When a Tornado Meets a Volcano
Chapter 6: High Tide, Low Tide
Draco and Blaise made their way swiftly to the dungeons. Draco cast all thoughts of Hermione out of his mind and focused on the task at hand; he knew that when Snape needed to see him suddenly like this, it meant that it had something to do with his father - and that always meant trouble.
As they made their way into the dungeons, Blaise stopped and turned to Draco, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and preventing him from walking any further.
“No matter what goes down here Drake,” Blaise said, his eyes holding none of their usually gaiety. “No matter what, I know that you will make the right choice.” It was a pep talk that Draco had received many times before on occasions such as these, and every single time, he knew that Blaise meant it. Draco nodded his head and the pair continued to make their way to Snape’s office.
They entered the office to find Snape sitting at the desk, pouring over various texts. He looked up when his students came in and magicked the books and papers away. He folded his hands regally on the now cleared desktop and gave them his usual scrutinizing look.
“I see you understand the value of being timely,” he said, addressing Draco more so than Blaise. “I perceive that you understand the nature of this sudden summoning?” It was - like many things concerning his father - an unspoken rule that his father always wanted something when summoning his son and it was a just as well known yet unspoken fact that the things wanted were never of a good nature.
“I understand, sir,” Draco said, nodding to accentuate his claims. He turned towards the small fireplace in the corner, surprised that the fire was not roaring, and his father’s stern face was not floating in the flames. He was just going to inquire about it when the very person he just thinking about walked in from a door hidden by some books to the right of the desk. It took all of Draco’s self-constraint not to blanch at the sight of his father, standing there.
Lucius Malfoy was a very intimidating man. He stood at almost 6 feet 5 inches (a/n: for those who use centimeters, that’s 195.58 cm), and his hair appeared almost white and hung down his back. He peered around the room with so cold a glare that one could feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. His robes were all black, and before he moved forward to stand before his son, he looked very much like a floating head.
“Father,” Draco said, bowing slightly in respect to the man who terrified him beyond reason. He dared not look Lucius in the eye in fear that he would turn into a pillar of ice, so he kept his gaze floor ward.
“The Dark Lord wishes for you to begin your first days as a servant under his direct command,” Lucius said, giving no formal introduction. It was well know that Lucius was an unfeeling man, even towards his family, and especially towards his only son.
“You are to attend your first Death Eater revel, in three weeks time. I will send word of my arrival by owl a day in advance. All of the incidentals will be taken care of,” Lucius said, turning away from him and walking back towards the door. “Remember what we talked about this past summer.”
With that, and no more, he swept back through the door and out of sight before Draco could even look up. The room was silent with Lucius words still in the air like the lingering smell of alcohol after a party. Snape looked to Blaise and Draco as if to say, “Get out of my office you sniveling brats,” and the two left silently, making their way to the Slytherin common room to process the information.
It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, his face losing all color and his mind running his father’s words over and over again.
“Remember what we talked about this summer.”
Just the mere memory of the conversation made Draco feel sick. It was a direct blow to the already crumbling steel wall that was his sanity. As he resumed walking, Draco tried to push the memory from his mind, but it kept coming back to haunt him.
"Draco!" his father's voice boomed through the entire Manor, burning with fury. "What is the one thing I have always taught you? Do you indeed have any shred of intelligence in you to remember what I've always said?"
Draco wouldn't let him see that he affected him in the slightest. "Father," he began in what he hoped sounded like a calm, cold voice. "I remember what you've taught me, but, and if I'm not mistaken we've been through this, I don't agree with it." He was pleased to see that his appearance of indifference at freely disobeying his father’s rules did nothing but enrage him further.
“I’ll do whatever I like.”
"How dare you defy me!?" Lucius roared, towering above an unflinching Draco. He shoved the boy roughly in the chest with his walking stick.
