This Is Me Trying
Draco-This Is Me Trying
I've been having a hard time adjusting
I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting
I didn't know if you'd care if I came back
I have a lot of regrets about that
Pulled the car off the road to the lookout
Could've followed my fears all the way down
And maybe I don't quite know what to say
But I'm here in your doorway
I just wanted you to know
That this is me trying
Hogwarts, 8th year
Draco made it four full days of properly avoiding Hermione Granger before he found himself at her door again. After his mental breakdown, he had woken up with a fresh mindset, one that said ‘get the fuck out of Hermione Granger’s bed’. And so he had fled before the girl had woken up, taking only a second to look at her peaceful features before slipping out the doorway without looking back.
He had been rightfully embarrassed of anyone finding him like that, of exposing himself as the absolute mess he was. It irked him even more that when he layed back in bed that night, his nightmares didn’t abate like he had stupidly hoped they would. Thus his cycle of watching people, specifically he and Granger, die over and over again in his sleep continued. The morning of his fourth day, he caught a slip in Grangers glamor during a particularly strange backfire from a cauldron in potions. She had purple half circles under her eyes that rivaled his.
In a moment of pure stupidness, and selfishness, he slipped down to the medical ward, feigning a headache. When Pomphrey had her back turned, Draco accio’ed a vial of dreamless sleep from her open stores cabinet. Honestly, the mediwitch was asking for someone to steal from her, though he could admit that not many could perform a wandless and silent accio. Especially from the more younger students, but what was is that glass eyed freak auror used to say fourth year? Constant vigilance!
Draco kept the vial tucked in his robe pocket, not stopping until he got to his room. He skipped dinner knowing that the only person missing him would be Theo, and it wasn’t like Draco wouldn’t just puke his dinner back up again sometime in the night. With the sun going down, Draco stripped to nothing but his shorts and crawled into bed. He stared at the vial on his nightstand with anger. He could get through a fucking night on his own. He would, damn it!
He was Draco Malfoy for Salazar’s sake! He pondered on how he had gotten here. The shininess of his rich and glamorous lifestyle had turned out to be fool’s gold. His once powerful name now rusted and decayed, not that he deserved anything better. He looked out his window, it was now pitch black out and he couldn’t recall how long he’d been trying to force himself to sleep.
With a final look at the vial, he sighed and sat up. One night’s rest was better than drinking his sorrows away, a habit Theodore had gotten him to kick very quickly. He could’ve followed his fears all the way down to the bottom of the astronomy, ending all his pain quickly, and yet he still hadn’t. Draco Malfoy had been hanging on for dear life for years, three facts embedded into his soul.
My name is Draco Malfoy.
I’m eighteen years old.
I’m okay.
He repeated the facts, willing them to be true like he did everyday as he conjured a second vial and poured half of the potion into it. If he got a break from his nightmares, then so did Granger. It wasn’t much but it was something he could do for the tortured girl. He swallowed roughly as he slipped some joggers (thank you to Theo for introducing him to muggle clothing) and a t- shirt on before checking no one was in the common rooms.
On the small walk to her room, Draco questioned why he would do such a thing, but then he remembered he could ask his past self the same question about his many years of treatment towards Hermione Granger. He had almost watched her die, and then he had almost died by the hand of the Dark Lord hours later, and with both of them, his prejudice had fully died. It had been dwindling out like a smothered flame for years, and that day, it had been snuffed.
And so, with the strongest disillusionment charm he knew cast upon himself, Draco sat the vial of dreamless sleep down in her doorway and knocked. He watched from the shadows as a mess of curls filled the now open door space. Granger was too tired to even properly search the room before looking down and taking the vial. He had no clue if she’d take it, Merlin knew he’d probably argue with himself for hours if he should take a random dropped off potion. But he had given her the option of a break from her own brain.
Once the door was shut, Draco traveled back to his own room and swallowed down his own half vial. He set the now empty contained back on his nightstand and stared at it as he waited for his sleep to call him away from consciousness. His last thought was that it may not be much in retribution, but it was him trying.
xXx
The next morning Granger had looked better, and a small something, probably a moth, fluttered in Draco’s stomach at seeing her actually smiling. He himself had felt the peace from an uneventful night’s rest and it made him proud of his small act of kindness towards them both.
It was a funny thing, being proud to have caused the eye bags on Granger’s face to slip away. His father would have an aneurysm, his mother on the other hand would’ve been proud. The thought of his mother reminded him he should write to her soon. Honestly he had been avoiding it.
It was a fact that Draco Malfoy was scared of Narcissa Malfoy. Not the same way that he had been of Lucius Malfoy, quite the opposite actually. Draco was scared of his mother because he couldn’t bear the thought of her not answering his letters back, because he was scared of her saying she was disappointed in him, and disappointed she had reason to be.
It was another sign that things in his life had changed drastically since war. All his life, Draco had been trying to imitate his father in hopes that becoming a mini Lucius would make the original Lucius proud. Spoiler: it hadn’t. But with his mother, well she never made him doubt that she was proud, that she loved him with her whole heart. It wasn’t until after their court sentences that Draco had started to look at old memories, turning them over like old stones.
There had been so many signs that his mother didn’t agree with pureblood rhetoric, and like the stupid twit he was, he never caught on until it was too late. His entire life she had quietly encouraged him to make ideas for himself, slipping him books that sometimes went against school curriculum but would hold a better spell or a history book that included incidents that happened to not be included in some of the pureblood authors books.
