Chapter 10
Hermione woke at a much more reasonable hour the next morning, feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. That was until she remembered it was a Tuesday. An extraction day.
After a solid thirty minutes of hiding under her pillow and waiting patiently for her body to stop its violent shaking, she made her way into the shower. The glimpse she caught of herself in the mirror revealed she looked no better than she felt. Her hair was past the point where anything but chemicals would tame it and her under eyes boasted an impressive shade of purple.
How much worse could it get, realistically? Malfoy hadn’t exactly reacted badly to their first session, just invasively, Hermione thought while brushing her teeth. Surely it went without saying that if she had to open herself up to him like this, the polite thing for him to do would be to pretend he’d seen as little as possible and move on with his life. The more time she spent with Malfoy, however, the more she understood why he’d been placed in Ravenclaw. His curiosity rivalled even hers, and his water-tight brain refused to let any piece of the puzzle slip through the cracks. Hermione just wished she wasn’t the puzzle in this situation. The same traits that were starting to make their Muggle Studies sessions somewhat enjoyable were going to make the extractions a nightmare.
Hermione floated through her day in a sort of panicked daze. Due to the tiny eighth year cohort, she spent most of it occupying the same room as Malfoy. She was grateful for his skulking ways as they kept him firmly towards the back of the class. That didn’t stop her body tingling with the awareness of his presence, though. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head, and – though she would never admit it aloud – it seemed to anchor her as much as it unnerved her. Maybe it was because of the revelation she’d had yesterday; Malfoy had been honestly concerned about her. On some level, he cared about her wellbeing. He didn’t want to hurt her.
These thoughts continued to cause strange whooping sensations in Hermione’s stomach that she stubbornly refused to examine.
All too soon it was time for her shaky legs to carry her up to the seventh floor. She took deep breaths as she walked, willing her nervous system to understand that no she was not about to die and it most certainly did not need to overreact like this.
As always, Malfoy was early. For once, Hermione had no trouble meeting his eyes. She’d felt them on her all day, and looking into them now felt like releasing the arrow after hours of pulling the bow taut. This time, it was Malfoy to look away.
As he ushered her into the room – looking almost exactly the same as it had on Monday – a new scent caught her attention.
“Roses?”
Malfoy didn’t look up from the potion station as he answered, “You said you prefer them.”
Hermione didn’t respond. She really was touched. But at the same time something about the gesture struck a chord in her already fragile emotional state. Maybe it would be easier if she could honestly say she couldn’t stand Malfoy. Then maybe spite could fuel her through this process. As it was, she was terrified she might cry.
“We got a decent portion on Sunday, but the process is still going to take months,” Malfoy said, handing her her vial of potion and returning to his armchair with his.
Hermione removed her shoes, sank into the plush lounge, and this time didn’t hesitate to pull one of the blankets over her lap.
“Are you ready?”
She wasn’t. “Yes.”
She looked steadily into Malfoy’s steely eyes as they both downed their vials. It helped to ground her, until the ground disappeared altogether and she was falling back into memory.
A second later, she was assaulted by a cacophony of voices. Hermione couldn’t distinguish the laughter from the shouting from the music of the fair around her. She felt like the noise was pummelling her head from every angle. It hurt it hurt it hurt. Panicking, she put her hands over her ears and squatted down.
The noise kept going. It was hurting her. There was yelling somewhere to her left. Then a child squealed.
And then nothing.
Everything stopped.
Curious, she lifted her hands off her ears and looked up at her too-bright surroundings. People were parting around her like a river around a rock. No one spared her a glance. And everything was silent. She could see people’s mouths moving, saw a rollercoaster take off somewhere only meters away, but nothing reached her ears.
Standing up, Hermione looked around in vague wonder. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the vague worry that maybe she’d gone deaf. But something told her she was ok. She was in control.
Was this your first showing? came Malfoy’s voice from inside her head.
Showing?
The first time you showed magic.
I… I think it might have been.
Hermione’s daze was suddenly interrupted by a pair of arms grabbing her from the back. She panicked before the arms turned her around and her father’s anxious face came into view. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear a thing. That wouldn’t do.
And then all at once the noise came back. Hermione winced as she felt that same clobbering of her head. But also-
“I said are you alright? Why did you run off like that?”