"I was doing what I was told." Draco replied, staring at his father coldly. He had never felt anything for this man, except for extreme hatred. Their almost identical steel gray eyes bored into each other, the tension between them almost becoming a physical entity.
"Your mother suffered greatly for her infidelity. Is that what you want; for her to be forever in pain, because of you?" Lucius said coolly. He pushed the walking stick further in to his son's chest, this time eliciting a cry of distress.
"And you call yourself a Malfoy," he spat, voice dripping with menace. "If you continue to act like an idiot, I swear, I'll do something you'll regret."
"Like what," Draco taunted. "Disown me?"
His father's eyes narrowed dangerously, becoming no more than slits, and making him appear even more like a treacherous snake. "No," he whispered, glaring as a sadistic smile appeared. "But I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you? No," he repeated. "I don't see what else I can do to make you see my point than to threaten someone close to you."
Hermione had not seen Draco for the rest of the day. She had looked for him in all the other classes they had together, and she even went so far as to ask one of the other prefects if they had seen him around.
Not that she was worried or anything.
She was sitting between Ginny and another 5th year Gryffindor named Tivally when Draco finally made an appearance. He was walking with Blaise, his head turned towards his friend such that she couldn’t see his face. When he sat down, he sat with his back to her, unusual because he’d always sat in one place on one side of the table always facing the Gryffindor table (not that she noticed or anything). She was starting to grow agitated, and her focus shifted to figuring out his issue. She tuned out the conversation around her and she was casting glances at the Slytherin table.
“Hermione! Hermione! Are you listening to me?” Ginny’s voice snapped her out of her reverie and she turned to her friend, furrowing her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Hermione asked, adopting a fake smile. Ginny saw right through her façade and narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you so distracted?” Ginny asked, still glaring and crossing her arms suspiciously.
“Nothing, I am just a little tired is all,” Hermione said, turning away from her friend to look down at her food. While the latter part was true (she hadn’t had a good, uninterrupted sleep in two days), she was indeed preoccupied with thoughts of Draco.
“Hermione Granger!” Ginny exclaimed in her best Mrs. Weasley voice, making Hermione cringe. “I know you’re-” but before she could finish her admonition, a commotion drew the attention of the whole Great Hall to the Slytherin Table. It appeared that two people, were arguing, their voices so loud that it surpassed the noise of general chatter.
“I don’t care what you think!” The voice was unmistakable - it was Draco, who was now standing. He seemed to be trying to suppress the anger he showed on his face, but it needed somewhere to exit and it chose his voice as an outlet.
“But Draco!” Hermione cringed at the high pitched, anything but dulcet tones of Pansy Parkinson. “You know what will happen! Think of your future!” Pansy stepped closer to him, trying to place a hand on his arm, but he jerked away violently.
“I already told you that I DON’T CARE!” Draco said with finality, storming from the great hall, his face flushed with anger and with silence following in his wake. Hermione was shocked at the outburst; no one had ever seen such a display of emotion from him as far as she knew and whispers followed his departure, filling the Great Hall with - no doubt - false rumors of the roots of the argument. Pansy merely stood there for a moment before breaking into tears and collapsing back upon the bench, to be consoled by her housemates.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the obviously overdramatic display of tears. Pansy was the one of the few people in her life that actually made her want to kill something. But her focus had now been completely adverted from Ginny and to what had just gone on, namely, the reason why Draco had stormed out of the Great Hall looking very upset. Taking advantage of the fact that everyone at the table, including Ginny was now gossiping about the event, Hermione took a good long look at the Slytherin table to find Blaise Zabini staring at her intently. When she caught his eye, he made a slight motion with his head towards the door, indicating that she should leave the Great Hall. She looked around to see if it was possibly someone else the silent exchange was meant for, but she was its intended target. She returned the nod (albeit with a bit of hesitation) and gathered her things, standing and making her way out of the Great Hall. When she was safely in the halls leading to the dorms, she began to pace, her mind racing with the reasons Blaise could have possibly called her out like that.
