[harry potter]: "this empathy comes unbidden"
title: this empathy comes unbidden
rating: pg
fandom: harry potter
characters: hermione, draco, harry, ron, ginny
genre(s): angst
word count: 844
status: complete
spoilers: specifically for the hbp film rather than the book
summary: feeling sorry for draco malfoy is not something hermione is used to feeling, but in her sixth year at school, she certainly does.
a/n: this came out of nowhere. I blame it on the great dramione fics I've read and tom felton's performance in hbp for getting me in a d/hr mood. My first drabble for them, which lacks romance, sadly, but hopefully it's decent enough. :D
i.
Harry, after nicely letting her express her heartbreak on his shoulder, leaves the silent classroom, glancing back at her briefly as he goes.
Even though she had told him that she was fine now, and that he could go back to the Common Room while she spent a few more moments alone, his hesitance to leave her by herself is clear.
She won’t prolong her absence and make him worry, so she breathes deeply and stands up, brushing each hand under her eyes and wiping away the hot tears that have streaked her face.
She regains her composure, puts on an expression of calm indifference, and leaves.
She’s so lost in her thoughts as she makes her way through dimly lit hallways that she only notices that someone is approaching as she absentmindedly tucks a strand of her wavy hair behind her ear.
As her eyes meet Malfoy’s, they both simply come to an abrupt halt in their steps, startled.
Being alone with Malfoy in a dark hallway no doubt cannot bring about anything good, and she lets her hand fall limply to her side, her fingers inches away from where her wand is tucked inside her pocket.
She looks at him warily, careful not to let her fingers twitch.
By the slight widening of his eyes as he sees her, she knows that he’s as taken aback as her.
Her heavy eyes roam over him, taking in his appearance.
He looks absolutely exhausted.
There’s really no other word to describe him at this moment.
Bags hang under his eyes, rimmed with the lightest red.
And she knows, all of a sudden, despite the pale, dry face, and neatly combed hair and expensive, wrinkle-free clothing, that he’s been crying.
She’s familiar with eyes that look like that; she does remember from experience, after all, during her first year here at this school and her habit of secluding herself in a bathroom stall to privately express her insecurity and loneliness.
As the initial surprise wears off, Malfoy’s face tightens, his grey eyes narrowing.
She stiffens, bracing herself for the insult bound to come out of his mouth.
His face contorts, but not in that expression of hatred and disgust that she’s known so well, but in weary annoyance.
He moves again, walking right towards her, and this time her fingers do curl instinctively around her wand.
She’s just about to pull it out when he merely stalks past her, his shoulder inches away from colliding with hers.
“Isn’t it your bedtime, Mudblood?” He mutters as he goes, but the words are so feeble and half-hearted that she can only turn and watch, astonished, as he retreats.
She doesn’t miss the drooping of his shoulders and the way his head is slightly bowed as he rounds a corner, and her retort has already died on her lips.
ii.
Harry almost kills Malfoy.
He reveals this to her in a state of shock, his face a mask of guilt.
When he details what had happened, how the gashes had appeared on Malfoy’s chest, and how there was so much blood, everywhere, she feels sick.
“I didn’t know it would do that,” Harry repeats, the words a litany, spoken aloud once more to reassure her, Ron, Ginny, and most of all, himself. “I shouted the first curse I could think of. If I had known that’s what it would do, I would never have done it.”
She believes him, of course, because it‘s the truth.
When Harry immediately consents to getting rid of the book, she’s overwhelmed with relief.
It’s what she had wanted him to do from the beginning, after all.
Harry leaves with Ginny, off to the Room of Requirement, leaving her and Ron alone.
But, for once, she’s not thinking of Ron and how awkward being alone with him now is.
The image that lingers in her mind, created from Harry’s descriptions, is the crimson blood clashing with Malfoy’s so very pale skin.
Sure, Malfoy was cruel, a bully to her ever since her first year, and maybe any other person on the receiving end of his taunts would feel that he had deserved what he got, and that it wasn’t too bad because it’s not like he actually died.
But he could have.
The one thing she is sure of about what happened is that not even he deserved that.
iii.
“Do you think he would have done it? Draco?”
She doesn’t realize she’s referred to Malfoy by his first name until it’s already out of her mouth.
Harry stares off into the distance.
“No,” Harry answers softly. “He was lowering his wand.”
She wonders where Malfoy is now, what he’s feeling now, being surrounded by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the group he’s been placed in after realizing, much too late, that he didn’t belong there at all, that perhaps he didn’t want to belong there.
The feeling creeps up within her slowly, like smoke, clouding her heart.
It’s pity.
She thinks that, this time, perhaps he does deserve that.
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.end