Chapter Eighty-Seven
"But something has stirred
A beast has awakened
Opened a door
There's no mistaking
Waging a war
It's fighting inside of me
So, hear my battle cry
I'm out for blood to claim what's mine
Finally questioning
If I am my own worst
I am my own worst
I am my own worst enemy"—Battle Cry, Beth Crowley
Next, Hermione learned exactly why Draco feared his nightmares so much as she watched what they did to him.
Every night, he was tormented with visions of the terrible acts his older version committed as a Death Eater, and in his waking days, those visions left an echo behind that haunted him.
Hermione watched as his growing fears and anxieties evolved side by side with the jealousy he felt whenever he watched Hermione during the Triwizard tournament. Draco had endured having secret feelings for his best friend for four years, and quite frankly, it is evident that those hidden feelings were slowly reaching their limit.
Then the Yule ball hit, and for a while, Draco spent less time worrying about his nightmares and more time jealous of whoever Hermione would take as a date and depressed that it would never be him.
Then Hermione both saw and felt the rush of emotions that drove him to finally confess to her on that night of the Yule ball. She felt his anxiety when she ran away after he kissed her and felt the absolute joy he experienced when she later admitted that he might actually have a chance to win her.
Then Herminie finally came to understand the true extent of the fear that drove Draco to push her away in the manner he did almost immediately after that confession.
Truthfully a secret part of Hermione still resented what Draco had put her through that time. The cruel things he said and the fact that he'd even slapped her at one point.
Things like that were hard to truly forgive. But now, Hermione went through the same things he had, and she couldn't help but forgive him then.
'Oh Draco,' she thought sadly.
Draco's fear that he would one day hurt Hermione... hadn't been brought on ordinary paranoia. It was much more than that: Draco's nightmares had become critical.
The visions were becoming more explicit and more brutal. Worst of all, Draco began to experience them not as an observer, but as the one doing the acts. He watched as his own hands re-enacted the viciousways that Malfoy killed, and it scarred Draco terribly. In his deepest psyche, every time he touched Hermione, his nightmares would flash in his mind and fill him with the almost tangible sensation of how it might feel to kill her the same way.
And it left him feeling nothing but disgust at his own mind and thoughts. He had no time to consider how badly he was treating Hermione; he was too busy trying to keep his soul from being torn to shreds.
She both watched and felt the struggle and pain he felt as he fought to hold back how much he loved her. She witnessed how every cruel thing he did to her...tore him apart twice as much.
During the final task of the tournament, Hermione saw Draco confronting a boggart in the maze. It had turned into his worst fear: himself.
"He will return," the older version of Draco goaded with cruel words, "and when he does, you will go crawling back to him on your knees like the dog that you are."
It was a horrid thing to watch. Especially since, though the boggart indeed resembled Malfoy, it was definitely not him.
If Hermione knew one thing about the man inside Draco, it was that...that...that...thing could never be Malfoy.
Malfoy may be merciless and cruel, but he hated Voldemort.
The creature continued to spit its vile words at Draco, and when it seemed like Draco was close to breaking, it hit him with his most significant fear ever. The one thing he feared more than himself.
'Oh No...' Hermione gasped, her hands covering her face as her heart began to quicken its beat in horror. 'No...Please, No! Don't show him that!'
The boggart brought an illusion of Hermione into the maze...and it killed her. Killed her with Malfoy's face. The face of a man who looked just like an older version of Draco.
"She's only a useless Mudblood anyway", the spectre then crackled and each disgusting word ripped a scar into Draco's soul.
'It's not real!' Hermione screamed, 'Draco, why didn't you ever tell me about this!'
No wonder Draco was so sure that he could kill Hermione. His mind, which was already vulnerable, had been caught and broken down to an even weaker state before finally being forced to watch precisely what it would look like when he killed what he loved most.
Draco did manage to dispel the boggart, but the damage had been done. He fell to his knees and wept, unable to move, let alone finish the challenge.
So far till now, Draco had only been tormented with nightmares and possible fictitious thoughts.
Now...he had a concrete image to playback in his mind...over...and over again.
And not just in Draco's mind, Hermione saw from how Draco's eyes had become a tinted silver-champagne colour, that the sight was tormenting Malfoy too.
The memories changed to how Hermione had sought Draco out after the tournament had ended, and she found him in a miserable state with his head to his knees, feely whispering, "Go away, Granger."
Hermione listened to herself say, "I wish you wouldn't keep switching between Granger and Hermione," she felt her own words like acid.
'It's not like either of them have a choice,' she thought mournfully.
A part of Hermione, however, was so, so proud of herself. She was proud of the way her younger incarnation looked into Draco's haunted eyes, fully understood that if she stayed, she'd be signing onto something much bigger than herself...and still sat down.
Then both Draco and Malfoy begged, "Please. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to, but I will. You don't understand, I'm heartless and cold, I only ever destroy what's around me."
And Hermione watched her younger self smile and reply softly while stroking the back of Draco's head, "I can't walk away. Four years of friendship aren't something to sneeze at. You're my best friend," she kissed his hair. "I love you, Draco."
Then the flow of memories changed.
This time they skipped several months' worth of events and came to a stop on the day Hermione was about to put truth serum in Draco's drink during their fifth year. Heroine watched Draco catch her and saw again how angry he'd been.
But this time, Hermione felt things from his perspective. That day...Draco had been angry with her...but more than that, he'd been ashamed.
So, so ashamed and betrayed. Because he hadn't wanted her to know.
He was terrified that if she knew, she'd be afraid of him. His anxiety of this coming to pass was driving him to the point of intense paranoia.
Furthermore, it didn't help that Malfoy was starting to grow strangely...cold. Ever since the night of the tournament, the weird amiability Malfoy had shared with Draco during the years past four had faded considerably. Beneath it, there was now a glitter of resentment.
His emotions were so changed, Hermione felt it even through Draco's own passions: a sudden feeling of...separation. It was almost like, before, the two versions of Draco had been semi-fused to an extent...but now Malfoy was trying to break free.
When Draco had refused to confront Hermione after their quarrel, Malfoy had been furious.
'But why?' Hermione wondered. 'Why is he so angry? It's not like Draco's decisions affect him...or do they?'
Then Hermione saw something strange.
