Chapter 15
The bracelet had made the rest of Hermione’s holiday with the Weasleys much more bearable. She found herself wearing it constantly, and wondered why she hadn’t thought of something like this herself. But deep down, she knew. Even after finding out about the ASD, some part of her had been denying that she needed any special help or treatment. She’d come this far, so surely she was fine.
She hadn’t realised how very not-fine she had actually been. It was like she’d had a thorn in her side for as long as she could remember, and now it was gone. She hadn’t realised it wasn’t normal to be constantly on the verge of snapping at someone. She’d just thought she had a temper. Apparently, it was more complicated than that.
She slept better. She smiled more. She went the entire rest of the holiday without making some excuse to go hide in the bathroom alone for a while.
She didn’t know how to thank Malfoy for this.
It might have been the best, most considerate gift she’d ever gotten.
She ignored the small, nasty voice in her head trying to convince her he’d done this because he thought she was weak, and couldn’t handle the world as it was. Something about the way he’d given it to her said otherwise. This was Malfoy. Any chance to get in a quip at her, he would.
But he’d been so nervous, hadn’t wanted to stick around to be properly thanked. Malfoy had leapt right out of his comfort zone with this. He’d shown kindness. Genuine thoughtfulness. He’d gone out of his way to do something nice for her.
Looking back over the past few months, maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised. He was always doing little things for her – pulling her chair out, refilling her glass of water, casting a warming charm when he noticed the shivering that she didn’t. She’d assumed it was his high-class way of being polite, given she was a girl. But this. This was more than simple politeness.
Could it be? Could he genuinely care about her?
She sorted through the facts in her mind. The way he’d called her special. The way he’d looked at her – held her – at that party. The way he’d sat so close to her in the planetarium.
The last thing Hermione wanted was to be presumptuous. To make a complete fool of herself in her arrogance. But the data was laid out in front of her, and she was having trouble coming to any more meaningful conclusions.
After hours of tossing and turning in her bed one night, she decided to just let go, to revel in the privacy she wouldn’t have in a week’s time and picture it.
She imagined Malfoy brushing a curl out of her face, smiling at her. Eating breakfast at the same table. His arms around her as she drifted off to sleep. His lips on her neck. His voice in her ear, whispering how much he cared about her.
It felt like falling. Like a snowflake drifting down, down down before letting go entirely and melting into the earth. It felt right.
Waking up the next morning had been mortifying. A blush staining her cheeks whenever the thoughts she’d fallen asleep to crossed her mind. She felt like she’d crossed a line. Just like how she’d crossed a line admitting it out loud. How long until this mess all came tumbling out of her?
She blanched as she remembered that it didn’t have to come tumbling out of her at all for Malfoy to find out. All it had to do was be there. And by Merlin was it there now. What on earth was she going to do?
These were her thoughts as she rested her forehead against the cool glass of the Hogwarts Express window, Ginny sitting across from her.
“Hermione?” she asked.
“Hmm?”
“Has something happened?”
Oh no oh no oh no. Was it that obvious? If she couldn’t even keep it from Ginny, how on earth was she going to keep it from Malfoy.
“It’s just that you seem happier lately. You’re not snapping at people every time they make noise so much.”
“Oh… yeah, that. I am actually. Happier. I guess.” At least in some ways, she thought as she gripped at her bracelet.
“What changed?”
There was no one else in the compartment. And this was Ginny, one of her best friends. Honestly, it shouldn’t have taken so long to tell her.
“Well, turns out I hav- I’m autistic. I only figured it out this year, and it’s been really changing the way I see things.” Mostly herself. And all the times people called her pedantic, insensitive, disagreeable.
“Autistic? I’ve never heard of it.”
She’d expected that. There really wasn’t much information on it in the wizarding world. Although, looking at her peers, there’s no way it was a purely muggle disorder. Now that she knew more about the subtleties, she had her suspicions about Luna, Ernie MacMillan, even Arthur Weasley. Maybe this was why she’d put off telling anyone. How was she supposed to explain it? I have a neurological disorder that makes me extremely sensitive to sound and bright lights. I have no natural understanding of social cues and subtext. I have violent meltdowns and sometimes can’t speak. It was embarrassing to lay it all out like that.