Hermione didn’t know why she’d run off like that. She couldn’t remember. So she just nodded, staring blankly at her father and wishing the deafness would come back. And then, the stars aligned.
“Do you want to go home? Are you feeling sick?”
She nodded, and her father gently picked her up and walked back the way he had come. Silence settled around her ears again as her world shifted.
Time blurred as Hermione – and Malfoy – shifted through more childhood memories. Learning to play monopoly at Grandma’s house. Jeremy calling her a stuck-up nerd. Helping Mum mix the batter for Dad’s birthday cake. Her first time riding a bike. It was almost bearable this time. She didn’t throw any embarrassing tantrums. She didn’t lose control. Malfoy had nothing to hold against her here.
The last memory resolved into a half coloured-in picture of a mermaid. Looking around revealed Hermione was at the children’s table in the corner of a sterile, empty waiting room. She was looking through the pencils she’d been given to find the right blue for the bubbles when she heard a door open and her mother’s voice rang out into the room.
“You can’t tell me you know my daughter better than I do after two hours of speaking to her!” her mother snapped.
“With all due respect, Mrs. Granger, I have a PhD in child neuropsychology and your daughter clearly exhibits traits of-”
“We know what she exhibits traits of. That’s why we came here, to get confirmation she’s gifted. She’s not autistic.” Her mother spat the word like it tasted bad.
Wait, what?
“Look, Doctor, I’ve met plenty of autis- people with autism, sorry, and Hermione isn’t anything like them. I just don’t understand how you’ve come to this conclusion,” came her father’s more measured response.
“Well, I’ve outlined it in-”
“Yes yes! The report. We’ll have it faxed to us, thank you,” snapped Hermione’s mother, finally walking out of the room.
She greeted Hermione with a smile and held out her hand.
“Time to go, honey! You did great.”
Hermione abandoned her mermaid and took her mother’s hand. On the way out she glanced back to see a woman with curly grey hair staring at her with a strange expression. She remembered that lady. She’d done the IQ test with her.
“I think this calls for ice cream. Might help us relax,” said her father, rubbing her mother’s arm soothingly. “And I think Hermione’s earned it for doing so well on her test.”
Hermione beamed up at her father. It wasn’t often she got to eat anything sugary and cavity-inducing. She must have done really well.
As they walked away from the office, Hermione felt her consciousness lurch back into the rose scented room. She was lying at an awkward angle on the couch, disorientated in more ways than one.
After a few seconds of awkward silence Malfoy said, “Well, that went a lot better than last time. We got another good chunk, too.”
Hermione didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. Autistic? Her? Surely not. Why would the doctor even suggest that?
Why was it in there, then? Asked a small voice in the back of her head.
She hadn’t even remembered that waiting room. It hadn’t felt significant. She certainly wouldn’t have considered getting her IQ tested a pivotal memory.
Then why was it in there?
These memories were supposed to be the Essence of her. It shouldn’t be in there if it wasn’t important.
“Granger?”
“Huh?” She jerked her head up to see Malfoy emptying a tawny-coloured fluid into a cauldron.
“Are you alright? You look a bit spacey.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said too quickly, earning her a shrewd glance.
“You’re not fine, I can hear your brain whirring around from here. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. It was none of his business. Oh God, if Malfoy found out she was autistic – which she wasn’t – he’d have even more ammunition should he ever choose to turn against her.
But was she?
No, of course not. That was ridiculous.
Malfoy chose that moment to ruin everything.
“What’s autistic? I’ve never heard of it.”
Dammit.
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
But does it?
“It clearly does, since that’s the point your brain started doing this… thinky thing that it does.”
“This… thinky thing that it does? Malfoy, that’s what brains do.”
“Well… yes… but…” Malfoy huffed in frustrated. “Like I said, I’ve been inside a lot of people’s minds before. Yours is different. Everything’s bigger… and more… formulaic. When you’re trying to figure something out, you have to look at it from every angle and backwards and upside down before you settle on anything. I don’t know how you don’t tie your own thoughts into knots.”
Yours is different.
The words pounded into Hermione’s brain, refusing to be ignored.
Yours is different. Yours is different. Yours is different.
“I’m the brightest witch of my age…” Hermione said dully. It sounded empty even to her own ears.