“Hermione,” his voice lacked its usual playful tone and his eyes held the same seriousness. “You need to go and talk to him.” Hermione was stunned; she had to what?
“Excuse me?” she said, voicing her surprise. “And what makes you think I would accomplish something? Have you been gone for the past five years or did you just forget that we absolutely hate each other?” She crossed her arms and gave Blaise a look of complete incredulousness.
“Please, Hermione,” Blaise pleaded, something very unlike any Slytherin, including himself. “Please just go and make sure he hasn’t tossed himself out of a window.” Hermione was feeling more and more obliged to obey as she was subjected to the pleading gaze of the boy standing before her.
“Okay! Okay, fine!” she relented after a minute more of his stare. “What exactly is going on Blaise?” One thing unknown to most people is that there was sort of fragile understanding of the other passing between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. Blaise and Hermione, while never actually developing a friendship were comfortable enough with each other to have normal interactions.
“Thank you,” Blaise said, letting out a sigh of relief, but avoiding her question. He walked back to the doors of the Great Hall and before reentering, he turned back to Hermione briefly. “Really, Hermione. Thank you.”
Hermione stood there for a moment before heading up the stairs and towards the Tower. As she walked, she thought about what she was doing. The day before yesterday, she had been screaming in her room about just how much she hated him, even going so far as to damage her hands (which she had finally gone to Madame Pomfrey to get fixed). Now, here she was, convinced by his best friend, going to go “make sure he hadn’t tossed himself out of a window.” And to add more to her confusion, in these past few days, he had not only helped her (or at least tried), he had also professed some level of interest in getting to know her. To actually know her.
Hoping to sort through one thing at a time, she focused on the task at hand. She had reached the portrait, and she paused before it, rethinking her decision one last time before giving the password and stepping inside of the common room.
Draco held the piece of parchment in his hands, and every once in a while, he would look back at it; and every single time he did so, he flung it away from him, only to grab it before it hit the ground and hold it before starting all over again.
He was sitting on his bed, facing the large bay window that overlooked the grassy expanse that bordered the lake, where many a Hogwarts student had played in the snow and ice-skated on the frozen over body of water. He was not looking out of the window, but, in between looking at the parchment, he stared at the intricacy of the iron worked frames holding the individual window panes together. They reminded him of the very old iron worked ring his mother sometimes wore. Of her many pieces of jewelry, it was his favorite one. He couldn’t remember any particular reason why, only that the ring meant that his mother was happy, which made him happy. He glanced down at the parchment once more.
Draco,
I sincerely hope that you have been diligent in keeping watch over Potter. However, I am sensing that you are becoming… unruly again. I will not remind you again, boy. Disobey me, and the results will not be pleasant.
-Lucius
This was the last time that Draco looked at the letter before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it full force across the room. He placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily willing the tears to stay in their place. His mind was filled with questions, some had answers, some didn’t; and his heart was filled with anger, indignation, and fear. He didn’t want to do this. The part of him that feared his father also feared himself. What was he going to do when the time came to really make that decision known? Would he be able to resist as he had planned to do? Would he be accepted into all that he had condemned, especially at Hogwarts, where he would have nothing if he wasn’t accepted?
He felt the emotion building up in his chest and he let out a small sob. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he should do anything. He didn’t even -
There was a knock at his door. He looked up at the door and found himself shouting for them to go away, he was busy. There was another knock, and again he shouted for them to leave. He had turned away from the door again when he heard the telltale click of the lock coming undone and a person coming inside. He didn’t bother to turn around, and just shouted for them to get out or he would hex them into oblivion.
“I doubt you could pull that off,” said Hermione. “If it was possible, I would have done it already.” Draco looked up in complete and utter surprise at the brown-haired Gryffindor standing near the foot of his bed. She had a smirk that was tentative, yet sincere. But he didn’t want to see her; he didn’t want her to see him.