But it was Ginny. And she trusted her, so she did it, explaining the bracelet as well – which she claimed to have charmed herself.
Her response wasn’t what Hermione had expected.
“Well, there’s no need to worry. No one can tell. No one would think you’re disabled or anything,” Ginny said with a warm smile.
Something twisted in her gut, and sank right to the bottom of it. Just like with her parents, Ginny didn’t understand. She didn’t realise how important this was. She thought Hermione was bearing all the worst parts of herself. She thought she needed reassurance that no one would notice, or care. But these weren’t the worst parts of her. They were just the parts of her. And she’d spent so long bending herself over backwards trying to make sure no one would notice, or care. She couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t want to. What she wanted was for someone to see her – really see her, all of her – and accept her anyway.
Suddenly, she ached for Malfoy. It was embarrassing how strong the clenching in her chest was as she remembered how he had noticed. He had very much noticed and very much cared. And – she thought as she fiddled with the knob on her bracelet – he had very much accepted her anyway.
But she didn’t know how to get any of this across to Ginny. She didn’t know how to look someone so convinced of their kindness in the eye and tell them they’d hurt her. So she chocked out a small, “Thanks,” gaze fixed somewhere around Ginny’s ankles, and that was that.
The rest of the train ride passed uneventfully – Hermione’s hurt simmering away somewhere in her abdomen. Although she was loathe to admit it, she was thankful she had an excuse to part from Ginny once they reached the entrance hall. She just couldn’t shake off the sting of her response. The carefully schooled pleasant expression she’d worn on her face fell away as Ginny’s shock of red hair vanished down the stairs to the dungeons.
Exhausted, she trudged up the stairs behind some other Ravenclaws.
“Psst! Granger,” she heard from an alcove a few feet behind her. Turning brought her face to face with Malfoy.
She couldn’t help it. Her shoulders relaxed at the sight of him. Her bag felt lighter. Her hand twitched as if to reach out for him, but she balled it into a loose fist instead, hoping he wouldn’t notice. That ache in her chest apparently hadn’t gone away. She wanted so badly to be close to him, to have him want to be close to her. Even – to her shame – to hear that prim, upper-class accent say something biting about Weasley ineptitude.
“What?” she said, barely having the energy to sound irritated. Having not seen him in so long, it was all she could do not to stare at the stretch of crisp white fabric across his chest, his impossibly shiny hair, his fucking eyes.
Eyes that always somehow saw right through her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, gaze glued to her face.
“Is that why you stopped me? To shove your nose in my business?”
“Merlin, Granger, I’m not Theo. Have you considered I might-” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath and glaring at the ceiling for a second. “I just wanted to know if we’re doing an extraction today. It is Saturday.”
Oh no. How had she forgotten?
“I- I think I’m actually feeling a bit poorly. Headache.” The lie sounded weak even to her own ears. After hours of pretending to be fine on the train, she was struggling to keep it up. Especially in front of Malfoy, who she suspected would call her on her bullshit right away.
She was right.
“No you don’t. What’s really wrong with you? Oh, never mind, you have been locked up with a hoard of weasels for the entire holidays.”
There it was. Right on cue. She couldn’t help but smile at Malfoy’s predictability.
“Did that…” he gestured to her bracelet, "help, at least?”
As soon as the words left his mouth he seemed to draw in on himself somehow, looking anywhere but her.
“It did, actually. It really did. I… I don’t know how to tha-”
“Hermione!” She was cut off as Daphne almost bowled her over in a hug. She jumped from the shock of it, instinctively shrinking away. Malfoy’s face froze over.
Daphne pulled away to hold her at arm’s length. “You look like shit.”
Hermione scoffed. It was a very Daphne greeting. Sadly, she couldn’t return it. Daphne was glowing, smiling wider than she’d ever seen her.
Daphne jumped as she noticed Malfoy, half hidden in his alcove.
“Oh, Draco! Good to see you. Have you heard the news?”
He nodded, face softening instantly. “I’m glad.”