Malfoy scoffed. “I didn’t realise you were such a narcissist. You’re not weird because you’re smart, Granger, you’re weird because you’re weird.”
Malfoy had said it flippantly, but the words sliced straight through her. She was weird. He could see it. He’d seen way too much of her. He always saw straight through her bullshit.
Hermione stood suddenly and strode towards the door in a panicked haze.
“What? Wait- no…”
There were some unnerving glass clanking sounds and then footsteps all but running towards her.
“I didn’t mean to call you weird! Well… I mean you are weird but like- not in a bad way…” Malfoy fumbled as Hermione pulled open the door and retreated into the corridor. She couldn’t handle him right now with his stupid, blunt honesty and being right all the time.
“Look, I meant unique, okay? Special, if you want. Don’t start crying.” Malfoy was actually following her along the corridor. Go away go away go away.
“I like the way your mind works! It’s fascinating. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m not upset!” Hermione called over her shoulder, still walking purposefully towards Ravenclaw tower.
“Then why’d you storm off? Where’s the-” Malfoy was cut off by the almost deafening clang of a suit of armour falling down behind them in the corridor. Hermione didn’t even look back. She took full advantage of the distraction to run the rest of the way out, desperately hoping Malfoy wouldn’t follow.
And by the grace of God, he didn’t. Hermione managed to make it all the way up to her blessedly empty dorm and draw the sapphire hangings tight around her before it started.
Her brain was so full of thought that there was no more thought. Just panic. She tried to breath in out in out in in in out in in in in out out in. Her mind was an ocean, and she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe. Her hands on her head pushed in and in and in, trying to contain it all. She needed to stop it. To keep it down. Keep it in.
After an eternity the wave passed, and Hermione slumped down, exhausted.
She couldn’t even decide what her biggest problem was right now. The fact that she might have been neurologically disabled her whole life and not known, or the other thing. The thing she didn’t even want to put words to. The one that involved a certain blond git and a fluttering feeling in her stomach.
Hermione buried her face in her pillow and groaned. That was it. That was her biggest problem by far.
But now was not the time to think about it. In fact, there never would be a time to think about it, because it would go away on its own. Surely Hermione had done enough good deeds in her life to be karmically rewarded in this way. Surely.
She had other things to worry about anyway. Was she really autistic? The lady with the PhD in child neuropsychology had said so. But her mother said she couldn’t be. Surely her mother knew her best.
As Hermione pulled the covers over herself, she thought back to Aaron. He was the only autistic kid she’d met. He’d been a few years behind in maths and followed around by a support worker. He’d been quiet and shy most of the time except for-
-except for his episodes.
Oh God…
Hermione’s head fell into her hands.
Granger, that’s not normal. Other people don’t feel like that. I don’t even know if you can call it a temper…
Shut up.
Everything in your mind is… louder. It’s almost deafening to be in there.
Shut up shut up shut up.
I’ve been in a lot of people’s brains. They’re all different, obviously, but yours is… different different.
Shut UP! She yelled at the phantom Malfoy in her brain. How had he seen all that? She hadn’t even seen all that. How had he known without even knowing? God, she hated him.
She was autistic, then? What did that even mean? She was disabled? She didn’t feel disabled. She’d always been top of her class. She’d fought in a goddamn war – and won.
But then she remembered Aaron, who’d sat alone at lunch except for his support worker, while she’d sat alone without one. No one had wanted to play with the special needs kid. No one had wanted to play with the bossy nerd either. They’d been different types of outcasts, but outcasts nonetheless.
Then it all sunk into place.
Inability to read social cues was one of the dot points on the presentation Mrs. Dubose had given when Aaron had joined their class. Aversion to eye contact another.
Sensitivity to bright lights and loud sounds.
Rigid thinking patterns.
Jesus Christ.
That’s when the tears finally came. This explained so much. She’d just thought she was horrible. She’d thought she was bossy and overbearing and a nervous wreck and she’d worked so hard to keep it hidden. She’d worked so hard to be brave and outgoing and patient. She’d tried so hard to figure out how to be a girl with emotions. She’d spent so many nights staying up late with Ginny taking mental notes on when she said what and how she said it. Figuring out the right sounds and gestures to make when someone wanted sympathy and when they wanted her to share in their excitement. She’d studied it the same way she studied everything else. She’d been so desperate to learn, to fit in.
