Blood of my blood
Suggested listening: Florence and the Machine - Take Care (Drake/Rihanna cover)
“Come find me in the Slytherin dorms.” It was an open offer that Draco left for Hermione. They were assigned as Potions partners in Eighth-Year, one of the few who returned.
He did as part of his parole sentence. She did because it was the only place that felt familiar. Something akin to home.
She was never going to take him up on it. Only Purebloods were allowed in.
Hermione did her rounds as Prefect with Cormac.
She found Malfoy cowering in an alcove, nursing a split lip and a bruised face. She brusquely told Cormac to go find McGonagall.
He wouldn’t tell her who it was, but she could guess. Any of them, really. Seamus, Ernie, Justin, Terry, maybe even Goyle. That was part of the Ministry's punishment. Turning a blind eye and asking the faculty to do so too. Forcing him to be in close quarters with students of families on the opposite side of the War and leave him to fend for himself.
She supposed she was part of the new world order too, taking up the mantle of Golden Girl, and war hero, attending all the galas Shacklebolt deemed necessary. Prefect and spearheading inter-house unity at Hogwarts. She hated being a tool. But it was better than being idle. Better than being alone with her thoughts, where guilt and loneliness threatened to consume her.
Malfoy flinched at her touch, both angry and ashamed.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said as she whispered what few healing spells she knew. She ripped a piece of her robe off and charmed it with a Glacius spell, dotting his injured face.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he said with a quiet resignation.
Her sad, brown eyes travelled along his face, from his bruised pale skin to his sharp cheeks and finally to his bleeding lip. Fresh. Glistening. It looked like he ate one too many strawberries. There was a kind of absurd beauty to him like this. His one grey eye tracked her. Looking at the blood dried on his chin, she bit her lip instinctually.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He furrowed his dark brows and immediately pulled away from her. “No," he said harshly.
“No?”
“Don’t,” he snarled, pushing her hand away. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I’m not. It’s just—just a shite situation … Forget it. I’ll walk you to the infirmary.”
He shook his head, pulling farther away, looking at her torn robes. “I’m gonna go back to the dorms. I’ll—pay for a new robe.”
“Can I walk you? It’s part of my Prefect responsibilities.”
He shook his head again, and turned in the opposite direction without saying goodbye.
She squinted, thinking through her actions before running up to him. “Well, too bad. You gave me an open invitation. But you’re going to have to tell me the workaround on that no-Muggleborn thing.”
Draco looked at her, shocked, but quickly schooled it into an impassive expression.
Hermione sighed, tapping her wand against his bruised cheek, then kissed it.