“What news?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.
“Astoria’s going to be fine! Some absolute saint of a witch managed to develop a whole new treatment that targets the actual curse instead of the blood. Astoria’s part of the trial, and it’s going fantastic! She’s in full remission now.”
Daphne’s good mood was contagious, managing to sweep away some of the dregs of her encounter with Ginny as Daphne pulled her along towards Ravenclaw tower, leaving Malfoy behind. Well, that was that, then. No extraction tonight. Her shoulders sagged in relief.
Daphne dragged her all the way to their dormitory, happily going on about the mechanism of blood curses and the new treatment, which Hermione ended up genuinely fascinated by.
“Anyway,” she said, taking a deep breath as she crawled onto Hermione’s bed, crossing her legs, “what’s wrong?”
Oh no. She should have known this was coming.
“Nothing. I’m so happy for you, Daph!”
“Yeah yeah I know. But what had you looking all miserable talking to blondie just now?”
“I wasn’t. It was nothing to do with him.”
“Get your story straight, Granger. Were you not miserable or was your misery nothing to do with him?”
Hermione huffed, wishing these damn ex-Slytherins would mind their own business for once. But what chance did she really have at hiding anything from Daphne?
Sighing, she admitted defeat and said, “It’s Ginny.”
“Ginny?”
“Yeah, well… I mean she didn’t really do anything wrong…”
“Well, it clearly upset you anyway. Spill.”
Hermione rewarded this lack of tact with a glare. Did she want to tell Daphne? It had been a bit of a disaster with Ginny, who she’d known much longer and trusted much more. But, thinking back to every time she’d needed to spill her guts to someone this past year, she’d always been able to rely on Daphne.
Hermione sighed, resigning herself to her fate. It wasn’t like Daphne didn’t already know much, much worse about her. So she explained it, the same as she had to Ginny. Much like Ginny, Daphne had never heard of it before. But very unlike Ginny, Daphne responded with-
“That makes so much sense. I always thought there was something wrong with you. At the time I put it down to you being a muggleborn, though.”
Hermione huffed, “Wrong with me?” Although she knew that by the way she’d explained it, it wouldn’t sound like a particularly nice thing.
“Well, you said it was a disorder, right? Is there a cure?”
Hermione’s heart sank right back to where Ginny had put it this morning. But this time, something else accompanied it. Something hot and bubbling, pushing and shoving the next words out of her mouth.
“There’s no cure. Same way there’s no cure for red hair or being gay. It’s just who I am. And I’ve tried to-”
The words got stuck in her throat, fists clenching and vision narrowing to nothing but Daphne’s knee.
I’ve tried to fix it.
“-and I can’t-”
Can’t do it anymore. It can’t be fixed.
“-there’s no-”
There’s no fighting it.
“-I just-”
I just need people to understand. Why does no one understand? I can’t keep doing this I can’t I can’t I can’t I-
“Hermione?”
She hadn’t realised her head was in her hands, breaths coming ragged and vision blurry. Daphne grabbed her by the shoulders and it burned. Daphne, noticing her shrink away, let go quickly.
Hermione blinked furiously, clenching the muscles in her legs, her arms, her stomach, trying to keep everything in. She wasn’t too far gone yet. She could get away.
And go where?
And that was the last straw. Hermione clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, and fell forward as the wave crashed over her. She squeezed her head between her elbows as she sobbed, mortified and terrified and so disgustingly out of control.
I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t played like a mantra in her head. She felt Daphne’s hands on her and wanted them off – but couldn’t move. She could only sob. And wait. And try desperately to breathe. And wait.
She didn’t know how long it took. She’d mustered the sense at some point to turn her bracelet to its highest setting, putting her hands over her ears for good measure. So she was startled when she lifted her head to find Sue and Padma hovering awkwardly near the bed, what seemed to be a green stuffed dragon in Sue’s arms.
She wanted to die. She wanted to sink into the depths of the earth and never show her face on the surface again. She settled for covering it with a pillow.
Someone tapped her. She flinched. The tapping continued. Then she remembered her bracelet and – as if her limbs were made of lead – moved to turn the sound back on.