It happened when Umbridge had caught Hermione and her friends in Dumbledore's office. The toad sent Draco out of the room.
Draco had been torn then, in more ways than one. He felt conflicted between his desire to keep his distance with Hermione and his fear of leaving her alone with Umbridge. He felt torn between his own despair of not being in a position where he could freely protect her...and someone else's rage burning inside him.
Then, in the middle of a hallway, Draco collapsed and what he was shown next wasn't a dream or a memory...more like a vision. Something that Malfoy was intentionally showing Draco.
The scene was set at what looked like a wedding, but Hermione wasn't sure. It was too blurry to make out. but whatever was happening in that memory, it was terrible because Draco looked distraught
Then completely infuriated, Draco screamed into the caverns of his own mind, "Tell me what it all means! I'm done with being cryptic; I'm done with not knowing. How much more are you going to take from me before you tell me why the hell, you're so bent on ruining my life?"
At first, it seemed like his desperation for answers would go ignored again.
Then finally, something happened.
In the darkness left behind by the vision, Draco saw another blurry figure, one he recognised.
It was Malfoy.
Malfoy faced Draco and stared at him with tired eyes full of hate and resentment, and then raised an arm to point as his lips moved.
Though his words were quiet, in Draco's mind, they echoed clearly. 'I'm not ruining anything…you are. You don't deserve her…I do."
At this moment, Draco woke up.
Once again, the memories skipped ahead several events in fast forward. It seemed Draco had made a pint to not include anything from his Death Eater duties. Instead, the memories were all things Hermione recognised.
Things like Draco coming to save her at the Ministry battle, and the day she'd realised the extent of Malfoys influence over Draco and had managed to break through it by using his jealousy against him.
She got to relive a lot of the sweet moments they shared as a couple up until now.
Those moments calmed Hermione and filled her with light, happy feelings. At that moment, Heroine knew for sure that Draco had included all these memories so that he could soothe all the horrible things she'd been forced to watch. He'd wanted her to come out of this as kindly as possible.
The knowledge filled Hermione's heart with waves of affection and love for him.
When she'd finished watching everything, she felt both warm, happy, sad and nostalgic. Seeing all of this made her feel somehow closer to Draco.
'It's strange' she thought, 'sometimes, with all that's been going on, it can feel like all I remember when I look back at our life together are the times Draco's made me unhappy. All the times he's hurt me, and all the times I've felt so insecure with our relationship. But…' she felt her chest grow warm, 'It's nice to remember that there were happy times too. Lots of them. Times that I may not remember easily, but they're still a part of me. Now I get why I've actually managed to hang in there so long. Why, no matter how much logic told me to just leave him, my heart would force me to stay. The truth is, there have been far more good moments shared between us than bad. And also…'
Hermione thought of all the times she'd naively said something insensitive to Draco, who'd been young and secretly in love with her and broken his heart. She also thought about all the times he'd desperately wanted to reach out to her, but his problems (which really had been worse than she'd ever imagined) weighed him down and convinced him to do otherwise.
In his own way, he really had been doing it all for her.
'Draco may have hurt me a lot in the past...but it seems I've hurt him too." Hermione acknowledged 'But it's also true...that we've actually loved each other more often than we've hurt each other." She smiled warmly, 'I'm so glad.'
Hermione would have been happy to finish the night feeling bittersweet and nostalgic.
But then the memories switched to Malfoys.
What Hermione saw next...it had been like a pin bursting a bubble in the worst way.
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As Pansy waited for Snape to return to his classroom so he could resume chewing her out as if she were an empty-headed ninny (which he likely believed she was) she pondered a great many things.
Her head felt like a cauldron swirling with ingredients that were still not yet dissolved as they swirled in aimless circles.
Like watching bits of leg and horn poking out through a murky surface, Pansy watched her thoughts.
After a while, her shoulders became tired, and she found herself slouching back into the chair. As she moved, something caught her eye.
Looking up, she realised it was her own reflection moving in the opposite window glass.
Pansy blinked and winced at the same time at the sight of herself.
"Merlin" she muttered, reaching up to touch her cheek as she inspected her face, "I look like a banshee on her period."
She probably looked a little worse than that actually. Standing up, she walked over to the window to get a better look at herself.
Pansy took in the spectacle of her messy hair and the deep, dark circles under her red, tear-swollen eyes. An unhappy, frenzied expression was seared into her mouth and eyebrows. But underneath all of that and behind all the awful ugliness…she looked tired.
She felt tired. Tired of so many things.
She tightened her eyes into a small frown and a harsh sneer, disgusted with the sight of herself. The exhausted expression she wore morphed into something else that changed her face entirely and left her feeling horrified. This time, Pansy did not see her tired self anymore, she saw...the old her. The cold, cruel bully she had been. She looked regal, haughty and incredibly frightening.
Despite herself, Pansy began to think of some of the things she had done in her past to people. Cruel, catty things.
A horrible feeling bubbled up and tried to stop herself from thinking on the subject anymore. But for some reason, Pansy didn't fall under. Instead, she stared into her open eyes, drawn into a cruel gaze and confronted her past self.
Pansy thought about how she'd made up ugly rumours about Hermione and Potter being in a relationship during the Triwizard tournament. She'd been petty and jealous of all the attention they were receiving. So, she said things intending to hurt and humiliate them, and her shallow words had caused someone to send that vial pus to Hermione, which had severely burned her hands.
Pansy thought about how she'd given Rita Skeeter information about her classmates and how she'd mocked the groundskeeper, Hagrid, for being part-giant. Honestly, Pansy hadn't even cared much about his giant blood. She'd only done it because belittling him had been easy to pick at and her housemates had been game for it too.
Many more thoughts like these flew through Pansy's mind. So many memories of her being a nasty, callous bitch. No wonder that kid at the breakfast table had been so terrified when he spilt water on her. No wonder no one had cared enough about her to notice that she was in trouble. Pansy couldn't imagine giving a damn if she had been her own victim.
And when she couldn't take thinking about it anymore, Pansy closed her eyes and looked away. Her bottom lip trembled, and she wanted to cry. A think, hot feeling bubbled in her chest and swelled so fast in her throat, she thought she may choke.
When pansy had gotten a grip on herself, she opened her eyes and looked back into the window at her reflection.
