Chapter Three
He played with the coin. Staring absently at the stone wall across the room, he slipped the galleon between his fingers, relishing in the cold trail it made across his skin. His other arm was sprawled along the top of the bottle green, leather settee, his one leg folded across the other. If it had been any other time, he would have looked like a king lounging atop his throne; the hair on his head, the colour of sterile sunlight, was more telling than any crown with any number of jewels.
Draco frowned.
"You're always moping," a voice said from above him. Draco threw the coin high in the air, eyes following it, and Blaise Zabini caught it.
He was a tall and slim boy, with dark skin and dark eyes and lips that smiled like he perpetually knew something you didn't and he held the information indefinitely against you. There was something warm about him though when he looked at you, black eyes sparkling, and Draco was more grateful than he let on that it was Blaise and not Crabbe and Goyle that kept him company nowadays.
"I don't mope," Draco drawled in protest.
Blaise scoffed, tossing him back his galleon and pushing his arm aside so he could sit down. Draco grudgingly let him. He noticed a small group of Third Years skirt past them, gaze glued to their toes, casting a twitching glance at the pair of them when a moment of foolish bravado washed through their small bodies then looking away just as quickly. Draco turned to Blaise. The other Slytherin was the only person in Hogwarts, the only person in the entire world, not including his mother, that could look him in the eye. Everybody else preferred to pretend that he didn't exist, that he had died with the rest of the students, or been locked up with the rest of the Death Eaters.
It seemed everybody wanted something and nothing from him. His father had wanted him to take the mark, to follow in his footsteps and purge the Wizarding World of the inferior races. His mother wanted him to be safe. His aunt wanted him to kill. His friends wanted him to be strong and his enemies wanted him to be weak. His teachers wanted him to pull up his socks and get back on track.
Blaise just wanted him to stop moping.
"You do," he said smoothly, "and you did before."
Draco shot him a look, which Blaise caught and disregarded instantly.
"If I wanted to be talked at and insulted, I would have gone to Azkaban with my father," he told him, and he heard the way his voice dropped and the shame crept in but ignored it.
Blaise ignored it too.
"There's still time for that, don't worry," he replied, stretching his arms along the back of the sofa. He'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and Draco's eyes lingered on the exposed, clean skin there, feeling his own forearm burn. "Maybe you'll get the best of both worlds."
Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment and squeezing the cold coin so all of the sharp edges dug into the palm of his hand. If it had been anyone else who'd said that to him, he'd have hexed them so hard it would have propelled him straight into the cell beside his father's. Luckily, it was Blaise, and unluckily, there was a semblance of truth behind his words.
"How is all of that going, anyway?" asked Blaise, in a lower voice. His jaw was clenched and Draco could see the worry lurking in the frown nestling between his friend's eyebrows. "Have there been any new developments?"
"No."
Draco shifted subconsciously, putting both of his feet flat on the floor, and dragging his ankle against the chair leg. He added, almost as an afterthought, "I have the date of my trial."
Blaise shot up in his seat. He stared at him as though he had grown a second head, and Draco mustered up all the strength in his body to meet his gaze dead-on.
"That's a pretty crucial, fucking development, Draco," his friend hissed. "Why didn't you tell me-?"
"Oh, please, Blaise," Draco rolled his eyes. "You're not my mother."
"I might as well be!" fumed Blaise, and he moved closer, eyes wide and persistent. He seemed to realise he was making a scene, however, when a few other students glanced over, and licked his lips, rolling his shoulders back and lowering his voice to a careful murmur. "You're ruining yourself, Draco. You don't eat, you're barely keeping up in class and don't think I haven't noticed you sneaking off every night to Merlin knows where!"
Yes, Draco thought. Merlin, and a certain know-it-all Gryffindor.
It had been a... surprise last night, when Hermione Granger, draped in a sickly crimson blanket, appeared from the shadows and sat down beside him. It had been even more surprising when she had started a civil conversation with him as though they were old friends. He scratched at his neck, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.
There had been something in her wide, innocent eyes when she had asked him if he was okay, something he hadn't thought he would ever see again. He didn't truly believe he deserved the concern that she had shown him, nor the slow trickle of honesty that had dribbled from her lips-
"Draco? Are you even fucking listening to me?"
"No," he replied, getting to his feet and striding away, down the stairs to the boys dormitory, locking himself in his room and making sure he slammed the door hard enough so Blaise could hear it in the Common Room. He wouldn't follow him. He wouldn't stoop to such a low and desperate level. He also wouldn't have a chance of guessing Draco's password.
