickly marching out of the tea room towards his bedroom. When he arrived, he shut and locked the door, stripped his clothes off, and walked into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower.
As he stood with cold water beating down on his back, eyelids squeezed tight, Draco thought about the cold floor of his empty apartment, devoid of food or furniture but alive with Hermione Granger -- her reminding him of the uncontrolled wildness of a hurricane, and he too busy trying to wrap his head around having her there, to worry about the mess that was the rest of his life.
_
Granger was mad at him.
Which would have been unremarkable, if it hadn’t been so long since Draco had seen her act like this: completely unwilling to acknowledge his presence. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
She had changed the room’s arrangement, moving the chairs into a circle. Theo and Rookwood were to Draco’s left and right, and Granger was facing him directly.
“What did you do to piss Granger off?” whispered Theo. “She’s totally avoided looking over here, and when she does, it’s like she expects you to suddenly burst into flames.”
“I have no idea,” hissed Draco.
“Are you having a lovers’ quarrel?”
“Theo, I’m going to hex you so hard you’re going to get cross--”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t have side conversations while I’m talking,” snapped Granger. “You’re not children, so don’t behave like them.”
“I apologize, Granger,” said Theo, sounding perky. “We were just talking about how beautiful your dress is.”
Today, Granger had exchanged her shapeless robes for a long-sleeved sundress that fell down to her ankles. The dress was green with white polka dots, with a v-neck. Granger’s glare cut him off before he could stare too hard at the top of her cleavage.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” said Granger in an irritated voice. She turned towards the rest of the group. “So, shall we begin?”
“Why are we sitting like this?” asked Millicent.
“I thought we’d try something different today,” said Granger. She bent down to grab her purse, quickly fishing out pieces of parchments and a few quills. She handed them to Millicent. “Grab a parchment and a quill and pass it around, please.”
Once everyone held one of each, Granger continued. “I want you to write about your conversation with a Muggle-born, as I assigned you last meeting. Write the name of the person you talked to on top, but you don’t need to sign it.”
“How are you going to know we aren’t lying if we don’t sign it?” asked Pansy.
“I’m taking a leap of faith here,” said Granger. “I want you all to be honest about the conversation and what you thought, even if it’s something I’d consider offensive. I won’t know who wrote what, so there’s no reason to sugarcoat your impressions. Be as honest as possible.”
“I have no problem with that,” said Pansy. “Are you going to stare at us while we write? That makes me uncomfortable.”
“I’m not going to look at you,” said Granger, bending down once again to take a book out of her purse. Draco felt a prickle of disappointment when he squinted to read the title -- it wasn’t the book he had given her. “You have fifteen minutes.”
“What if I need more time?” asked Draco. He watched as Granger forced herself to look at him with a polite expression.
“Make sure you don’t,” she said neutrally, lifting the book high to obstruct her view of his face.
Draco looked down at his parchment, then began writing, sneaking glances in her direction from time to time. But she continued to read her book, refusing to make eye contact. She hijacks my night to sob on my shoulder, and now she won’t even look at me? he thought, squeezing the quill tight in his hand.
“Time’s up,” said Granger. “Pass over your parchment, please.”
When she had gathered all of the parchments, she carefully folded them and put them on her purse, then took out another folder. Granger handed it over to Millicent, motioning for her to take one and pass on the folder.
Draco frowned at an old headline of the The Daily Prophet that read Death Eater Terror Continues in big bold letters above a photo of the Dark Mark hanging high over the London bridge.
“I looked for newspaper and magazine articles that were published during the war,” said Granger, crossing one leg over the other as she studied their faces. “Do you remember what you were doing when the event of the headline you’re holding happened?”
“My headline talks about the Gringotts break-in,” said Theo, an unusually bleak expression on his face. “I remember reading it that morning. I had left Hogwarts to go back to the Manor. My father had died the week before, and they needed someone to put down the wards so they could use the house.”
“Do you remember what you were feeling when you read that headline?”
“What do you think, Granger?” huffed Theo. “I wanted the entire damn thing to be over. I didn’t want a bloody war. Most of us didn’t.”
“Speak for yourself,” sneered Rookwood, giving Theo a look of disgust. “My headline talks about the takeover of an Order safehouse. Five Order members were brought to the Dark Lord. It was one of my brother’s most successful missions.”
Draco studied Granger. The last time she had goaded Rookwood in participating, things hadn’t ended up well. He had half a mind to interrupt before things escalated.
“I think it’s quite sad that you feel proud about that,” said Granger quietly, giving Rookwood a firm stare. Draco felt a twinge of pride. “How about you, Pansy?”
