Coping Mechanisms

24. Draco

Draco watched Hermione's expression immediately fall, the color draining from her speckled cheeks.

"K-King..." she stuttered, eyes focused somewhere behind Neville. Draco placed a hesitant hand at the small of her back.

"Granger," he breathed, unsure of himself.

"I ha-have to go," she whispered, taking a step out of his reach. The loss of contact seemed to jolt her back to reality, and Draco hadn't even dropped his arm before she spun to face him. Her eyes were glossy and wide, pools of brown just waiting to spill over.

"Don't leave," Hermione nearly pleaded, lip quivering. Draco swallowed, realizing he'd follow her anywhere, if she kept staring at him like that.

"I'm right here," he assured, falling into step beside her. Neville shot him a sorrowed glance, and Draco felt his heart lurch.

This wasn't going to end well.

Hermione didn't speak another word on the trek to the Headmistress' office. Both boys mimicked her silence, the only sound the bustling of students around them, and then the grating stone of the gargoyle guarded stairs. She dropped her books outside of her dorm room door as they waited for the stone steps, the most uncaring thing Hermione Granger had ever done with her belongings. Draco let his own bag fall from his shoulder.

Back at the stairs, Neville took the lead. In an unconsciously protective gesture, Draco automatically stepped back, sandwiching Granger between them on the stairwell. Their heels echoed against the concrete below, ricocheting off the stone alcove until they finally made it to the top. The doors to McGonagall's office were shut, and Draco heard Hermione's unmistakable intake of breath as Neville pushed one inward, the old door eerily silent on its hinges.

Sure enough, the Headmistress wasn't alone.

Her companion was a towering, black wizard, whom Draco could have easily mistaken for a Muggle. The man named Kingsley was bald and broad shouldered, a single gold hoop gracing one of his ear lobes. His teeth were unnaturally white as he smiled, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. McGonagall's face was as impassive as ever, her eyes unreadable, though Draco swore he detected a slight crack in her façade. The older witch had a soft spot for Hermione, and Draco braced himself for the inevitable bad news.

"Mr. Longbottom," McGonagall spoke, tone unwavering. "Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for accompanying Miss Granger. If we could just have a minute; we have some personal matters to discuss."

"Mr. Malfoy is my father," Draco spoke, inching himself closer to Hermione. "And unless Miss Granger tells me to leave, I think I'll stay." He met the Headmistress' stare head on, daring her to challenge him. Neville awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, but similarly stood his ground.

Granger was statue still between them.

"I must insist," McGonagall stated coldly, her eyes sharp.

Draco's mouth opened to protest, but a warm, gravelly voice filled the room in evocative familiarity.

"Let the boys stay, Minerva," Dumbledore pronounced, unaggressive in his tone. His presence hadn't registered to Draco before, but he was now fully aware of the wizard filling the painting behind McGonagall's desk. The old Headmaster looked the same as he always had, if not a little less vibrant in the ornate frame he occupied. His eyes were as kind as ever, and a small smile crinkled the edges of his bearded cheeks. A deep sorrow wedged itself behind Draco's ribs, inflating his chest until his breathing was shallow. He wanted to voice every regret, lay bare every mistake he wished he could take back.

But this wasn't about him.

"Very well," McGonagall sighed, regaining Draco's focus. The Headmistress fluttered a hand in their direction, and Kingsley cleared his throat, the timbre rumbling through the room.