Draco paced, hands raking through his hair, scraping it back from his face. There was a thin line of sweat tracing his forehead and he rubbed at it, willing it to dry. His heart was racing in his chest and the emerald walls that had always been so comforting to him felt confining and crushing. His dormitory, being right at the very bottom of the dungeons, wasn't quite as dark and wet as one might expect it to be. The stone walls were smooth, and there were two pillars towering at the foot of his four-poster bed, serpent like marble twined round them both. Emerald bedding and chairs matched the sweeping drapes that hung from the ceiling, and Draco only stopped his pacing when a Grindylow swam past his window. Another reason he'd always loved being in Slytherin was the lake. In his room, stretching from ceiling to floor, in place of a wall, was a large piece of glass, framing the floor of the Black Lake and casting his room in a bluish-green glow.
Draco moved closer to it. He couldn't see very far, as the water was murky and descended into greyness, but he could see the way the weeds waved in the current and occasionally, a fish or Kappa or even a Merperson would swim by, taunting him with their freedom.
Damn this school!
His preliminary trial had decreed that, pending sentence, it would be best for him to return to Hogwarts. Whether it was truly for his 'safety,' or for the safety of the rest of the world, Draco doubted he would ever find out. It seemed more likely that in waiting to lock him up in one place for good, they decided it was best for everyone if he was locked up in another for the time being.
The school that had always been his home was now his prison. He felt the walls closing in on him with every step he took, inching closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before they suffocated him completely, squeezed the life from his weak body and spilled the blood that had always been important to him all over the floor.
Draco screwed his eyes shut, and punched the glass, resting his forehead on the place his fist had made warm. His breath escaped him in a shaking rush of air.
This wasn't the life he had chosen. It wasn't the one he deserved, and trust him, he deserved a lot of bad for the shitty things he'd done. But not this.
He hadn't wanted to take the mark. Draco remembered the night it had happened so vividly he could still smell the burning of his flesh. The sight of his body disgusted him. He had always been proud of it, of the wiry muscles that came from training on the Quidditch pitch every day, and the untouched whiteness of his skin. Now, he could barely stand to glance at it in the mirror. His torso had been marked with so many scars and bruises that had yet to heal because he refused to let his mother put balm on them. His right arm had been broken twice during the war and he had gritted his teeth and let it heal the Muggle way because he knew he deserved the pain of it. It still wasn't right, and ached every now and then if he put too much pressure on his elbow. There was a snake-like constriction around his waist, where Nagini had coiled about him in his Sixth Year when the Dark Lord feared he wasn't taking his mission seriously enough. Needless to say, it made him work harder than before on fixing the cabinet and he had it done within the month.
Sometimes, Draco awoke to the same heaviness on his chest, wrapping around his body, squeezing him firmly-
He let out an anguished whimper, banging his head against the glass and clenching his eyes shut tighter. It was like he was staring into a void, and only the darkness heard the way the desperation caught in his throat.
"Not to me."
The darkness, and Hermione Granger. But she noticed everything.
oOo
He didn't know what made him do it, what in Merlin's name had him waking up at an atrociously early hour, and what part of his generally rational brain thought that going for a walk in the middle of the night, knowing full well that Ganger could be walking in the opposite direction, was a better idea than staring at the lake bed like he usually did for hours until he passed out from exhaustion.
Even so, Draco found himself walking along the corridor, the cold stone digging into his feet, his heart feeling traitorously light in the heaviness of his chest. He stopped when he got to the same place he'd been sitting in yesterday, casting a sweeping glance up and the down the hall before he sighed and dropped to the floor.
He didn't know for how long he sat there, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes closed, only that he was almost drifting off when he heard her.
She had somehow rounded the corner in silence, though he heard her soft footsteps nevertheless. Draco pretended he wasn't relieved that she was here. Granger crept closer to him, sitting beside him. There was the same amount of space between them as there had been the night before, but the distance felt less somehow.
"The jasmine tea worked," she told him quietly, shifting the blanket so that her hands had something to do and her eyes had somewhere to look. "I suppose I should thank you for that."
He didn't really acknowledge her presence, nor what she'd said at all for a solid few minutes. Then, Draco said, "Then why are you here?"
Granger frowned. "Excuse me?"
Draco had to hold back a growl, but he couldn't stop the frustrated exhalation of air from leaving his nose. He repeated impatiently, "If it helps you sleep, why aren't you sleeping?"
"The same reason you came back to this exact spot despite it having been compromised."
He knew she was taking a stab in the dark, and though the words didn't find their mark, they were a blow nevertheless. Instead of showing it and giving her the satisfaction, he let out a harsh laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, Granger. You've hardly compromised this place for me."
She huffed in annoyance and he almost laughed for real. Draco leaned his head back against the wall, craning his head so far back it was parallel with the ceiling and closing his eyes. She didn't speak for a while and he expected her to have silently slipped away, but when he heard a rustle of movement and he looked down, Draco found her sitting next to him still. He frowned, though schooled his features into nonchalance quickly after.