But now, someone new was looking out at her in the window. Not someone broken and miserable, and not the mean-spirited bitch she'd once been
This reflection was of someone sad…but remorseful. Someone who looked lost, and afraid, but under all of that…ashamed.
Pansy reached out her fingertips, fascinated by this new someone she saw in the window and touched the cold cheek reflected in the glass. Then out of nowhere, a sudden and strange epiphany hit her.
'I...I think I understand now,' she thought, her heart fluttering slightly in shock and hesitancy, 'I think I get it: get the reason why I've felt so conflicted. I don't want to be the sad, pathetic victim that Reuel made me anymore...but at the same time... I don't want to go back to being the person I was before him.'
Then Pansy whispered aloud, "I don't want to go from being a victim to being a bully again." she swallowed, said in an even quieter whisper, "I…don't want to hurt people anymore."
Her last voice sounded sad to her ears.
Before Pansy could contemplate this further, the door behind her opened and slammed.
The sudden sound caused her to jump as she turned and frowned at the sight of Snape and Jonah.
'Merlin's green knickers,' she thought, a bit stupefied, 'I knew he was angry with me, but I didn't think he'd actually drag Jonah here too. What the bloody hell does he plan to do with us?'
Pansy opened her mouth, intending to ask something along the lines of 'What the hell?', but Snape beat her to it.
With a dark scowl, he snarled, "Where the hell is the Baron?"
Pansy raised her eyebrow. Snape sounded surprised as if he'd expected the Baron to actually stay put with her until he arrived.
But after talking with Slytherin's ghost for some time, Pansy wanted to snort at the idea that anyone would think they could control that sardonic spectre.
"Off being dead, I suppose," she found herself muttering dryly, "Or looking for someone to make squirm. Apparently, he likes doing that."
Snape gave her a look that could have frozen a volcano over twice. Pansy snapped her mouth closed.
Behind Snape, she caught Jonah's violet eyes widening slightly and noticed as the corner of his mouth twitched almost involuntarily. Then he stifled his inappropriate smile and took a few steps forward, intending to go to Pansy's side.
Once again, Snape stepped in first.
"Not so fast, Mr. Ashwin," he said, putting an arm before Jonah's chest to block the boy's advancement. "You can fall into your sentimental faffing over each other in your own time. Right now, I want a complete explanation. Exactly how long have the two of you been sneaking off to brew dangerous concoctions illegally? And why?"
Jonah looked up and raised a golden eyebrow. He was dressed in silk pyjamas and a feminine dressing gown. He was not wearing any makeup, but his eyelashes had obviously been curled previously in an attempt to still appear somewhat feminine. His long, wavy blond hair was tied in an over the shoulder braid which hung over his shoulder.
Even like this, Pansy thought he looked rather fit. She was coming to realise her understanding of beauty was also becoming 'gender' neutral. She no longer found masculine or feminine attractive. Jonah could wear a tutu, a smock or an enlarged sock from the foot of the nastiest witch, and he'd still probably look fit to her.
She sighed inwardly, 'Merlin, when did I get this sappy? Snape's right, this sentimental faffing about we tend towards it getting a bit much.'
Yet strangely, Pansy didn't care. She still wanted to go over to her man and curl her arm around his waist and felt a little annoyed that Snape was stopping her from doing just that. Especially since this was perhaps the first time in a long time that Jonah was actively ignoring or avoiding her.
"—what do you think, Pansy?"
Pansy blinked, realising Jonah had been talking to Snape during her little thought train, and his question was currently directed towards her.
"Sorry, what?" she asked. Feeling embarrassed she'd been wool-gathering. She didn't want Snape to call her stupid again.
But Jonah didn't miss a beat. "Don't you think Professor Snape is going a little too far, calling your creations illegal?" he asked with a calm, semi-amused expression, then he turned to Snape who did not look in the least bit amused.
"And what would you call a potion with the potential to murder half the school, Mr Ashwin," Snape said, "Do enlighten me".
Jonah gave Snape a look that only he ever had the gall to attempt (as if Snape were a just a grumpy old man who really needed to get with the times) and sighed heavily.
"Ok." he said, putting a hand on his hip, "Firstly, I highly doubt Pansy would have started that kind of potion without knowing for sure that it wouldn't melt the whole school. I've been watching her brew for ages now, and if I can testify one thing about her process is that she's really careful…like, to the point of paranoia. She times things to the last second and recently, she's been analysing ingredients down to the last molecule. I mean, who does that? It would be annoying if it weren't so damn sexy," he muttered this last bit under his breath, seemingly unaware. Then he shook his head, "And secondly, she's far too obsessed with her healing brews to even contemplate making something with the potential to murder the school's kitchen elves, let alone other students. So, I wouldn't call her potions dangerous or illegal, just…unofficial."
Snape looked at him blankly, "Which is synonymous for illegal."
"Actually, no, it's not." Jonah argued, "Not really. Illegal means' not-legal', as in breaking the law. 'Unofficial' means 'she was not doing it officially.'"
"If it is not official, it is not allowed," Snape said harshly, crossing his arms, "making it illegal."
"Hmm…I don't know" Jonah countered, crossing his own arms and tipping his head in t thoughtful gesture, "I don't think I've ever seen, 'Thou shall now brew ingenious potions after school hours' written in wizarding law or even in the school's rule book, Sir. Therefore," Jonah said jovially, scratching his chin and blatantly ignoring how Snape looked like he was ready to pickle the blonde's head, "she's not guilty of anything drastic, except perhaps being out of bed after curfew. So, can you just give us detention and let us go to bed? It's late, and as you know, it's a school night."
Pansy watched the exchange, morbidly fascinated. Jonah was doing what he did best, being a general nuisance. And it was working. The bickering was helping Snape to release some of his steam, and she could see the tension slowly easing out of the professor's shoulders even as he glared daggers at the cheerful Hufflepuff.
'I get that it's hard to ever truly be angry with Jonah,' she couldn't help but think, 'but sometimes I wonder whether that boy has Veela blood, the kind that's extra effective at charming Slytherins.'
For the first time, she felt like she was really watching it. Before Pansy had gone through her days so steeped in her own emotions, that she'd often felt like she was eavesdropping on conversations rather than having them, or watching scenes from afar that than being there. Now she watched them quibble and found herself paying close attention to the spark in Jonah's eye.