“-n you hear me?”
She made a small noise in the back of her throat. Apparently too small.
“Can you hear me?”
“Do we need to get Madame Pomphrey?” That was Sue.
Hermione shook her head, haven given up on speech. Thankfully, the girls seemed to take this as an answer, because Hermione couldn’t hold on much longer. She was fading. She was already in bed, all she had to do was let go…
***
Hermione woke with the sun to a dusty pink sky and an ache in her bones. She tried desperately to cling to the sleep which had just forsaken her, to bury her brain into oblivion again. But no, her rest was over. The day was upon her whether she liked it or not.
As she tentatively stretched out her muscles she found that everything hurt. Her head, her hands, her shoulders. She felt stiff all over. But at least she was warm. The other girls must have put her duvet over her last night.
Opening her eyes, she came face to face with that dragon, blue eyes staring cheerfully back at her. The strangeness of it was enough to jolt Hermione awake. There was a note on the pillow written in Sue’s messy scrawl.
This is Charles. I’ve had him since first year. He helps me feel less alone sometimes. I thought maybe he could help you too. Daphne wouldn’t explain anything but you know you can always talk to Pads and me, right? And if it helps, she seems like she feels terrible about upsetting you.
Love,
Sue
Hermione immediately teared up. She was a complete mess. Everything about her felt fragile, like she’d collected so many hairline cracks she could shatter at the slightest touch.
She’d never really had female friends before. Ginny was the exception, but she had been surrounded by brothers. She was the type to shake you by your shoulders and remind you of your own strength, not to tuck you in with a stuffed animal and reassuring words. This new softness in her life was confusing. She felt fascinated by it. Confused and out of step and inadequate, yes, but still safe.
With her old friends, she’d always been the capable one, the logical one. She’d never be overtaken by her feelings like this. Not publicly. Harry and Ron had seemed to regularly forget that she even had emotions. She hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted this gentleness. How much she’d wanted to be taken care of.
It reminded her of holidays at home. When her dad would bring her tea in the mornings and she would spend hours just reading in bed. When her mum would ask her what she wanted for dinner, and refuse to let her help with the washing up for a least a week.
The tears were really in danger of falling now. But she blinked them back. The other girls were waking up, if the crash and then muffled swear by Sue’s bed was anything to go by.
Hermione felt rubbed raw, wrung out, completely done. But the day was only just beginning. She’d have to pull herself together. Not yet, though. Then sun was barely even up, she could hide for a few more minutes at least.
She pulled the covers over her head and clutched Sue’s dragon to her chest. She took deep breaths, willing her sadness back into herself. Now wasn’t the time. She’d have to go down to breakfast soon.
The midnight blue of her duvet sky became suddenly lighter and she registered that her hangings had been pulled back.
“Hermione?” came a concerned whisper. Daphne.
“If she’s asleep, we probably shouldn’t wake her,” said Padma.
“She’s not, I heard her shifting around.” Sue.
Oh no. Hermione did not want to deal with people in this state. As nice as they’d been to her, that would only last so long. She didn’t trust herself to say to right things, to make the right expressions of gratitude. Inevitably she’d slip up and they’d decide she was insensitive and stuck-up and weird and not worth their time.
Daphne’s first thought, when she’d told her, was of trying to fix Hermione. Right now, she wished something could fix her. It must be so nice to be normal. So easy.
“Hermione, we know you’re awake,” Daphne said softly, tugging at the covers. Hermione pulled them tighter around her.
“C’mon, Daphne’s really sorry. Please come out. We just wanna help,” said Sue.
“Yeah, I really am. But I’m not gonna know what I did wrong unless you tell me.”
Hermione heard a thump and then a disgruntled, “Ouch!” from Daphne. But the words awoke something in her. Daphne didn’t even know what she’d done wrong. God only knew how many times Hermione had been in that same position, just wishing people would be clear with her. It was that thought that got her pulling the covers off and sitting up.
“I’m sorry, Daph,” she croaked out, “I kinda lost it.”
“Was that a meltdown?” she asked.
Another thump from Sue.
