“I can see that owl’s nest you call hair from here, Granger. Do come out, please. Merlin, how you managed to stay hidden during the war is beyond me,” Malfoy drawled out, not even bothering turning his platinum head around.
Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I used my brain and my wand, Malfoy, that’s how.”
She walked out of the shadows and reached him. Malfoy kept his back straight and eyes locked on a giant cabinet in front of him. It was charred and blackened by the Fiendfyre, but still standing, as most of the content of the Room of Hidden Things.
“So, I’m assuming you ran out of those, since you aren’t even trying to stay hidden while you tail me. Or maybe I’m just not worth it, I guess,” he said, not the slightest hint of emotion leaking from his tone. Hermione cocked her brow at him, arms crossed over her chest. He didn’t turn, didn’t move an inch, still fixated on the cabinet. She finally gave up getting his attention and looked at the monstrous thing.
That was THE cabinet, she knew. And she also knew Malfoy had been visiting that shitty piece of furniture from the very first day they’d come back for their Eighth Year.
She hadn’t known right away, though. What she had known was that Malfoy sneaked from his room every night and came back at dawn, the shadows under his eyes becoming bluer and deeper every day. She had known he hadn’t slept in his bed once, the sheets always pressed and folded perfectly in the morning. She had also known that he was spending an insanely long time in the shower after each nightly excursion. She should know all those things, since she was sharing a dormitory and a bathroom with the man.
But she also knew other stuff. That he was barely eating at meals, that he kept a suspicious flask under his vest, that he had somehow managed to sneak Muggle cigarettes into Hogwarts and was smoking them out of the window when he thought she was sleeping. She knew he wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t receiving any mail, wasn’t getting any homework done. She knew he was basically self-destroying himself.
Draco Malfoy, former Junior Death Eater and traitor of both sides, was back at Hogwarts on probation, per Ministry order, as an alternative to six months in Azkaban for his crimes prior to his turncoat maneuver during the Battle of Hogwarts. Because, yes, he had let Death Eaters into the school in his Sixth year and, yes, he had taken the Dark Mark, but he had also avoided throwing the Golden Trio under a bus when they’d been caught by the Snatchers and taken to the Manor to be identified. And he had also kicked the Diadem into the Fiendfyre. Hermione didn’t know why yet, but she had set herself to find out, just as she wanted to know why Malfoy had risked his life to throw Harry a wand in those crucial moments in the courtyard, when everything seemed lost and decided. His mother had Disappareted them immediately afterwards, but Hermione had seen it, everyone had seen it and they had remembered when the time for trials had come.
It had been at the trials she’d realized the Malfoy she had known was gone. Sitting limply in the interrogation chair, with a stubble and dusty clothes, she’d witnessed a version of Malfoy she’d never even imagined could exist: a broken boy, grown up too fast, with a curse in his haunted eyes. And back at school, as well, even if the clothes were rich and pressed again and his face was shaved back at his usual handsome, the light in his eyes was dim. There was no snickering, no foul words, no jabs at her blood status anymore. Only a shell of a man that had just had enough.
Hermione had been appointed Head Girl and Malfoy had been placed under her vigilant eye, both to protect him from potential backlash from the other students and to protect the others from his potential backlash, which she had learned soon enough that wasn’t going to be an issue.
“Look, Granger, I wanted to thank you for what you said at my Trial. You certainly didn’t have to, after all I put you through in the past years. You should had let me rot in Azkaban, actually. But you are the Golden Girl, you wouldn’t do that, would you?” he had said that first day, when they’d faced each other in the common room of their dormitory. Hermione had been stunned silent by his words and by the lack of bite in it.
“Listen, Malfoy, I…”
“You did what you thought was right, isn’t it? Splendid, really, and I thank you. I also apologize for my idiot younger self, and I hope this sums up everything, because I really don’t have the strength to go through all of my actions and crimes, if that’s quite alright with you. I guess we are done, here yes?” he had asked, exhausted, and had turned to walk to his room.
“What do you mean we are done?” Hermione had sputtered, her hands on her hips. Malfoy had turned around, took her in and sighed.
“We don’t have to interact, Granger. You do your thing and I do mine, no need to acknowledge each other’s presence here or pretend we want to have anything to do with the other. Let’s just…” he’d trailed off, moving his hand in the air between them, dismissively. Then he’d turned again and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him, leaving her there, with her mouth hanging open.
And that had been the sum of all their interactions for the past few months, if you didn’t count the occasional “hello” and “goodnight” that were only out of politeness and civility.