While he was doing this to distract Snape, she suddenly realised he actually enjoyed poking at the prickly potions master. She also wondered whether she ought to get his sanity checked out.
"Miss Parkinson!" Snape's voice snapped at her, breaking her out of another mental boat trip down 'distraction river'.
She blinked at the sound of her name being hissed and answered, "Yes?"
Snape sneered down at her, "Miss Parkinson, I understand it's difficult, but please try to pay attention and pretend you have some sense in that empty skull of yours."
Ouch. Pansy flinched back.
"Hey!" Jonah snapped, all humour was gone from his voice, "That's going too far."
He pushed past Snape's arm and stormed forward to stand in front of Pansy.
Facing Snape, he said coldly, "Do not call her stupid."
Pansy looked up at Jonah, both surprised and touched. Even with all the horribleness going on between them and within him, he was still trying to take care of her.
Why could he do this for her, and yet not for himself?
Pansy realised she did not like that she couldn't remember the last time Jonah had ever tried to defend himself.
"As for you, what on earth was going through your mind!" Snape snarled, turning on Jonah. "Putting this potions business aside, did it not occur to you how easily your so-called significant other could have been the next victim to go missing?" he snapped, and Jonah flinched.
His face went pale, and his shoulders buckled. The spark had faded slightly from his purple eyes, and in their stead, a numbness was beginning to creep in.
The sight sent a strange shock of fury coursing through Pansy.
'How dare he!' she thought, incensed, 'How bloody dare he bring that up after what Jonah has been though!'
Snape did not notice the change in either of his students' moods as he continued to rant, "You should have known better! The only reason I have not called Professor Sprout and the Headmaster is because of the need for secrecy. Otherwise, I'd have both of you in permanent detention for this, if not expelled to save the school from your blind stupidity. Do you have no care for—"
"Shut up," someone said quietly and so coldly, it cut, "You have no right to talk to us like that."
When Jonah turned around to gawk at her, and Snape looked down to glare at her, Pansy realised that 'someone' had been her.
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Life from Malfoy's point of view started out normally enough, and that was the problem.
As Hermione watched the little version of Malfoy, looking no different from the little Draco she'd seen before, experienced the exact same insults from Lucius as Draco. Those insults were also followed by the exact same prejudiced poison disguised as a father's praise.
She then watched as Malfoy went through the exact same terrible childhood as Draco. And as Hermione watched, she was loath to admit that if there were any differences in the upbringing of Draco compared to Malfoy, Hermione couldn't see them.
At this point, Malfoy was Draco. There was literally no different: they were essentially the same sad child.
However, the longer Hermione watched Malfoy's life, the more she came to understand one stark difference between the two: unlike Draco, Malfoy truthfully did grow up...all alone.
He'd been alone when Harry had come and gone in Madam Malkin's shop. He'd been alone after his father had dropped him off at the station. He'd been alone when he got on the train.
And when Malfoy met a younger looking 'Granger', he didn't stop breathing.
Instead, he looked at this little girl and saw her as one of the people his father had told him was worthless. He looked at her and remembered that, because she wasn't 'one of the sacred twenty-eight, she was "essentially beneath you", and so he had told her to piss off.
Which she did.
And as she left, Malfoy watched her back for a moment in a childishly obvious way: a lingering look which told Hermione that, deep down, Mr. Pureblood-Prat...might have thought the little girl that he'd just dismissed was...kinda cute...
But still, he didn't stop her from leaving. He didn't apologise and he didn't allow himself to dwell on the matter long enough to acknowledge even the possibility of a crush.
Because in the end, she wasn't worthy of him. Malfoy's father had told him so.
So, Malfoy just let her go and instead, turned to the two boys who he thought were worthwhile as his friends.
But truthfully, it seemed painfully obvious to Hermione that Crabb and Goyal were anything but.
They didn't treat Malfoy as a friend. It wasn't because they were stupid, they just...didn't seem care much at all about Malfoy. Not really.
They obeyed him, but they didn't seem to like or dislike him.
'He may as well be talking to an empty room when he speaks to them,' she thought.
Oblivious to exactly how worthless he was to his so-called 'friends', Malfoy chatted away to the two boys, and Hermione couldn't help but think how young and alone he looked.
But Malfoy, stuffed with so much self-importance, didn't even notice how alone he actually was.
Or...maybe he did.
Because later, whenever he'd see other kids getting along so well and while ignoring him, he'd become especially spiteful and cruel.
Which was one of the reasons he came to hate that little brown-haired girl from the train. The one with a wild hair, ugly teeth and...kinda-cute smile.
He hated her mostly because she'd turned out to be a bloody Mudblood of all things, and then (to make things worse) and even ended up a Mudblood Gryffindor!
She was a worthless, dirty-blood wench not worthy of the dirt on his show...and yet she was still so...clever. And she was doing better than him at everything.
He also hated how, in spite of her dirty blood, she'd come to make friends with Harry Potter, who'd ultimately dismissed him (for Ronald-Pauper-Weasley of all people).
But most of all, Malfoy hated how despite knowing she was muggle born, he still couldn't stop...noticing her!
However, the young Malfoy wasn't really aware of all the reasons he hated the little brunette girl. He just told himself that he only hated how arrogant she was to walk the school so confidently despite her lowly status, but Hermione knew better.
Because memories are funny in a way. A lot of that time, how a person understands their memories can change depending on what they want to understand. This ends up making the memory a bit distorted and the truth becomes a well-rehearsed lie.
But memories are essentially still just recordings that the brain takes, and what Hermione was watching was an unfiltered version of the recording.
Which was why, she felt sad when she watched the moments when Malfoy would angrily bully kids like Neville and Harry, he'd tell himself it was because they were 'Pathetic'.
Because in those moments, Hermione felt the deep sense of emptiness that Malfoy always convinced himself he wasn't feeling.
She felt how, whenever Malfoy watched the three of them, his eyes would zero in first on Harry, then on Granger, and lastly on Ron, the sight of how damned happy the lot of them were would fill him with a sick, nauseous feeling.
While it was true that Malfoy also received a sick sense of pleasure from bullying people, alongside that satisfaction was also a sense of something horribly unhappy.