"Why this spot in particular?" asked Granger. He nearly didn't hear her, and had to stop himself before he leaned closer just to catch what she was saying. She was so damn quiet, like some sort of startled mouse, and it irked him because he knew she could scream and yell and moan for bloody Morgana herself.
"Speak up, will you Granger," he retorted senselessly. "No one is awake to hear you make a racket."
Draco felt the heat on his neck when she glowered at him, and he hated the small smirk that curled his lips. It was the first bit of warmth he'd felt in years.
"Why-" she began in a much louder voice, though dropped the volume when the word echoed down the corridor, firing back at the pair of them as to why they were sitting there, entertaining one another at all.
Why indeed, Draco questioned drolly.
"-here?" she finished, almost lamely. "Why here?"
He opened his eyes at that point, tilting his chin down and let his gaze peruse the hallway with the same curiosity he felt in the witch beside him. "I don't know," he answered, and the honesty with which he replied surprised them both. "I just started walking and stopped at the first place I didn't remember. Nothing has happened along this corridor. Not to me anyway."
"Nor me," Granger offered quietly.
They sat in silence for a few moments, and the serenity was fractured by the steady, alternating sounds of their collective breathing.
"This castle is haunted for me now."
He didn't know why she had told him that, and he doubted she did either. All he knew was it made his gut coil with the same uncertainty and discomfort he had felt yesterday when she'd told him he wasn't his father's son to her.
"Is that why you eat in the kitchens?" he asked.
Granger looked at him in surprise and Draco scoffed and said, "I don't follow you."
She remained unconvinced, though he hardly had the patience nor energy to appease her.
Luckily, it was Granger who changed the subject. "Where did you learn about the jasmine?"
His eyes dropped to his feet, but the blue light around his ankle made him cringe so he looked away from her, down the corridor. "My mother used to make it for me when I was ill. It was the only housework she ever did."
Granger was quiet again. Their conversations were predominantly silences, interrupted only by tentative questions and moments of bitter honesty that had them both thankful nobody else was listening. She said, "She loves you a lot, doesn't she? Your mother."
Draco shifted and he said, only to avoid saying anything else, "Every mother loves their child, Granger."
She hummed but didn't comment. Draco swallowed, itching to ask something that had been nagging at him since her arrival. He gritted his teeth to try and keep it in but the question escaped him anyway, curiosity trumping whatever morsel of dignity he had left. Realistically, he knew he'd sacrificed that when he climbed out of bed and wandered the slumbering corridors, hoping their paths would cross once more.
"What did you mean by the same reason I was here?"
Granger paused. There was a scuffle between her brain and her tongue and he didn't think he'd ever see her hesitate an answer, but it took her a moment to say, "I thought that much was obvious. It's different with you. I don't feel like I have to hide how terribly not-fine I am."
Draco couldn't stop himself from looking at her, though he knew the eye contact was probably a bad idea. There was something that possessed him to lie to her, to curl his lip like he used to and lie.
"I'm fine," he snarled.
She looked at him with that all-knowing look that used to drive him crazy and he felt his resolve crack and crumble in his gut, wondering furiously why he thought any of this was a good idea.
"Draco," she murmured sadly, and he couldn't stand the pity in her voice.
"Don't fucking look at me like that, Granger. And stop calling me Draco," he hissed. "We're not friends."
A muscle twitched in Granger's jaw. "No," she conceded and he felt a twinge of guilt for the way her voice trembled. "But I thought maybe we could be decent human beings in a world where they seem scarce."
Draco pursed his lips together and stared adamantly ahead. Despite the fact that the air now crackled between them, neither one of them seemed willing to move, though Draco longed to get up and stalk back to his dormitory and never have to face the pressing reality of Hermione Granger. His legs refused to move, however, and he found himself frozen to the spot, incapacitated by the uncertainty she seemed to strike in him. His eyes ventured everywhere but her, and he stopped when he noticed the blue light peeking out from his pyjama bottoms.
"I'm not fine," he said reluctantly, frowning at the band around his ankle. "I'm fucking terrified, Granger."
She looked at him, and her eyes, concerned and brimming with unbridled feeling, scorched his bare skin. He rubbed at his neck and cheek, trying to protect himself. Draco closed his eyes, breath rushing shakily from his lips.
"I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"It's okay to be lost every now and then, Malfoy," whispered Granger, leaning closer so that he had no choice but to look at her. She was insistent and unbearably truthful and it both reassured and killed him. He found he missed the sound of his name on her lips, "just so long as you let yourself be found when the time comes."
Not another word was spoken between them that night, but they both remained there for maybe twenty minutes more, basking in the unusual quietness one brought to the other and wondering how it was only when they were sitting next to one another that their minds would finally cease their chatter. And then they left. Draco left first this time, but he heard Hermione's voice echo in his head until the sunlight touched the bottom of the lake and his room was set alight with yellow.