But she had been keeping an eye on him and she’d noticed he was actively trying to sabotage himself and that wasn’t good. Because if he flanked that year, he would end up in Azkaban for real, as part of his sentence. And for some incomprehensible reason, she cared. Maybe because he had betrayed Voldemort when it really mattered, or because she had put herself on the line to keep him out of prison, or just because she pitied his sorry ass, she didn’t know. But she wasn’t letting him destroy his future like that. So, she’d started tailing him and she’d found out he used to spend the night in the Room of Requirement. It had been a week before she’d managed to follow him inside, and thank Merlin for that, because she’d had no idea what to tell him if she managed earlier. Not that she had a big speech ready now, but she’d had time to work up some courage to spank his ass, figuratively speaking.
“I’ve been tailing you for a while, Malfoy, and quite properly, actually. You only saw me because I wanted you to see me,” she let him know, a bit of her signature swottiness lingering in her voice.
A corner of his thin lips lifted up. “Why the theatrics? You could have stopped me in the common room if you needed to tell me something, Granger. Or did you miss the thrill of old days, following me around with Potty and Weasel?”
So, a little bit of the bitch was still there, then. Good. She inhaled from her nose, preparing for the difficult part.
“Why do you come here?” she asked, observing the cabinet.
Draco was silent for a while, his breathing steady and quiet. “I’m looking for something.”
Hermione turned towards him. “For what?”
“Regret,” he whispered, eyes hard as shards of steel. “Maybe if I spend enough time here, I will finally feel some regret for what I’ve done two years ago. Because that’s what good people feel, right?”
“Malfoy…”
Draco whipped around and fixed his stormy eyes on her, a muscle tensing in his jaw. Hermione held her breath and didn’t shy away. “Then I’m definitely not a good person, because I can’t find it in me! I would do everything all over again to keep my mother safe and that’s bullshit, because one cannot risk the life of many innocent children to protect one questionable person, right? So, there must be something wrong with me, Granger, and if that’s the case then why would you, a good person, want to give me another chance after what I’ve done?” he gritted out, inching closer at every word. Hermione stood there, his chest so close to hers that she could almost feel his ragged heartbeat against her flapping one. She could see the veins of teal in his grey irises, his pale eyelashes slanted over his hungry eyes, his almost white hair slightly falling on his forehead in soft waves. She had never wanted to touch someone more.
“Because there’s nothing like a good or bad person, Malfoy. We all have both in us and you, of all people, showed that to me. You have a lot of baggage, and you may need some help carrying it around, but you’re worth a try. That’s why I did what I did. But you are throwing it all away to mope, apparently,” she said in his face, refusing to back away an inch.
Draco let out a shaky breath, ruffling her unruly frame pieces. His eyes fleeted on her face, resting for a second too long on her lips. Hermione fought a flush creeping up her neck with all her strength. His tongue flicked over his lower lip and, dear Godric, her heart skipped a beat for reasons she refused to acknowledge there and then.
“I don’t mope,” he whispered and suddenly she felt him closer. Her head was spinning with his subtle scent of smoke, sweet honey and a hint of cologne.
“You do, a lot,” she murmured back. Draco lifted a hand and let a finger feather her cheekbone. A shiver ran all over her body and she swallowed hard.
“Why do you care, Golden Girl?” his voice caressed her deep into her core.
“Draco…” she whispered, a single word that could break it all. His finger rested on her lips, light and cold, setting her on fire.
“Don’t, Granger, you don’t want this. You don’t really want me in your life, in any way,” he said, his cold storm staring deep into her warm flames.
“You don’t know what I want, Draco,” she countered, an ache building in her stomach, a need itching at her very soul. Could it be? But how? And when had all started?
Hermione had been aching for him for longer that she’d realized. She’d been keeping an eye on him for longer than just his probation period, all the way back in Sixth year, when she’d noticed his gaunt face and grades falling. She’d known something was off, she’d sensed he needed help, needed someone. But she hadn’t acted on that feeling then. Hermione wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
Draco let his finger travel down her chin and lingered there, his eyes clear with something that resembled hope.
“What do you want, Hermione?”
Her name on his lips made her heart run wild in her chest. Following her instinct, she cupped his face with her hands. Draco’s eyes shut, a breath escaping his lips, as he pushed into her skin, reveling into the contact.
“I want to break the wall, Draco, and find out what’s behind it. I want to be here for you,” she whispered, stepping closer into his frame.
“Granger…” he pleaded, eyes still closed, his voice broken.
“Please, Draco, let me be here for you.”
A moment passed in silence and stillness. Everything that had been came careening into them, like a river flowing over rocks and debris in a flood. Then his arm snaked around her waist like a dam, and pulled her into him, close and safe against his chest. Their foreheads touched and Hermione sighed on his lips. Draco breathed her in, deep and famished.
“I need you.”
“I know.”