'It...feels terrible,' Hermione decided, touching her chest. Not even Draco had ever felt like this.
The saddest part was that, even as an eleven-year-old, Malfoy wasn't stupid. He 'd may have been brainwashed all his childhood and had no escape from it, but deep down he was still as intelligent and discerning as Draco.
Which meant deep, deep, deep, deep down, Malfoy was well aware of how empty his own life actually was.
But that awareness was so dismal, that it felt easier to just go along with his father's lies and ignore the truth. After all, it wasn't as if he even knew how things could be better. So why care?
But still...Malfoy couldn't stop himself from despising the sight of how the kids in Gryffindor were getting into their cosy little groups. Because seeing them like that would make him think, 'why the hell are those Mudbloods, half bloods and blood traitors so damn cheerful? And yet me, a person of pure blood and heritage, feels so...I hate them.'
Those three words were always where his thoughts would end up.
It was hard for Hermione to watch. Even though she knew this was Malfoy, she couldn't help but acknowledge that right now, before all that, this was just a child.
A child drowning in all these heavy emotions. Emotions that were buried so deep in his small eleven-year-old frame, they were becoming twisted enough to boil almost every problem he had down to the childish explanation of 'I hate them'. Because his heart hadn't been taught to do anything else.
'That's...so sad.' Hermione admitted.
Draco had never gone through anything like this. After getting on that train, he'd soon come to forget what it felt like to be this empty.
But because Malfoy didn't have a little brown-haired girl whose friendship had made him feel warm (before mucking it up for a short while after she'd been sorted into Gryffindor) the emptiness in him just...grew.
And because he'd never experienced what it was like to genuinely banter with someone who liked you and thought you were worth talking to, he didn't know what he was missing. So, he wasn't even trying to change.
Instead, Malfoy bullied that little brown-haired Mudblood as much as he could to somehow explain why he couldn't stop noticing her!
He noticed which compartment she'd sit in on the train. He'd notice where she sat when in their shared classes. And whenever she walked into the great hall, he'd always noticed her first before Potter...and he hated how humiliating that felt.
So, he'd hurt her as much as he could to justify how often he noticed her. And he hurt many others too
In fact, Malfoy spent all the following school year throwing about his weight and his fathers' reputation, as if it gave him any kind of entitlement.
Because honestly, what else did he have?
Hermione wanted to feel annoyed at his behaviour, and she wanted to feel angry that no one, especially her other-self, could see how warped this lonely little boy was becoming. But the unfortunate truth was that she completely understood why no one cared about Malfoy.
Because if Hermione had been forced to endure going to school with that beastly little boy, she would have likely hated him as much as Granger did.
But because Hermione had seen both Malfoy and Draco's past, now she couldn't bring herself to hate this bratty child. All she could do was pity him.
"What an absolute waste of life." Hermione murmured miserably, "He's...there's nothing in his life! No real friends, no real dreams, no beliefs of his own. He's so...empty and alone. I can't understand how anyone could possibly feel like this and...and just keep feeling like this!'
Because Malfoy would continue to feel like this. He went through the First, Second and Third year feeling like this.
That in itself was also miserable.
In Draco's memories, so much happened to him each year that it had taken him a lot of careful selection for him to even decide what memories to include.
But Malfoy...for Malfoy it had obviously been easy. Because nothing much happened to him...ever.
In second year, the highlight was when he called Hermione a Mudblood. Usually even Malfoy's bullying was done without any real or honest emotion. But just once, he said this word with genuine hatred, genuine pleasure at how the words carved into her and struck fury into all her little friends.
For one moment, Malfoy felt less...empty. For one moment, he felt filled with hot pleasure accomplishment and sadistic delight.
And at least that was something.
'This is disgusting' Hermione shook her head, feeling nauseous and furious, 'all year he's been this cross between a spoilt brat and monotonous doll...and this is the only time he feels something deeply?! Just how much does he resent muggleborns! This is sick!'
Hermione knew she hated Lucius Malfoy for all he'd done to Draco. But in that moment, Hermione loathed Lucius Malfoy for what he'd successfully turned Malfoy into.
Then in Malfoy's Third year, he taunted Buckbeak. He'd been jealous of how Harry had managed to flawlessly introduce himself to the Hippogriff. Malfoy had grown into a twisted teenager who, still denying how hollow he actually was, now resented anyone who was shining brighter than himself.
So childishly, he egged the Hippogriff on before Blaise Zabini could even open his mouth and was the first to get scratched. Theodore wasn't close enough to have been in any danger, so he didn't feel obligated to visit Malfoy in the hospital wing afterwards. No one but Pansy did.
For nearly five years, Malfoy continued being a little twat with more money than sense.
He also continued being all alone.
None of his so-called 'friends' ever became his real friends. Even Crabb and Goyle remained as no more than underlings.
This meant Malfoy didn't have anyone to tease him when he was down, or to give him advice when he was lost. He didn't have anyone who cared enough to notice when his heart was broken or comfort him whenever he received cruel letters from his father, voicing disappointment that he hadn't yet been able to beat 'that Mudblood' academically.
It honestly made Hermione sick and angry.
'I mean... he's just fifteen...and he's decided that he's all alone. Pansy's perhaps the only person who gives a damn...and he won't even entertain the notion of letting her in. If this keeps up...I mean...even she's losing the strength to care!' He's completely isolated himself from everything except those stupid ideas filling his head. Ideas he never had any choice in having. Ideas that were pushed on him!'
Hermione felt her eyes stinging with furious, unshed tears. 'Fifteen years old...and I wonder if anyone other than his mother would even care if he died.'
Malfoy had been furious about what had happened with the Hippogriff, mostly because the experience had forced him to face up to the reality that no one had come to visit him in the hospital wing. This filled him with dark, angry emotions and like the teenager he was, he lashed out. He put all his emotions on poor Buckbeak, convincing himself that if 'that bloody chicken' dies, everyone who made him feel so wretched would be forced to feel the same.
'It's not fair.' Hermione thought ', and I hate myself for thinking this. I shouldn't pity him! I mean, look at him! He's terrible to the other 'me'! He makes her cry on a regular basis! And he's enjoying the idea of Buckbeak dying. It's disgusting!'