“Go away, Granger,” Draco said, though his voice came out in more of a pitiful whisper. She walked over to his side of the bed and sat down, awkwardly folding her hands on her lap. She spotted the paper on the ground, and knowing that its contents would be a far cry from desirable, she suppressed the urge to pick it up and read it.
They sat in silence for a few minutes and from time to time, she would look over at him, trying to figure the best time, if any, to say something to him.
“Draco,” she said finally, not looking at him. “It’ll be okay.” She mentally slapped herself, knowing full well that it meant nothing because it may not be true. Draco merely shook his head, and the tears were threatening, now more than ever, to spill down his face.
“You just have to make your own decisions,” she said, talking to both him and herself. Draco looked at her for the first time since she had entered the room.
“Make my own decisions? My own decisions?” his voice was cracked with the strain of holding back his tears and he turned away from her just as they started to break free. “I can’t.”
Hermione turned to him, forcing him to look at her. “What happened to the Draco Malfoy that decided he would be nice for once and help someone when they needed it? Where is the Draco Malfoy that decided he wouldn’t listen to Pansy back there? Huh? Where is the Draco Malfoy that I know?” She was staring him down, and he was staring back, his eyes full of both fear and wonder.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Granger,” he said, not breaking his gaze. “It’s not that easy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked, her voice gaining some softness to it. “I know Draco, I know it’s not easy. But you have to do it.”
He didn’t say anything but looked at her. Really looked at her. He knew he promised himself; he knew that he had reputation to uphold, an image to maintain. And here she was, not unlike him: her goody-two-shoes, know-it-all self who was actually helping him. He had been completely uncivil to her for the past five years, and now… what was this exactly? He didn’t know whether he should be happy, sad, or what. And then, for the first time in a long time, he made a decision.
Leaning closer to Hermione, he brought his hand up to her face, and closed the distance.
Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger.
Draco and Blaise made their way swiftly to the dungeons. Draco cast all thoughts of Hermione out of his mind and focused on the task at hand; he knew that when Snape needed to see him suddenly like this, it meant that it had something to do with his father - and that always meant trouble.
As they made their way into the dungeons, Blaise stopped and turned to Draco, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and preventing him from walking any further.
“No matter what goes down here Drake,” Blaise said, his eyes holding none of their usually gaiety. “No matter what, I know that you will make the right choice.” It was a pep talk that Draco had received many times before on occasions such as these, and every single time, he knew that Blaise meant it. Draco nodded his head and the pair continued to make their way to Snape’s office.
They entered the office to find Snape sitting at the desk, pouring over various texts. He looked up when his students came in and magicked the books and papers away. He folded his hands regally on the now cleared desktop and gave them his usual scrutinizing look.
“I see you understand the value of being timely,” he said, addressing Draco more so than Blaise. “I perceive that you understand the nature of this sudden summoning?” It was - like many things concerning his father - an unspoken rule that his father always wanted something when summoning his son and it was a just as well known yet unspoken fact that the things wanted were never of a good nature.
“I understand, sir,” Draco said, nodding to accentuate his claims. He turned towards the small fireplace in the corner, surprised that the fire was not roaring, and his father’s stern face was not floating in the flames. He was just going to inquire about it when the very person he just thinking about walked in from a door hidden by some books to the right of the desk. It took all of Draco’s self-constraint not to blanch at the sight of his father, standing there.
Lucius Malfoy was a very intimidating man. He stood at almost 6 feet 5 inches (a/n: for those who use centimeters, that’s 195.58 cm), and his hair appeared almost white and hung down his back. He peered around the room with so cold a glare that one could feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. His robes were all black, and before he moved forward to stand before his son, he looked very much like a floating head.
“Father,” Draco said, bowing slightly in respect to the man who terrified him beyond reason. He dared not look Lucius in the eye in fear that he would turn into a pillar of ice, so he kept his gaze floor ward.
