Hermione
"He's looking at you again, Hermione." Ambrosia, who's sitting beside me at the Gryffindor breakfast table, says. I look over at Draco and, sure enough, he is looking at me with the ghost of a sneer on his face.
I haven't talked to either Ron or Draco since our first day back, which was two days ago. Ron and I are still upset with each other, to the point where he doesn't sit with Harry and me anymore. But Draco is a different story.
Honestly, he didn't do anything to make me avoid him, unless you count previous offenses. I'm avoiding him of my own accord, despite the fact that the only reason Ron and I are cross is because I was defending Draco. But that's just it: I've spent years hating him for everything he's done to me. Somehow, all of that was just erased from my mind in one day. How am I to know that he couldn't just snap into his old self again? I'm protecting myself by putting this distance between us.
"I know. There's nothing we can do about it." I reply, shrugging. Draco notices that we're looking and moves his gaze elsewhere.
"Sure there is," Ambrosia smirks, "We could always-"
"Nothing violent." I add, and we laugh. Ambrosia despises Draco; or, as she puts it, has "an all-consuming hatred that outshines the stars."
But, no matter how hard I try, I can't shake off a guilty feeling. Just because I'm hanging around Ambrosia doesn't mean I hate Draco. I don't. Not anymore. However, I think that's how he takes it.
McGonagall instructs us to go to class and everyone rises from their seats. My eyes drift to Draco, who was sitting alone at the end of the table, as he stands up. A sheer look of pain crosses his face, and he grips his arm. I feel a pang in my chest.
Is he alright? I have to fight the urge to ask him, to say anything to him, as I pass him through the crowd.
Unexpectedly, someone grasps my arm. I gasp and look to see who it is: McGonagall. She leads me with her, and I haven't the slightest idea of where we're going until we reach a giant griffin statue. She mutters something, and it reveals a giant spiral staircase.
"Professor, if I may ask, what is this about?" I've barely been in trouble before, and I didn't do anything to deserve it this time.
"Miss Granger, you're not in trouble," She assures me, as if reading my mind, "I only wish to discuss something with you. Have a seat." I sit in the chair in front of her desk as she sits in the opposite one. Before she says anything, she looks me over.
"What happened?" She asks.
"Pardon?" I don't know what she's talking about. Nothing has happened recently that would involve her interference.
"With Mr. Malfoy," She adds, clarifying the situation. I don't answer her, and I purse my lips, looking down at my knees. "I talked to him yesterday, and he said you were avoiding him, like- ah, what was it?- a fungus."
I'm taken aback, and I say, "It's just... I... I don't know if it's possible to forgive him so quickly. I'm just trying to keep myself from getting hurt." My eyes refuse to meet hers.
"I fully understand what you mean, but this is not the same boy you've known all of these years. He's a new person."
"Well, he still hasn't informed me of his 'situation,'" I reply, "and perhaps, if he did, I could believe that."
"Is what you've experienced not proof enough?" Once again, I don't answer her question. "I suppose I'm just saying that Mr. Malfoy is in dire need of a friend, and you could be just that."
I simply nod my head, but then, almost involuntarily, I ask, "With all due respect, Professor, why do you care so much about him and me?"
"Just... taking care of my students." She answers, and she looks down at the papers on her desk and begins writing. I take that as my cue to leave, and I do, making my way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
My watch says I'm ten minutes late to class, but I don't fret about it. Surely Aberforth will excuse me, especially since my project is already done five days early. As I enter the classroom, everyone's eyes fall on me. Aberforth looks expectant.
"My apologies, Professor, but the headmistress needed to see me in her office." I tell him, twiddling my thumbs.
"Alright. Have a seat, then." He says, and I sit beside Ambrosia, just as I did yesterday. There is an empty table in the front of the room where Draco is supposed to sit. I think of the look of pain on his face when he stood up.
"So, what're we supposed to do now?" Ambrosia asks, looking over our essay. Both of us have our Patronus mastered.
"Nothing, I assume," I respond, "You can ask him if you want." She gets out of her seat and heads to the teacher's desk. In the meantime, I levitate the parchment our essay is written on for no reason. It flies up to the ceiling at my command, and floats back down onto our table when Ambrosia returns.
"He said we could just practice some spells," She tells me, and she gets her wand out of her book bag. "Where are you even supposed to start?"
"Here," I say, pointing my wand at her, "Rictusempra!"
She has an alarmed look before she doubles over with laughter, her blond hair hiding her face. Rictusempra gives the victim a tickling sensation. The spell stays active for five more seconds before I end it. We're both laughing. For ten minutes, we cast spells like that on each other. By the time we stop, both of our faces are red with laughter, and our eyes are even watering.
"I'll be back," I tell her, getting up, "I'm going to the lavatory." I traipse up to Aberforth's desk and ask him if I can go, and he just nods. I walk towards the door, dodging multiple Patronuses on my way out.
No one is in the corridor, besides the portraits that greet me as I walk past them. It is the middle of class, anyway. I take my time as I stroll through the corridor and down the stairs. When I reach the lavatory, I peek inside to make sure it isn't the one Moaning Myrtle inhabits. It isn't, so I step inside.