But still, Hermione winced when she watched the other-her punch Malfoy in the nose. And she pitied the sad, pathetic little boy who ran away like a coward after being punched, just like how he ran away from all his problems.
The saddest part about this was that, even though Hermione could see how Malfoy and Draco's lives made them into utterly different people, she also felt…that those differences were simply too heart-breaking.
Hermione's Draco could be a posh twat when he wanted to be, but he could also be the kindest person you'd ever meet. He was friendly with children, had a terrible sense of humour, was very sweet deep down and could be a hopeless romantic when he put his mind to it. He'd had more worry lines and a darker look in his eyes than Malfoy at this age (courtesy of the nightmares), and he'd certainly looked older than any boy ought to. But even though he'd been far more stressed and had far more to deal with, her Draco had been far happier than Malfoy. And his life had been far, far more...fulfilling.
In comparison, Malfoy's face did not have dark worry lines. His face was fresh, youthful and untouched. He was also haughty, cocky, cruel and vindictive. He was a mean-spirited boy with no darkness in his eyes...and yet Hermione still pitied him almost more than Draco.
Furthermore, it had to be said that Draco did on occasion act exactly like Malfoy. He did so whenever he needed to pretend to be a cold pureblood prince for appearance sake.
When the need came up, Draco was an expert at slipping into this kind behaviour. It had always unnerved Hermione at how easily he could make the switch, now she understood why.
Draco had taken his horrible childhood and turned it into a mask he could don to protect all the things that gave his life fulfilment.
But Malfoy had grown up with nothing to protect, nothing to make his innocence worth protecting. So, he had no reason to turn his horrible childhood into a mask and it became his whole identity instead.
'But Malfoy's better than...this,' Hermione realised, accepting finally that yes, this Malfoy and her Draco did come from the same root. But that root had split into two paths during their First year at Hogwarts.
One root had chosen to burrow up towards the sunlight. Their choice to grow upwards meant they'd had to burrow through sharp stones and thick sludge. But still, at least the direction had given them ample room to spread out. And eventually, they'd broken through the coarse ground and blossomed beneath the warm sun.
Alternatively, the other root gave up on the sun and chose the easier path: they instead burrowed deep into the ground, where the sunlight simply couldn't reach. As a result, they found themselves hitting barriers of stones and other roots, leaving them confined and without any room to grow. So deep underground in the dry muck, they were slowly rotting away,
Hermione hated that she was smart enough to realise that, since both Malfoy and Draco came from the same beginning, Draco could have potentially turned into this boy...and in much the same way, Malfoy could have possibly turned into her Draco.
He was just never given a chance.
'I know it's not the fault of anyone in these memories,' she thought, 'To them, he's just a cruel boy and a slimy Slytherin. They don't even want to believe he can be anything else. But I know differently because...my Draco changed. He can be a prat sometimes too, in our first year he was just as much a snob as Malfoy... just an unsettled one. But Draco became a better man…a man Malfoy is more than capable of becoming.'
But as the memories continued, Malfoy didn't become a better man: he became an exhausted, scared and powerless one.
Even when Malfoy became a Death Eater (a process she mercifully didn't get to see) he only turned from a pompous prat into a paranoid prat who was absolutely terrified for the lives of the people he loved, his parents.
And again, unlike her Draco, Malfoy was all alone in his misery.
He had no one to share his burden with. No one to go to for help like Draco had gone to Theo, Jonah and herself for help. He had become so closed off; he didn't even know how to let Snape help him.
So, he spent the year agonising over his family's lives and that damned vanishing cabinet with no one to hold him in his fear or help him with his task like Hermione had.
All Malfoy had was Myrtle.
Hermione then decided she was determined to be kinder to the bathroom ghost the next time she saw her.
How could she not when she watched the way Myrtle was with Malfoy? The unconditional kindness she showed him, how she expressed her worry for him and allowed him to experience (for perhaps the first time ever) what it felt like when someone actually gave a damn about you.
Not what you represented, not what you could do for someone, but just you.
Her kindness allowed Malfoy a single place of peace where he could be weak and human, and not be afraid someone would take advantage of him
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'No Mew. You're wrong,' he thought with a sinking feeling, 'I'm the worst kind...the kind that knows he's evil, yet still doesn't...still carries on.''
Instead of replying with that, Theo wrote:
"I'm not that good. "
It took a few seconds for her answer to come, but when he did, the words appeared quickly and conveyed a sense of urgency:
"No seriously, now I'm worried. What's wrong. Those four words felt more serious than usual."
Theo scoffed,
"How could you possibly tell"
"Don't patronise me!"
Theo sighed. "I am being patronising, aren't I?" he thought. But...I just don't know what else to say. I really don't want to tell her too much". Usually when I want to avoid a conversation, I say so outright and rather rudely...but I really don't want to be rude like that to her."
Theo sighed again and scratched his chin. 'Maybe...maybe I can tell her...just a little?' he managed to convince himself.
With trembling fingers, Theo then wrote:
"Mew, do you think evil people can be...forgiven?"
After a few seconds to think, her answer came back as thus:
"That's a very big question. Are you asking because of the evil stepmother, or because of something else?
"Just answer the question."
"...I suppose, it all depends on how I would define evil.'
Theo swallowed dryly,
"And how would you define evil?"
"It would depend on the situation."
Theo groaned. He hated when she got like this.
"I take it back; you must be a Ravenclaw. Just like those batty pigeon heads, you seem incapable of giving a simple, straightforward answer."
"Mr. Blackboard," She wrote, using her nickname for him when she was getting cross, "there simply isn't a simple, straightforward answer to this kind of question. Can you honestly give one?"
"Yes, I can. My answer is that Evil cannot ever be forgiven."
With these words scribbled onto the black slate in start white chalk, Theo felt a wave of misery washing over him and he could almost swear his heart felt touch colder.
It might not have been said aloud, but it still felt like admittance.
Admittance of the fact that he was evil, and that he could never be forgiven.
So consumed by his misery, Theo missed the words she scribbled back in reply:
"...that's a very dark opinion on the matter. So, tell me this instead: how would you define evil?"
Theo stared at that message and another wave hit him, this time it was anger.