“It’s fine Sue. And yeah… yeah. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologise for having emotions, Hermione,” Padma said. “Everyone has them.”
“But you said those were sensory things? I’m confused,” Daphne continued, clearly more interested in puzzling out the situation than reassuring her. Oddly enough, it was probably the most reassuring thing she could have done. She was steering Hermione into the realm of logic now, somewhere she would always have a solid footing. And it meant Daphne wanted to understand. That’s what Hermione wanted too. She didn’t want to feel the gaping separateness between her and Daphne that she felt at the moment with Ginny. She didn’t want to feel that with anyone, to be honest. She felt like too much of an alien already.
“They’re not always sensory. Strong emotions can do it.”
“Strong emotions can do what?” Sue asked, curiosity taking over the tact she’d been trying to enforce.
Hermione took a deep breath, keeping her eyes on her duvet. “I’m autistic. I have meltdowns sometimes. It’s like a neurological th-”
“Oh! My cousin’s autistic,” Padma said. All eyes jerked to her. She titled her head, thinking, before she said, “I can see it. You hide it well, though. Raj calls it masking. He complains all the time about how much of it he has to do at work. He says it’s exhausting.”
Masking. There was a word for it? Hermione was overcome by a wave of relief. Padma understood?
“Sorry I didn’t recognise the meltdown… Raj’s don’t usually last as long. And he gets a bit violent.”
“Yeah… I do too, sometimes. But when I’m around people I really try to… keep it in.”
Padma frowned. “That can’t be healthy. Maybe that’s why it lasted so long. Are you feeling alright? Don’t take this the wrong way but you don’t look too good.”
Hermione managed a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Do you want some coffee? Pads and I can go get some. And some food, so you can lie in a bit longer,” Sue said.
To her mortification, Hermione teared up again. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
Sue leapt to action immediately, donning her uniform in record time and pulling an already dressed Padma out the door.
Daphne hovered in awkward silence for a few moments before sitting on her bed.
“So, what did I do wrong? I really am sorry, and if I’ve fucked up I don’t wanna do it again.”
Hermione sniffled, and tried to wipe her nose surreptitiously on her sleave. Daphne conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her. Suddenly, Hermione recalled a similar handkerchief given to her by a similarly nosy and tactless ex-Slytherin. She couldn’t help but laugh. It came out a bit hysterical.
“What is it with you purebloods and handkerchiefs?”
“What do you m- oh. Has Draco given you one already as a token of his favour?”
She laughed again. Her nerves were completely shot, and were going to come out one way or another.
"Not exactly."
Silence stretched between them again as Hermione wiped her nose. She didn’t know where to start.
“You said they’re caused by strong emotions, right?”
Hermione nodded.
“What was it? Were you mad at me?”
Hermione thought for a moment. She struggled to verbalise her feelings at the best of times. “I don’t know If I was mad. Maybe I was. But I think mostly I was frustrated. I told Ginny and she just… really didn’t understand. And I just felt so alone and I don’t know why I thought it would be different with you… Obviously you’re normal and I just… I didn’t kno- I still don’t know how to explain…”
How to explain the wrongness she felt under her skin. The glass separating her from everyone else that only she seemed to see through. The pressing loneliness. The shame.
“You’re frustrated that I didn’t understand?”
Before Hermione could answer, Sue and Padma returned laden with toast, muffins, pumpkin juice and coffee.
Hermione thanked them, trying to imbue her tone with as much appreciation as possible. They both waved her off, arranging the food on top of a spare bedside table.
“I guess it’s kind of that. You immediately jumped to trying to fix me, and it’s like… that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to do for so long and I can’t and-”
“You jumped to what?” Padma turned her gaze to Daphne, daggers in her eyes. “You know that’s eugenics, right? I mean, not that your lot wouldn’t-” Padma took a deep breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that a lot of people have tried to fix things like that in the past. That’s how we got lobotomies. And conversion therapy. You can’t fix who people are.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that she said it was a disorder and I assumed it was like anxiety or something…”
Padma sighed. “It really isn’t. It can’t be cured, you just need to adjust your environment to work for you.”
“So it’s a bit like being gay, you can’t help it?” Daphne asked.