* * *
Draco
"Keep it wrapped up for a couple of days, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey instructs, "and if it starts acting up again, just come back." She flashes a friendly smile and I nod, leaving the Hospital Wing.
This morning when I woke up, my arm was still in excruciating pain. I made it through breakfast, but before I went to class, I had to go to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey seemed alarmed when she saw it, for it did look rather nasty, given the fact that it hadn't been treated properly. She wrapped it up in a heavy-duty bandage after covering it in some magical ointment. It does feel better, but the sting is not entirely gone.
Madam Pomfrey didn't give me a pass to class, but surely Aberforth will understand. I walk through the corridor, looking down at my shoes, until I bump into someone.
"Watch where-" I begin, but I stop as I realize who it is. It's Hermione.
Her hair is in a braid that cascades down her back, and her big brown eyes look at me with alarm. Obviously, she didn't wish to run into me. Now is the perfect chance to ask her what's going on.
"Sorry," She mumbles, and then she tries to run off, but I grab her hand. To my surprise, she doesn't attempt to pull away.
"Hermione, what's going on?" I ask. Her eyes are locked on my injured arm.
"What happened?" She inquires, and her hand unexpectedly strokes the bandage.
"I'll answer your question once you answer mine," I reply, "What did I do to you?" Realizing her hand is still in mine, I let it go. She looks at her feet.
"Nothing," She mutters. How could nothing cause all of this?
"Then why, Hermione?" I implore, "Why are you avoiding me?" My voice instinctively rises, yet she still doesn't look at me. I place my hand under her chin and tilt her head up so we are looking directly at each other. To my surprise, her eyes are filled with tears.
"Draco, I don't want to talk about-" She begins, but I interrupt her.
"Don't I deserve to know, Hermione? Please, just tell me, and you'll never have to talk to me again." My voice is pleading, and it cracks on the last word. I don't think I could bare never talking to her again. She's my only friend here, even though she's not much of one at the moment.
She stays silent for a moment, looking me in the eyes, before she whispers, "I don't want to get hurt."
These words hit me like a slap in the face. Why would she think I would hurt her? All I have done since we've returned is be kind to her. I even offered friendship. Needless to say, this hurts me.
"Hermione, I... I would never hurt you. I thought you knew..." I respond, but my voice fades out by itself. Surely I, Draco Malfoy, am not about to cry. As she looks at me, I wonder how long it will take to convince her that I'm not my old self anymore, that I'm sorry.
I decide to tell her everything that happened to me; why I'm alone, and why I'm hated, even by the Slytherins.
"I have something I need to tell you," I announce, but she shakes her head, her eyes glistening.
"I don't want to hear it, Draco, okay?" She argues, and her voice is small and vulnerable. She turns around and walks off, and it takes every ounce of my remaining strength not to go after her.
Every time I blink, I see her face, as if it's imprinted on the back of my eyelids: her chocolate-colored eyes filled with tears, her pursed lips and blushing cheeks. My heart aches. I watch her walk away, and it feels like she takes a piece of my heart with her.
Finally forcing myself to look away, I check on my arm: the bandage is soaked with blood from where she ran into it. Sighing, I head back to the Hospital Wing. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey will let me be excused from my daily classes.
"Back so soon, Mr. Malfoy?" She asks as I enter, and I simply nod my head.
"Someone ran into me." I respond, and she leads me to a chair in the corner.
As cliche as it may sound, I'm tempted to ask if she has a remedy for a broken heart, because that's what I have. As bad as I hate to admit it, Hermione Granger has broken my heart. She doesn't trust me, and that was all that I was trying to do. I wanted to show her the person I have changed into, but she can't seem to get over the person I once was.
"Some wounds never heal," Madam Pomfrey says, searching in her office for something. She says something else, but I don't answer her, because I'm lost in thought.
Maybe that's the way it is with Hermione. Maybe everything I did to her has left an impression that cannot be forgotten. Maybe she can't forgive me.
I don't want to get hurt.
Her voice echoes in my mind, fragile, just as it was when she said it. Guilt closes in on me, creating what feels like a pit in my stomach. I've spent years building a "bad boy" reputation; I didn't realize how hard it would be to destroy it.
"Are you alright, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey asks, snapping me out of my train of thought.
"It hurts," I say, and I mean two different things: my arm, and my Hermione ordeal. But she doesn't know about the latter. "Madam Pomfrey, could this by any chance hinder me from attending my classes today?" I inquire.
"Is it that severe?"
"Yes," I sigh, "I'm afraid so."
"Well, in that case, go rest for a while. In the meantime, I'll notify your teachers." She instructs, hurrying out of the room. I take the bed in the front of the room and relax on it, resting my head on the pillow.
As I lay there, I wonder if there is a potion to clear your mind, because I could certainly use it. Thoughts flood my mind like an ever-flowing river. My head aches, and I wish I could fall asleep, but I know I can't. Not until I accept it.
The realization has slowly creeped in, and I cannot deny it any longer: I am in love with Hermione Granger.