This was the first time he'd ever been angry with Mew. Theo was well aware that his anger had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with how he wished he could be as naive and clueless as she. Even so, he couldn't help but write back furiously:
"Are you stupid? Does evil even need a definition?"
He expected her to take a long time to answer, or to not reply at all. To his surprise, her words returned rather quickly:
"Yes, it does. Not everything is evil, some things are simply...bad."
Theo felt so frustrated and angry at this point, he didn't truly realise the words he was writing next:
"Does betraying everyone you count as evil, or just 'bad?'" Theo wrote, hoping to communicate as much sarcastic derision as possible. "Or do I need to add more murder and slaughter to the act? I'm pretty sure a lot of that stuff comes attached with the betrayal!"
When no reply came back fast enough, Theo sneered and found himself scribbling:
"You have no idea what evil is. Evil is the fate given to the few unlucky people destined to be forsaken by all. And no matter how they may try to avoid that fate, they can't. Because they are born to be evil. So, tell me, can they be fucking forgiven! Can a fucking Death Ea—"
"Stop!"
White words suddenly appeared, interrupting what Theo had been about to write next:
"Tell me the colour of the carpet."
"Why the fucking hell do you want to know the colour of the fucking carpet?!" Theo both wrote and spat aloud.
"Just tell me, stupid!"
Theo sneered at an empty room and glanced at the carpet:
"Yellowish-gold."
"Ok. Now what colour are the curtains?"
"What the fu-"
"For Helga's sake, just answer the damn question!"
"Fine...green."
"Good. Now, do you have blond hair?"
"No...I have black hair."
"Really? Huh...I've always rather liked black hair. Shoulder length preferably. It has this 'gothic romance' look to it"
Her words made Theo freeze and against his will, he found his hand reaching up to lightly touch the short shoulder-length strands of his own blank hair, and then he blushed. He actually fucking blushed.
"Enough already!"Theo spat and wrote. "I've had enough fucking questions!"
Though honestly, all these random questions were slowly draining some of the fizz from the fire of his earlier ire.
"What the hell are you even doing?"
"Trying to distract you, of course. Unfortunately, I can't slap you like in the movies, due to not actually being there with you. But from how your messages suddenly became mad as a March Hare, and downright mean, you desperately needed one. I can only assume you were overcome by a sudden bout of female hysteria. That, or the Impy-Wiggs got to you. They've apparently been known to cause symptoms similar to female hysteria."
To be honest, Theo only laughed at this because it sounded like something Luna would say.
"Mr blackboard, why are you so angry?" Her writing was slower this time, as if she was thinking carefully what her next words should be. "Please, I know something isn't right with you. Tell me how to help you. I want to help you, like how you helped me with my brother. I just...I just wanna be there for you. Even if all I can do is hear you out."
She was so fucking sweet, it hurt.
Theo didn't know what she looked like, but he had a feeling that even if she was uglier than a skunk with three anuses, she'd still be beautiful to him.
He wrote tiredly:
"Will you tell me what I want to hear?"
"...I can try."
By that she meant she'd be as blunt as she always was.
Theo smiled a sad, weak smile, his eyes going dark and haggard.
He stared numbly into the blackboard for a few seconds, his eyes boring down into the white chalk words till he'd memorised all the tiny powdered cracks in the letters. Then, without thinking about it too much, he wrote the words he hadn't wanted her to ever know.
"You want to know why I'm angry, Mew? I'm angry because I'm a death eater. I'm a Death Eater who has murdered and destroyed and I'm not even seventeen yet."
He waited a long while for her words to show up. When they did, they near broke his heart:
"But...but you can't be. They're...wrong."
A wave of something that couldn't just be described as painful tore through him.
She might not have meant it as such, but Theo knew a rejection when he read one.
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Pansy felt an abstract horror bubble in her throat as she suddenly comprehended that she'd just told Severus Snape, one of the scariest bastards she knew, to 'shut up'.
She was also comprehending that, for some insane reason, she didn't care.
Not after seeing the way Jonah had flinched at Snape's cruel words. Pansy knew that one careless remark had caused Jonah to remember Kirsty's death, and now he was hurting again.
That alone infuriated her just as much hearing Snape call her stupid.
'Maybe I need to get my head checked out too, because clearly, Jo's insanity has rubbed off on me. But I'm not a snarky, harmless Hufflepuff, I can't get away with telling Snape to—'
"What did you say Miss. Parkinson."
It was the voice he used that did it.
That sneering, condescending voice. As if he hadn't just prodded her weakest insecurities several times in one conversation, or implied unfairly to a boy who'd already lost one friend that he could have been responsible for losing another. Jonah hadn't known that Pansy was out alone tonight, she'd purposely not told him.
If he'd known, he'd never have let her go.
That little fire that had burned in Pansy's chest earlier that night began to flicker again. And when she looked up this time, words leapt naturally from her mouth.
"I am not stupid." She said, speaking slowly and deliberately in spite of her racing heart, "I am not empty-headed, and that potion was not dangerous. You're right, I shouldn't have been out alone. That was stupid. But it had nothing to do with Jonah. I didn't tell him I was going out, and so you absolutely donot get to call him stupid or careless! I forbid it."
"Now is not the time for childish—" Snape began, but this time, Pansy cut him off.
"I may be childish, Professor, but you are being cruel, spiteful and ignorant. You won't let us explain ourselves and even when you do, you ignore our words and come to your own conclusions. You took my books, as if they meant nothing, but those books meant everything to me. You destroyed my notes, notes I've spent so...so long writing and perfecting. You ruined my...my—" her voice choked, "I was nearly done! And you just...vanished it. I-I-I was so CLOSE!"
This Pansy screamed.
Then she looked up, tears once again curling at her eyes. "Why did you bring Jonah here Professor?" she almost shouted, "Just to make him feel terrible when he's already lost one friend? To drive the nail in deeper?"
Snape had the decency to look away, but Pansy wasn't done.
She took a step forward till she was standing almost protectively in front of Jonah and glared fiercely at her Professor, "Why would you even do that? Why couldn't you just leave him alone!" She felt Jonah stiffen behind her, but she didn't have time to think about it. Her mind was in a total whirl.