There was an alarming clacking sound as Sue nearly dropped a glass of pumpkin juice.
“Yes,” said Padma, chin up, “it’s along those lines.”
“Oh… Merlin. Sorry, Hermione. I didn’t know it was like that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, beyond grateful for Padma. She didn’t think she would have been able to word any of that properly in this state.
They spent the next few minutes eating and talking. Padma wanted to know why she was only just telling them now. She didn’t know how convincing her half-truth about ‘fooling around with memory magic’ and remembering a childhood diagnosis was but no one pressed her. Padma even encouraged her to write to her cousin, giving her his name and address. Hermione said she’d think about it. Part of her was terrified of reaching out to someone she didn’t even know with something so personal, but she couldn’t deny there was a part of her that wanted desperately to understand herself that might just win over.
The support from the morning went a long way towards getting her through the day despite her post-meltdown exhaustion. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders now that her roommates knew and were trying to understand.
Still, she was shaking as she reached the seventh-floor corridor where Malfoy was waiting the next evening.
“You look better,” was his greeting. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
“I feel better. Just tired.”
“So something was up yesterday,” he said, pulling open the door for her as always.
Hermione sighed as she walked in and dumped her books on their desk. “Do we have to talk about it?”
“I’d rather we did. I’m going to be in your brain tomorrow, there’s no point hiding anything.”
Panic hit her like a bullet. She felt too hot all of a sudden, and her stomach churned.
Malfoy paled at her expression, quickly beelining to the desk. “Fuck I… I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while, but it won’t be as bad as the first time. I… kinda thought you’d stopped hating those…”
He’d thought very wrong. Hermione’s tongue itched to point out every flaw in what he’d just said, but the rest of her was too focused on getting air into her lungs and staying upright.
“I just…” Malfoy huffed, running a hand through his hair. It still startled her whenever he did anything so messy and human. She knew how much effort he put in to seeming untouchable – a colder, sharper imitation of life.
“I just wish we could talk about things. Like friends. We are friends, right?” He slumped into his chair then, looking up at her, so disarmingly vulnerable.
“Of course.” It came out of her mouth before she could stop it, just an automatic knee-jerk response. She knew after she’d said it, though, that it was true. As strange as the situation was, he’d been there for her this whole year. He’d been her sarcastic, disgruntled rock – her support – in ways that no one else had. Of course she would offer her friendship. She’d already offered her nights, her soul, her dignity to him. Friendship was just another drop in the bucket.
The tension fell from his brow as he leaned back, sighing. “Good. So, friends talk to each other, right?”
She scoffed. “Are you sure you’re a guy? Harry and Ron have never been this eager to talk about feelings.”
“Please don’t compare me to Weaselby,” Malfoy said, looking like the name left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’ve seen his behaviour towards you and I don’t wish to emulate it.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Yule Ball. Consorting with the enemy? Really? And the things he said about you in first year…”
“Ron is one of my best friends. Everyone hated me in first year. Do you remember what you used to say to me back then?”
He looked properly chagrined at this.
“I’m sorry,”
“I know.” It wasn’t the response she was supposed to use. She knew that ‘I’m sorry’ required ‘it’s okay’ as a reply. And maybe at this point it was ok. Maybe she knew him well enough now to forgive him. But she didn’t want to risk forgiving him, not out loud. She didn’t know what floodgates it would open. She did take some pity on him though.
“I told Ginny about the ASD. She reacted badly.”
“How badly?”
“Not… badly badly. She just really didn’t get it. And I guess it made me feel really alone.”
There was silence for a beat. “You know you’re not, right?”
A quiet smile floated up to her face, and she finally let herself sink into the chair next to Malfoy’s. Because she did know that. Especially after this morning. Especially since Malfoy had called them ‘friends’.
She wanted to keep this. She wanted to bottle this warm feeling of peace and comfort, just to hold close to her chest whenever she felt that crushing sense of being ‘other’. As she spread her books over the desk she shared with Malfoy she thought that even if she couldn’t bottle anything, she’d have this. Tomorrow and the next day and the next. And that would have to be enough.