Coping Mechanisms

2. Draco

"She doesn't remember Neville?" he asked, unsure of his own sudden interest.

"Neither of them did."

"What happened to them?" he questioned, hyperaware of her trembling shoulders and the hesitation in her eyes.

"They were members of the Order. They were captured when he was an infant and tortured extensively by Bell-," Hermione stiffened, cutting her sentence short. "By the Cruciatus curse." She wouldn't meet his eyes, and Draco felt the recognition like a slap in the face.

"Say it," he ordered. "Say her name."

Hermione unwillingly found his gaze, her Gryffindor courage pushing her to speak, even as her lip quivered.

"Bellatrix," she breathed, rubbing her forearm. "They were cursed out of their minds by Bellatrix." Hermione knew firsthand what it was like to be cursed by his aunt, and Draco searched her watery eyes for any hint of hatred. They were too full of sadness to hold anything else, and he wondered if his own reflected the same.

How many other lives had his family destroyed?

"The universe has a twisted sense of karma," he sighed, mostly to himself.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows drawing together. Draco didn't answer, choosing instead to look back at his mother, at her abnormally pale skin, her usually perfect hair mussed around her face. Her breathing was even, and her eyes were closed, but her forehead was creased in a perpetual pained expression. He reached forward to run his thumb between her eyebrows, hoping to smooth the wrinkles there. Draco wondered if she could feel it.

Hermione's arm brushed against his as she took the open seat beside him. He wanted to scream and curse at her to go away, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He blamed the exhaustion, but the warmth her body radiated beside him was slightly intoxicating. He forced himself not to lean into it.

They sat together unspeaking for 10 minutes or so, the silence somehow awkward yet comfortable. Draco couldn't say he was fully grateful for the bushy haired annoyance beside him, but she'd shown him patience, and knowing even someone else was there was oddly comforting. Of course, he would never admit this to her. But he felt himself answering before he even realized he'd opened his mouth.

"My own father did this to her," he reluctantly confessed. He immediately regretted sharing this information, but he was surprised to feel his chest lighten. He felt Hermione shift in her seat, her knees angling towards him, but he refused to look in her direction. He knew she was expecting him to say more, but she mercifully remained quiet, allowing Draco to set the pace of the conversation. He hated himself for telling this to Hermione fucking Granger of all people. He was airing his family's dirty laundry to the golden girl of Gryffindor, and it felt traitorous. But he couldn't seem to stop himself from continuing.

"I'm sure you've heard they've sent him back to Azkaban," he started. "He's been in and out of the Ministry courts for the past few weeks. We all knew it was inevitable, but his mind has been gone for months. He's been fighting for any appeal he could get, and he wanted my mother to testify for him. She refused." Draco tightly gripped his knees, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. "We aren't sure where he got a wand from; they'd confiscated his own. But the Cruciatus was out before anyone could stop it." He saw Hermione's hand reach towards his, but she quickly pulled it back. Draco couldn't decide if he was glad she'd stopped herself or not. "I don't know what the fucking idiot wanted her to say. Nothing could possibly have helped his case."

"You don't have to tell me," Hermione whispered, and he couldn't help but glare at her.

"I know I don't have to fucking tell you!" he choked out, chest heaving. He felt another curse rising from his throat, but then he caught the sorrow in her eyes, and his mouth snapped shut. He hung his head back to look at his feet, the anger exhausting itself from his tone.

"If he thought he had any chance of getting out of Azkaban, it died after what he did to her," Draco soldiered on. "The entire court paid witness to it." Tears stung the backs of his eyes, but he refused to let the honey-eyed witch witness him crying. He blinked them away and slipped his trembling fingers around his mother's exposed hand.

"The healers did what they could. They aren't sure if she'll recover or not." He glanced back to Alice Longbottom. "I guess the Cruciatus took more than one mother here." He dropped his arm and begrudgingly met Hermione's eyes again, as if a magnet continuously pulled him there. A tear slipped from her lashes, the compassion blatant on her face. It made him feel even sicker.

"I'm so sorry, Draco," her words were soft and clear, and Draco's chest squeezed at her use of his given name. He pulled his eyes away from hers and shrugged, the emotionless mask sliding quickly back in place.

"Like I said Granger, I don't need your pity. Besides, you've made your hatred for me and my family extremely clear the past 7 years." She stiffened beside him, and he braced himself for one of her usual witty rebuttals. But it never came.

"I've never hated you," she affirmed, her voice confident. It shocked Draco to hear, and it must have been evident on his face. "True, I've never especially favored you. But I don't think I have it in me to hate anyone. Not anymore." She paused. "And I certainly wouldn't admit holding any hatred for you in front of your mother's hospital bed."

"Ever the valiant Gryffindor," Draco chuckled, knowing how forced his laugh sounded, even to his own ears.

"No," she murmured. "Just Hermione."

She turned away, and silence blanketed them once again, heavier than it had been before. He was sure he'd earned her dismissal, but this round of silence was more strained than the last, like a rubber band pulled too tight. Draco wished she'd say something, and that bothered him. He'd spent the entire night in strenuous silence; why was this any different? He'd never found Granger to be anything more than a know-it-all annoyance, and though her voice wasn't necessarily unpleasant, he'd definitely told her to shut up on a few occasions.

Now he wished she'd just say anything.

"I'm surprised all your Gryffindor pals aren't here 24/7 to keep Longbottom company," he remarked, his voice too loud.

"I'm the only one who knows," she admitted. Draco's eyes shot up.

"What?"

"Besides his gran, I mean. He told me not to tell anyone."

"Why?" Draco demanded. Hermione shrugged.

"I guess he doesn't want people's pity either." Her words were clipped, and Draco quieted, knowing that was a jab at his earlier statement. She still wouldn't look at him, and he fully observed the defeated hunch of her shoulders. She looked as broken as he felt.

"He should let them be here for him," Draco muttered, sagging deeper into his chair.

"You try telling him that," she mumbled, finally turning to face him.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but the doors behind them creaked open, and Hermione jumped. They turned to see Neville himself entering, and she quickly rose to her feet to meet him. The Gryffindor boy shot them both a suspicious look but allowed Granger to embrace him.

"Morning Neville," she said mid-hug, and Draco turned his attention away from their sentimental display.

"Did your gran get back home safe?" he heard her say, the uplifting tone back in her voice.

"Yeah, thanks," Neville replied. "She'll visit again before we go back."

"I'm glad she could come," Hermione said. "I have a few things to do here, but I'll try to swing by again before I leave."

"Thanks, Mione," Neville said. "I'll be here."

Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Longbottom smiled weakly to Hermione as she made to leave. She stopped abruptly at the door though, like she'd forgotten something, and her head snapped quickly in his direction. Their eyes met briefly, her expression somber. She offered him a look of quick condolences, before reluctantly dropping her gaze to her feet and pushing her way through the doors.

Draco felt the room grow immediately colder, but he refused to let himself think about it. His focus turned instead to the boy shuffling past him. He didn't drop his eyes from Neville even as he sat down in front of his own mother, or even when their eyes met. Draco wasn't sure what compelled him to do so, but his shoulders shrugged, and he dipped his head in understanding, and though a wary look crossed Neville's eyes, he slowly nodded back.