But he had been so far up his father’s arse, hoping if he could just make him proud it would stay Lucius’ fist, that he hadn’t seen the bigger message. Narcissa hadn’t even snuffed most muggleborns and half bloods if someone of importance hadn’t been around. The woman snuck off to muggle ballets for fucks sake! Her house elf’s, and his by inclusion, were treated better than Bellatrix had when she came to live in the manor.
Yes, it had all been clear to see, but hate and fear had smeared the lenses, leaving Draco with a blurry vision of who he wanted to be. And so he was now, trying to amend some of his past crimes with dreamless sleep and multiple drafts of apology letters his court ordered therapist had suggested he write. And yes, he meant therapist, Leanne was licensed in both muggle and wizarding worlds, thank you very much!
One of those letters was supposed to be to his mother, or mum as he had started to refer to her as, trying to break out of some of those rigid pureblood rules. They hadn’t seen each other since the final battle. The aurors had swiftly cuffed Draco as he stood by dumbly staring at the Dark Lord’s dead body, his own wand in Potter's hand. Narcissa had been much of the same, he did hear Lucius ran, took them a few weeks to catch him while Draco and Narcissa sat in Azkabam awaiting trial. It wasn’t until Lucius was caught that they swiftly sentenced all three of the Malfoys. Narcissa got house arrest, he got probation and court ordered rehabilitation, Lucius got life. They had not given Draco and Narcissa the nicety of a goodbye before she was hauled to her choice of whichever Malfoy property and he was sent to Hogwarts.
It shouldn’t be as hard as it was to write his mum a damn letter, but as he crumpled up his fifth piece of parchment, Draco wondered how hard he’d have to bang his head into his desk for the wood to splinter. He looked out the window again. It was dark, just like it always seemed to be, the day slipping by in a haze due to horrendous sleeping habits. He couldn’t visit the astronomy tower because frankly it was too tempting to feel the fall that Dumbledore had, he couldn’t go bother Theo because his only friend had enough of his own shit to deal with, and he didn’t have any school work left.
Draco looked at his bed, a growing lump in his throat. It had been another week since his night of dreamless sleep and he wouldn’t give in to taking another. He’d seen too many wizards and witches give themselves to the illicit drugs during their seventh year and he wouldn’t count himself one of them. His eyes drooped as he looked at the fluffy emerald green comforter, he was so, so tired.
Taking a risk he knew wouldn’t pay off, Draco crawled into bed, hoping his brain would be too worn to come up with his nightly horrors. He tried to daydream good thoughts, for all he knew his brain would latch onto them and give him a haven instead of hell. He was in a plain, a lake in front of him, like the one at Malfoy Manor before it got corrupted. A warm breeze ran through his hair, causing his shirt to cling to his torso. It would be a most gorgeous day of flying, he thought, his body nestling into his covers.
“Draco, come on, we’ll be late!” a voice called behind him in the field, female laughter following it. He felt a smile pull at his lips, happiness giving him his fill. He turned to find the person of his joy, but found the field now empty. Just as quickly as the vision had been peaceful, his body filled with dread.
A roll of thunder filled the air, the clouds growing heavy with darkness, the same darkness that had permeated his family home. “Draco!” the same voice called, now strangled and filled with tears, “Help me!” he whipped around, trying to catch the voice again. But when his eyes landed on the girl, he wished he hadn’t.
“Do you think you can escape me, boy” Voldemort sneered, his eyes red with rage. And there, in his vicious grasp, was Hermione Granger. Fear was in her eyes as she tried not to fight the knife that the Dark Lord held to her throat. “I wonder if her blood is the same as yours. Do you know if I mix your precious pureblood with dirt, I’d get some mudblood? Or would you rather I gather it from the source?” he leered, giving Draco no time to reach for Hermione, to save her before he forcefully drug the knife across her neck.
Blood poured from the cut, and Voldemort pushed her to Draco’s feet. It was as he leaned down that he felt blood dripping down his own chest. He started to choke, his feet falling out from under him. He joined Granger on the ground, her body unmoving, and their blood once again mingling, all the same color of red.
xXx
Just as the last time, Draco didn’t think as he grabbed at his own neck, frantically banging on Grangers door like a lunatic. It didn’t take her long to answer and Draco wasted no time grabbing at her neck. Granger immediately reared back, her hands grasping his own, trying to shove his shaking fingers off her.
“What the fuck, Malfoy!” but Draco didn’t focus on her yelling and anger, just on her unblemished neck. He grabbed at his own again, his eyes not leaving hers.
“You’re okay” he said dumbly, almost robotic. Granger immediately relaxed when she caught his empty possession of a wand or other weapon. “Yes” she nodded, “I’m f-fine, but I’m not sure you are” he should look at her, he knew, but he couldn’t. He was afraid that if he moved his hand from his own neck or took his eyes away from hers, their twin cuts would re-open.
“You’re not cut?” Draco mumbled, exhaustion clouding any other thought.
“No. Are you hurt?” he felt a soft hand on his own, trying to pull it away from his neck.
“No!” he shouted, trying to get out of her hold. If he had been properly rested, or even properly awake for that matter, he would’ve left. But he was not, and it had already been proven that Draco Malfoy was an idiot when he was not delirious, so there was not a chance in hell of him being rational when he was properly out of it.
“It’s ok” he felt a second hand land on his other arm that was hanging limply by his side. “You can stay here tonight. I’ll watch for you getting hurt and you can watch for me, how does that sound?” it was the voice from his dream again.
Draco felt the words “okay” coming out of his mouth as his butt hit something soft, his world soon going sideways as he continued to hold his neck. The voice called again, although he couldn’t make out what it was saying, but he knew its owner was safe now and so was he. Draco let himself close his eyes, the lull of the soft voice fending off horrors to come.