“I was at Hogwarts. Just like I was during the entire bloody war, Granger,” she snapped. “What is the point of this?”
“Things weren’t easy at Hogwarts,” she said, leaning towards Pansy. “Children were regularly being tortured.”
“Not Slytherin children,” answered Pansy, staring at her feet. “I didn’t like it either, Granger. It wasn’t-- it wasn’t pleasant, okay?”
“That must have been hard, Pansy,” said Granger. “To see it and not be able to do anything.”
“Why would you think she’d do anything?” asked Rookwood, crossing his arms.
“Because she’s not a psychopath,” snapped Theo. “Unlike you.”
“You all want to act so high and mighty in front of Granger,” he retorted. “But all of you were involved in this, Malfoy here even took the mark--”
“Shut the fuck up, Rookwood,” said Draco without looking at him. His were eyes glued on Granger. He saw a glimmer of something on her eyes, fading too quick for him to decipher it.
“Are you ashamed, Malfoy?” asked Rookwood with a sneer.
“I don’t have to tell you shite,” snapped Draco.
“That’s enough,” said Granger. “Millicent, how about your headline?”
“Well,” said Millie, as if the words were being dragged out of her. “My headline was about the Death Eaters storming that Weasley wedding. I think I was at home, actually. But I didn’t know much about what was going on back then.”
“How did you feel about it?”
“I wasn’t--” said Millicent in a shaky voice, “I-- I didn’t know about it. And after, I only did what my family told me to do.”
“You don’t have to tell her anything, Millie,” said Pansy, shooting Granger a look.
“She does, actually,” murmured Granger. “And there wasn’t a problem with her answer. I just wanted to understand. Right now, when you see actual evidence of what happened during the war, do you feel any regret that you were part of it?”
“My headline talks about the growth in Death Eater numbers,” said Draco in an uncharacteristically rough voice. He cleared his throat. “Like Theo said, most of us don’t want another war, Granger.”
“That’s fine,” said Granger, still not looking at him, “but if for some reason it were to happen, would you make the same choices you made four years ago? Knowing what you know now?”
None of them responded. Draco turned the question over in his head. When he thought about his seventeen year-old self, he mostly felt ashamed. And then bursts of boundless anger -- anger at his father, and at the world at large. Anger at himself. The fury inside of him was so tangled that he didn’t know how to sort it, so Draco didn’t think about it too hard.
“I don’t think you would,” said Granger. “I think you’re smart people, I think you know better. I think none of you are the same you used to be.”
“Maybe you think too much,” said Draco.
“Maybe you don’t think enough,” she snapped back. Fuck this , he thought, feeling frustrated and raw.
They were too different. That much was clear. Maybe Granger had it right -- maybe it was best to pretend that the other night hadn’t happened at all. Maybe Draco had been foolish for even considering otherwise. She can deal with her own issues he thought, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.
“Our time is up,” said Granger, sounding tired. “Give our conversation today some thought, will you?”
Draco ran a hand through his hair as he made his way to the door, brushing past Granger without a word. Theo fell into an easy step beside him.
“Are you alright, mate?” asked Theo. “Granger was on a roll today.”
“She’s always on a roll,” snapped Draco. “I’m so sick of this damn program.”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Theo. “I think maybe Granger is onto something, you know? If we keep going the way we used to, what’s to say that another war won’t happen?”
“Theo--”
“I don’t want all that to happen again,” he rushed out, looking uncomfortable.“I’m too young and pretty for all that angst and bloodbath, once was enough for a lifetime,” he joked.
“It’s not going to happen, Theo,” said Draco.
“How are you so sure?”
Because we are not our fucking parents, thought Draco. He stopped in his tracks, making Theo pause.
“I think I forgot something in the solarium,” said Draco, pointing a thumb towards the corridor they had just turned. He felt his heart race as he started to retreat. “I’m going to have to go back.”
“I can wait for you.”
“No need, you can go. Catch up with Pansy, she seemed a little off,” said Draco, already turning on his heel. Theo said something, but he didn’t catch it as he marched back.
As Draco approached the solarium, he felt a strange feeling low on his stomach, like there was no turning back. As he opened the door, finding Granger pointing her wand at chairs, wild curls escaping from the knot on top of her hair, Draco felt like being there was more of a choice than anything else he had ever done.
His heart sped up with overwhelming fear.
He stepped into the room.
He hesitated, a voice in the back of his head bellowed with urgency, a warning made of -- there’s still time to turn around, to run away before this gets out of your control.
He called out her name anyway.