“The Dark Lord wishes for you to begin your first days as a servant under his direct command,” Lucius said, giving no formal introduction. It was well know that Lucius was an unfeeling man, even towards his family, and especially towards his only son.
“You are to attend your first Death Eater revel, in three weeks time. I will send word of my arrival by owl a day in advance. All of the incidentals will be taken care of,” Lucius said, turning away from him and walking back towards the door. “Remember what we talked about this past summer.”
With that, and no more, he swept back through the door and out of sight before Draco could even look up. The room was silent with Lucius words still in the air like the lingering smell of alcohol after a party. Snape looked to Blaise and Draco as if to say, “Get out of my office you sniveling brats,” and the two left silently, making their way to the Slytherin common room to process the information.
It wasn’t until they were halfway there that Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway, his face losing all color and his mind running his father’s words over and over again.
“Remember what we talked about this summer.”
Just the mere memory of the conversation made Draco feel sick. It was a direct blow to the already crumbling steel wall that was his sanity. As he resumed walking, Draco tried to push the memory from his mind, but it kept coming back to haunt him.
"Draco!" his father's voice boomed through the entire Manor, burning with fury. "What is the one thing I have always taught you? Do you indeed have any shred of intelligence in you to remember what I've always said?"
Draco wouldn't let him see that he affected him in the slightest. "Father," he began in what he hoped sounded like a calm, cold voice. "I remember what you've taught me, but, and if I'm not mistaken we've been through this, I don't agree with it." He was pleased to see that his appearance of indifference at freely disobeying his father’s rules did nothing but enrage him further.
“I’ll do whatever I like.”
"How dare you defy me!?" Lucius roared, towering above an unflinching Draco. He shoved the boy roughly in the chest with his walking stick.
"I was doing what I was told." Draco replied, staring at his father coldly. He had never felt anything for this man, except for extreme hatred. Their almost identical steel gray eyes bored into each other, the tension between them almost becoming a physical entity.
"Your mother suffered greatly for her infidelity. Is that what you want; for her to be forever in pain, because of you?" Lucius said coolly. He pushed the walking stick further in to his son's chest, this time eliciting a cry of distress.
"And you call yourself a Malfoy," he spat, voice dripping with menace. "If you continue to act like an idiot, I swear, I'll do something you'll regret."
"Like what," Draco taunted. "Disown me?"
His father's eyes narrowed dangerously, becoming no more than slits, and making him appear even more like a treacherous snake. "No," he whispered, glaring as a sadistic smile appeared. "But I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you? No," he repeated. "I don't see what else I can do to make you see my point than to threaten someone close to you."
Hermione had not seen Draco for the rest of the day. She had looked for him in all the other classes they had together, and she even went so far as to ask one of the other prefects if they had seen him around.
Not that she was worried or anything.
She was sitting between Ginny and another 5th year Gryffindor named Tivally when Draco finally made an appearance. He was walking with Blaise, his head turned towards his friend such that she couldn’t see his face. When he sat down, he sat with his back to her, unusual because he’d always sat in one place on one side of the table always facing the Gryffindor table (not that she noticed or anything). She was starting to grow agitated, and her focus shifted to figuring out his issue. She tuned out the conversation around her and she was casting glances at the Slytherin table.
“Hermione! Hermione! Are you listening to me?” Ginny’s voice snapped her out of her reverie and she turned to her friend, furrowing her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Hermione asked, adopting a fake smile. Ginny saw right through her façade and narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you so distracted?” Ginny asked, still glaring and crossing her arms suspiciously.
“Nothing, I am just a little tired is all,” Hermione said, turning away from her friend to look down at her food. While the latter part was true (she hadn’t had a good, uninterrupted sleep in two days), she was indeed preoccupied with thoughts of Draco.