It all made sense, now. Her compulsion to hide her episodes from everyone. How frustrated she was when people were insensitive because she’d worked so hard to learn how not to be. How she’d always felt like she never quite fit in at Hogwarts. Or anywhere, really.
Through the deluge she managed to cast a quick silencing charm, and let the sobs take over her body.
She suddenly felt silly for denying it, before. For being insulted when Malfoy had called her weird. This was it. This was the piece of the puzzle that had been missing this whole time. She was flooded with relief that at least now, she knew. She had so many answers to questions she’d been too ashamed to ask.
Eventually, the tears stopped and Hermione drifted off to sleep, head aching but feeling lighter than she had in a long time.
***
Wednesday dawned peacefully and unobtrusively, like the sun had chosen to give Hermione a break that day. She stared up at the starry ceiling of her dormitory with a strange sense of calm. No extraction today.
As she stumbled through her morning, Hermione felt like she was seeing the world through new eyes. She’d never questioned how she preferred to keep to the edges of the great hall to avoid the noise before. Or how she needed to look at the ground when she walked. Or how she had to take her shoes off again and again to adjust her nagging sock seams before leaving her dorm.
Arithmancy passed in a too bright classroom. Herbology passed in a too cold one.
Hermione was endlessly grateful she had a spare third period, and scurried up to the library as soon as physically possible. After a treacherous ladder scaling in the small muggle literature section, she sat down in her spot with three shiny new books and dug in.
Most of it was what she’d expected. Sensory issues – check. Social deficits – check. The sceptical voice in her head got quieter and quieter as she read on. The descriptions of meltdowns sounded exactly like her episodes. Two authors mentioned that they could be mistaken for panic attacks. Hermione’s mother had been convinced they were panic attacks, and the summer of her fourth year she’d gone to see a psychologist almost every week for them. He’d taught her about deep breathing and mindfulness and it had done absolutely no good.
There were some things that gave her pause, though. After the third description of her apparent ‘lack of empathy towards peers’ she let out a displeased huff. She was fairly sure she was capable of empathy.
The afternoon continued much like the morning had, and Hermione’s head started to hurt from the sheer volume of processing.
Malfoy, as always, was unhelpful.
Hermione was fully prepared to spend Muggle Studies pretending to listen while finishing off her third library book when the menace dropped his things onto her desk, pulled out the chair next to her and dropped into it.
Are you alright? came the slanted, emerald writing almost immediately.
I’m fine.
Thankfully, Malfoy turned his attention to Miller at that, though she could feel him bristling next to her. Goosebumps erupted on her arms and she rubbed at them, feigning cold.
Why had he gone and done this to her? She had too much to think about today without adding Malfoy and his stupid concern and his stupidly intense eyes and his stupidly rolled up sleeves to that list.
Gone were the days when she could ignore the bubbly feeling in her stomach when she thought about him. It was like a floodgate had opened in her brain because finally, finally she was listening to it.
He’s so considerate.
Shut up.
He listens to me.
No no no no no.
He called me special.
And weird.
Yes but special. That’s so fucking sweet.
Fuck.
“Miss Granger?”
Oh no.
“Given what we’ve learnt about the Nazis, how would you differentiate Hitler’s National Socialism from traditional socialism?”
For once in her life, Hermione completely blanked. She started to panic as her mouth opened and closed dumbly while her traitor of a brain gave her absolutely nothing.
“The Nazis essentially replaced the ideal of a classless society with that of a racially homogenous one. Rather than framing the elite as the root of society’s issues, they framed the Jews.”
There was silence was a full ten seconds after Malfoy spoke. Miller was the first to recover his composure.
“Well put, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Ravenclaw.”
Hermione tried her hardest to keep the blood from rushing to her face. Part of her wanted to snap at Malfoy. Another part was begrudgingly impressed. Another (more stupid) part was reading way too much into how he’d helped her. How he was sitting next to her. Because he’d wanted to make sure she was ok.
‘Thank you’ she finally wrote after half a class of indecision.
‘You’re welcome’ came the instantaneous reply.
They avoided each other for the rest of the day. That is, until eight o’clock rolled around and they locked eyes outside the door to what Hermione really needing to stop thinking of as ‘their room’.
Walking in through the door Malfoy had opened for her – no her heart didn’t do a little flip at the now familiar gesture – she caught the scent of roses. The corners of her mouth turned up despite the alarm bells going off in her brain. Bells that sounded like Death Eater and terrible idea and arrogant git and he’s literally Draco-fucking-Malfoy what is wrong with you Hermione?
“So, you’re autistic,” Malfoy said as he arranged his books on their desk. He didn’t phrase it as a question.
Hermione looked away. Just because it was true didn’t mean it was any of his business. She was only just coming to terms with it herself.
“It makes sense. I’ve been reading up on it. It explains why your brain’s so loud. And why you don’t make eye contact. And why you get stuck on tiny details.”
“I don’t get stuck on tiny details,” said Hermione, stubbornly looking him straight in the eye.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and she looked away. It was none of his business.
“Explains why you were so shit at making friends as well.”
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
“And your meltdowns.”
“…”
“And your rigid thinking patterns.”
“What are you getting out of this?” she snapped.
“Well I’m hoping to get a better insight into your mind.”
“Had you considered not being such a git about it?”
“Yes, and I decided against traditional niceties.”
“What?”
“You’re more honest when you’re angry. This is obviously something you don’t want to talk about. When you inevitably lose your temper and snap at me, I’m likely to find out why.”
Hermione, to her great vexation, was indeed losing her temper.
“Had you considered just respecting my wishes?”
“No.”
He didn’t even hesitate, eyes boring shamelessly into hers the whole time. Hermione huffed at the ceiling.
“Look, Granger, let’s not pretend we don’t both have the same… problems with curiosity. Would it be so hard for you to put me out of my misery? I’ve done so much research and I can’t figure out why you’re so upset about this.”
“Oh, so this is about you, is it?”
“No, it’s about my interest in… why you’re like this.”
“Why I’m like what?”
“Just… the way that you are.” Malfoy waved a hand vaguely at her and for once refused to meet her eyes.
“What way?”
He didn’t speak. It only fuelled her anger.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t need to give a blood purist another reason to see me as some sort of sub-human!”
Malfoy turned towards her with genuine shock on his face.
“You think I see you as sub-human?”
“Do you not?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Did you not?”
Malfoy glued his eyes to the floor.
“That’s what I thought.”
They sat in awkward silence for a while – Hermione trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t hurting, that she didn’t care, that it never had and never would affect her – before Malfoy spoke up.
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?”
“What this has to do with autism.”
Hermione sighed. Sometimes he impressed her with how shrewd he could be. Sometimes she couldn’t comprehend his stupidity.
“Do you know who else the Nazis killed? Other than the Jews.”
“Well there were the gays, the non-whites, religious minorities, cripples-”
“Yes, disabled people.”
Then it clicked.
“Oh. Oh no no no. I’m not going to think any less of you because your brain works differently. Why would you think that?”
She stared at him open-mouthed.
“But… you…” But you’re a bigoted toe rag who spent years supporting the subjugation of most of the human race on the basis of biology. “Why would I not think that?”
“Why would you? I know there are parallels, Granger – I’m not delusional enough not to see that – but I was never a Nazi.”
She scoffed.
“Ok, fine, I was the wizarding equivalent. But I’d never even heard of this spectrum thingy before yesterday. Did you expect me to immediately stop seeing you as smart and capable after years of struggling to keep up with you?”
“You- what?”
He’d called her smart. And capable.
The ice in Malfoy’s gaze was cracking again. He seemed to have realised his slip-up as soon as it had left his mouth and was scrambling for a way to undo the damage. She decided to use his strategy against him.
“Did I just hear the great Draco Malfoy himself admit to struggling to keep up with me?”
“Shut it, Granger.”
“Wow. That must have been hard for you. Always being bested by a lowly muggleborn.”
The ice shattered.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! I never saw you as sub-human, Granger. You made that very difficult for me.”
Hermione froze. There was a kind of vulnerability in Malfoy’s face that she’d never seen before. He turned his gaze away in a valiant attempt to glare out the window, but something about the set of his jaw, the tremble of his mouth told her he’d said much more than he’d meant to.