“Hermione Granger!” Ginny exclaimed in her best Mrs. Weasley voice, making Hermione cringe. “I know you’re-” but before she could finish her admonition, a commotion drew the attention of the whole Great Hall to the Slytherin Table. It appeared that two people, were arguing, their voices so loud that it surpassed the noise of general chatter.
“I don’t care what you think!” The voice was unmistakable - it was Draco, who was now standing. He seemed to be trying to suppress the anger he showed on his face, but it needed somewhere to exit and it chose his voice as an outlet.
“But Draco!” Hermione cringed at the high pitched, anything but dulcet tones of Pansy Parkinson. “You know what will happen! Think of your future!” Pansy stepped closer to him, trying to place a hand on his arm, but he jerked away violently.
“I already told you that I DON’T CARE!” Draco said with finality, storming from the great hall, his face flushed with anger and with silence following in his wake. Hermione was shocked at the outburst; no one had ever seen such a display of emotion from him as far as she knew and whispers followed his departure, filling the Great Hall with - no doubt - false rumors of the roots of the argument. Pansy merely stood there for a moment before breaking into tears and collapsing back upon the bench, to be consoled by her housemates.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the obviously overdramatic display of tears. Pansy was the one of the few people in her life that actually made her want to kill something. But her focus had now been completely adverted from Ginny and to what had just gone on, namely, the reason why Draco had stormed out of the Great Hall looking very upset. Taking advantage of the fact that everyone at the table, including Ginny was now gossiping about the event, Hermione took a good long look at the Slytherin table to find Blaise Zabini staring at her intently. When she caught his eye, he made a slight motion with his head towards the door, indicating that she should leave the Great Hall. She looked around to see if it was possibly someone else the silent exchange was meant for, but she was its intended target. She returned the nod (albeit with a bit of hesitation) and gathered her things, standing and making her way out of the Great Hall. When she was safely in the halls leading to the dorms, she began to pace, her mind racing with the reasons Blaise could have possibly called her out like that.
“Hermione,” his voice lacked its usual playful tone and his eyes held the same seriousness. “You need to go and talk to him.” Hermione was stunned; she had to what?
“Excuse me?” she said, voicing her surprise. “And what makes you think I would accomplish something? Have you been gone for the past five years or did you just forget that we absolutely hate each other?” She crossed her arms and gave Blaise a look of complete incredulousness.
“Please, Hermione,” Blaise pleaded, something very unlike any Slytherin, including himself. “Please just go and make sure he hasn’t tossed himself out of a window.” Hermione was feeling more and more obliged to obey as she was subjected to the pleading gaze of the boy standing before her.
“Okay! Okay, fine!” she relented after a minute more of his stare. “What exactly is going on Blaise?” One thing unknown to most people is that there was sort of fragile understanding of the other passing between the Gryffindor and the Slytherin. Blaise and Hermione, while never actually developing a friendship were comfortable enough with each other to have normal interactions.
“Thank you,” Blaise said, letting out a sigh of relief, but avoiding her question. He walked back to the doors of the Great Hall and before reentering, he turned back to Hermione briefly. “Really, Hermione. Thank you.”
Hermione stood there for a moment before heading up the stairs and towards the Tower. As she walked, she thought about what she was doing. The day before yesterday, she had been screaming in her room about just how much she hated him, even going so far as to damage her hands (which she had finally gone to Madame Pomfrey to get fixed). Now, here she was, convinced by his best friend, going to go “make sure he hadn’t tossed himself out of a window.” And to add more to her confusion, in these past few days, he had not only helped her (or at least tried), he had also professed some level of interest in getting to know her. To actually know her.
Hoping to sort through one thing at a time, she focused on the task at hand. She had reached the portrait, and she paused before it, rethinking her decision one last time before giving the password and stepping inside of the common room.
Draco held the piece of parchment in his hands, and every once in a while, he would look back at it; and every single time he did so, he flung it away from him, only to grab it before it hit the ground and hold it before starting all over again.