She stared at him for a while, knowing full well it was her turn to speak but not having a clue what to say. Malfoy scrambled to put himself back together, to freeze his gaze right over until it was a watertight beam of scrutiny and aloof composure again. It was a strange process to watch. Hermione had assumed that face was Malfoy, but as she watched the layers he placed carefully over the cracks she saw it wasn’t. It was a mask. Meticulously constructed. Almost unbreakable. Almost.
She wanted to break it again.
“You’re saying you never saw me as beneath you?”
Malfoy sighed heavily.
“I tried. Merlin knows it was drilled into me that you were. I just… you were so… I couldn’t. I certainly disliked you. Hated you, even. You humiliated me just by existing. But I couldn’t deny you were smarter. You were braver. Better. You made it easy to hate muggleborns, but hard to see them as… beneath me. Merlin’s beard, you were right in front of me for six years. I’d have to be on another planet to think… y’know…”
“So what did you think, then?”
“I didn’t. I didn’t sit down when I was eleven and weigh up the pros and cons of becoming a blood supremacist. It was just always… there. Bad things happen when you start thinking too deeply in… certain environments.”
Hermione slumped down in her chair.
“Are you trying to tell me you didn’t mean any of those things you used to say to me?”
“Some of them I did. Like I said, I hated you. It was embarrassing how much I hated you, honestly. I think… partially I was parroting my father’s beliefs, and partially I just wanted to hurt you in any way that would be effective. I’m sorry.”
Hermione tried very hard to keep her face blank. To know that Malfoy hadn’t been completely brainwashed, and that he’d actively wanted her to suffer was somehow even worse than the scenario she’d thought she’d finally come to terms with.
Several seconds passed in oppressive silence.
“But… why would you do that? Why would you just want to hurt someone?”
Malfoy turned to look at her quizzically. Hermione wished he’d look away; she didn’t know how much of her pain was visible in her face.
“Have you never wanted to hurt someone before?”
Hermione took a while to think about this.
“Not badly enough that I’d actually do it. Certainly not repeatedly for years. Didn’t your par-” She cut herself off, immediately realising how silly she sounded.
“No, actually, my parents didn’t teach me it was wrong to hurt people. They taught me I was the heir to a great house, and that other people should respect me for it. Obviously, a lot didn’t. It hurt my massive ego. As did being bested by someone completely unimportant for six years. That hurt had to go somewhere. May as well be you. And Potter. And Weasley. And the rest.”
Hermione didn’t respond. She just looked at the ground and let the words sink in.
“Before you say anything, I’m well aware I was wrong. Now that I’m in a place where I can afford to reflect, I’ve been doing it. A lot. I’m not making excuses. I was an absolute git of a child. All I can do is apologise and try not to be a git of an adult.”
“Is that why you’re taking Muggle Studies?” Or is it so your family looks reformed in the eyes of the Ministry? she would have tacked on not even five minutes ago. It felt silly to ask now. Now that she’d seen the fissures in his cold façade.
“Essentially.”
God, he was infuriating.
“Essentially isn’t the same as yes,” she prodded.
“I’m well aware.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
“Would you care to mind your own business?”
Hermione lifted her face with the intention of glaring daggers at the hypocritical little shit. They locked eyes, then, and in some bizarre twist of universal law, laughed. It was nervous, and awkward, and maybe a bit manic in Hermione’s case, but it felt so good after the prolonged tension that she didn’t care.
When they’d pulled themselves together, Hermione – despite her curiosity – was reluctant to ruin the mood. Besides, she had too much new Malfoy data to sort through for the time being. She’d corner him another time.
So they spent the next two hours talking about muggle political systems before walking in companionable silence up to Ravenclaw tower. Something had again shifted between them. Malfoy had never thought she was inferior for her blood. He’d been horrible, but horrible in a regular way. Ok, maybe a bit more than a regular way, what with the war crimes and attempted murder. But for the first time she questioned how much of that had really been him.
Hermione was a huge supporter of the idea of personal choice and accountability, but could she really say she would have done differently if she’d grown up in the exact same way? How could she ever really know?
As Hermione walked through the door to the common room, leaving Malfoy behind, she pointedly ignored the part of her that urged her to walk a little slower, to look back at the entrance as she began the climb up to her dormitory.