He was sitting on his bed, facing the large bay window that overlooked the grassy expanse that bordered the lake, where many a Hogwarts student had played in the snow and ice-skated on the frozen over body of water. He was not looking out of the window, but, in between looking at the parchment, he stared at the intricacy of the iron worked frames holding the individual window panes together. They reminded him of the very old iron worked ring his mother sometimes wore. Of her many pieces of jewelry, it was his favorite one. He couldn’t remember any particular reason why, only that the ring meant that his mother was happy, which made him happy. He glanced down at the parchment once more.
Draco,
I sincerely hope that you have been diligent in keeping watch over Potter. However, I am sensing that you are becoming… unruly again. I will not remind you again, boy. Disobey me, and the results will not be pleasant.
-Lucius
This was the last time that Draco looked at the letter before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it full force across the room. He placed his head in his hands and sighed heavily willing the tears to stay in their place. His mind was filled with questions, some had answers, some didn’t; and his heart was filled with anger, indignation, and fear. He didn’t want to do this. The part of him that feared his father also feared himself. What was he going to do when the time came to really make that decision known? Would he be able to resist as he had planned to do? Would he be accepted into all that he had condemned, especially at Hogwarts, where he would have nothing if he wasn’t accepted?
He felt the emotion building up in his chest and he let out a small sob. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know if he should do anything. He didn’t even -
There was a knock at his door. He looked up at the door and found himself shouting for them to go away, he was busy. There was another knock, and again he shouted for them to leave. He had turned away from the door again when he heard the telltale click of the lock coming undone and a person coming inside. He didn’t bother to turn around, and just shouted for them to get out or he would hex them into oblivion.
“I doubt you could pull that off,” said Hermione. “If it was possible, I would have done it already.” Draco looked up in complete and utter surprise at the brown-haired Gryffindor standing near the foot of his bed. She had a smirk that was tentative, yet sincere. But he didn’t want to see her; he didn’t want her to see him.
“Go away, Granger,” Draco said, though his voice came out in more of a pitiful whisper. She walked over to his side of the bed and sat down, awkwardly folding her hands on her lap. She spotted the paper on the ground, and knowing that its contents would be a far cry from desirable, she suppressed the urge to pick it up and read it.
They sat in silence for a few minutes and from time to time, she would look over at him, trying to figure the best time, if any, to say something to him.
“Draco,” she said finally, not looking at him. “It’ll be okay.” She mentally slapped herself, knowing full well that it meant nothing because it may not be true. Draco merely shook his head, and the tears were threatening, now more than ever, to spill down his face.
“You just have to make your own decisions,” she said, talking to both him and herself. Draco looked at her for the first time since she had entered the room.
“Make my own decisions? My own decisions?” his voice was cracked with the strain of holding back his tears and he turned away from her just as they started to break free. “I can’t.”
Hermione turned to him, forcing him to look at her. “What happened to the Draco Malfoy that decided he would be nice for once and help someone when they needed it? Where is the Draco Malfoy that decided he wouldn’t listen to Pansy back there? Huh? Where is the Draco Malfoy that I know?” She was staring him down, and he was staring back, his eyes full of both fear and wonder.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Granger,” he said, not breaking his gaze. “It’s not that easy.”
“You think I don’t know that?” she asked, her voice gaining some softness to it. “I know Draco, I know it’s not easy. But you have to do it.”
He didn’t say anything but looked at her. Really looked at her. He knew he promised himself; he knew that he had reputation to uphold, an image to maintain. And here she was, not unlike him: her goody-two-shoes, know-it-all self who was actually helping him. He had been completely uncivil to her for the past five years, and now… what was this exactly? He didn’t know whether he should be happy, sad, or what. And then, for the first time in a long time, he made a decision.
Leaning closer to Hermione, he brought his hand up to her face, and closed the distance.
Draco Malfoy kissed Hermione Granger.