"Actually, why did you bring me here?" she (spat,) her voice getting louder and colder with each sentence, "I did wrong, that's true. But then you should have assigned me detention and at least investigated my research. If you had to admonish me, then you should have chewed just me out and only a little. Then, only after looking over the evidence, you could then decide instead to chew me out a lot. But you didn't even look at my notes!" she cried, "You assumed that because I wrote them, that they must be stupid. So, you just destroyed all my hard work like it was worth nothing!"
To her dismay, more tears began to burn Pansy's eyelids. 'I've cried more tonight than I probably have in my whole life.'
A furious rage was building inside Pansy and she glared up at her Professor, who was staring back at her completely stone-faced.
But since he wasn't saying anything, Pansy continued, "You're my Head of House, you're supposed to be on my side" she said weakly, "I've always thought, as mean as you are, you at least have always been...but I was wrong," she (spat), her voice choking again, "because when it really counted, you just thought I was a dumb little brat...and...and maybe you have the right to think so. I have been acting like just a dumb little brat over the past several years...but Professor..." she said and paused.
Her heart quickened and she felt faint for a moment. Words were over spilling from her lips, but something held them back. Unconsciously, Pansy found herself reaching behind her to grab the tip of Jonah's sleeve. Then she took a small step forward.
Looking straight into Snape's dark eyes, Pansy spoke her next words with unfamiliar earnestness, "Professor...I've never failed your class. And whenever I did mess up a potion, it was always on purpose and never to a point that I couldn't save it. I know I've always only brewed mere adequate potions...but isn't it strange that in all my time as your student, I've consistently brewed only adequate potions without even one failure? I'm not in NEWT potions because my father didn't approve, not because I failed my OWLS. I may a dumb, prickly bitch, Professor…but I am a Slytherin too." This she said with less fervour than before. Pansy realised that she, on some small level, had wanted Snape to realise the truth. Because as awful as he was, he was a potioneer she very much admired.
And that he didn't realise, that he hasn't even tried to realise…hurt a little.
"And so," she said in a quieter tone, "even if other people think I really am a dumb little brat, because you're a Slytherin too, you of all people should should have known to at least…look." As she whispered this, Pansy felt her energy leaving her as quickly as it had first erupted.
Behind her, Jonah had gone stiff. But with his stiff arms, he still removed her hand, which was gripping his sleeve, and held it in his own, squeezing tight.
From just that squeeze, Pansy could tell he was angry about something, but was nonetheless setting his emotions aside to put her first. Like he always did.
Pansy was so distracted by this unsettling thought, she nearly missed Snape saying quietly, "I will return both of you to your dormitories. You both have detention for the rest of the year and one hundred points will be taken from you, each."
"Professor—" Jonah burst out, frowning.
"And," Snape continued, ignoring them both, "I have decided that I will be writing to your father, Miss. Parkinson. I understand Mr. Ashwin is independently estranged from his family, so I am unable to notify his relatives. I will ensure that you never touch another cauldron again."
Pansy stared at him, feeling something like a sharp slap hitting her cheek and smothering that small flame that had burned.
Her father. He was going to write to her father.
Did Snape know exactly what her father did to her when he was displeased?
No, of course he didn't. Pansy and her parents both did all they could to ensure her home life was never made public. Snape knew that her parents' discipline was harsh, like all pureblood families. He couldn't possibly know that her parent definition of harsh even went as far as inviting a madman to rape and abuse their daughter in their own home.
Nor could he possibly know that her father favoured an enchanted switch, the kind used on horses, when he was in his blackest moods.
Pansy felt her mouth go dry, and nodded quietly.
Jonah removed his hand from hers and instead put an arm around her waist, pulling her closely and protectively. Then he whispered in a cold, near-deadly voice that Snape very likely couldn't hear, "Over my dead body."
Pansy frowned and looked up at Jonah, taking in his firm set expression.
He looked tired too. But he was still sticking up for her, standing in front of everyone and making everything his responsibility.
She felt touched, but at the same time…she wished he wouldn't.
How on earth was he shouldering his mess, Draco's mess, Theo's mess and her mess all at once. Wasn't it exhausting? Pansy didn't like the idea that she was giving him another burden to worry about.
'I should've kept my big mouth shut,' she thought miserably.
After whispering that, Jonah walked both himself and Pansy out of Snape's office.
They were all silent as the three of them walked briskly through the halls, slowing only once they'd reached the stairs down to the Slytherin dormitory.
Jonah held onto Pansy the whole way, pressing her to his side as if he wanted to fold her there and keep her safe from everything. Usually, this would make her feel safe.
Right now, Pansy only wished he wouldn't squeeze so hard. It felt like he might break from the pressure.
Jonah only let go only when they arrived at the residential corridors. Then he took a few steps back, so no one would happen to see them and think Snape was escorting them both together.
When Pansy entered her dorm, he didn't spare her a glance. He just watched her step through the portrait hole. After which, he turned and made his own way back down the corridor and presumably towards his dorm, Snape following behind.
'Not even a goodbye,' she thought sadly.
Pansy, more exhausted than she had been in her whole life, went straight to her bed and fell onto it. She closed her eyes and was asleep before she knew what was what, not even taking off her uniform.
'This has been a long...long...long night.'
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Then, Hermione saw the moment that Malfoy realised he'd fallen in love with Granger.
And it hadn't been anything like she'd imagined.
Before seeing these memories, Hermione had believed Malfoy's feelings for Granger were nothing more than a sick, blind obsession. She'd assumed they'd been born from something close to panic, like a psychological lifeline.
But now…now she knew better.
The truth was, Malfoy had fallen for Granger like a completely normal boy.
He just had not been allowed to let himself acknowledge it.
But the moment when he finally did acknowledge his feelings…had been both beautiful and sad.
He'd been in the library at the time. Malfoy had been tired, alone and looked like he wished he could just die already.
Then he'd looked at her.
Hermione couldn't tell what had gone through his mind at that moment. His mind felt strangely quiet as he watched Granger for a while. His eyes fixed on the way she chewed on her pencil; the way she reached for a book in concentration, only to frown because it was buried in one of the three stacks of books she had on the table.
And for the first time in months, Malfoy smiled.
The way he looked at her...there was with neither disgust nor prejudice. Just...deep exhaustion and a sleepy sense of peace. Then his small smile became warm, and Hermione gasped.
That one small smile completely transformed his face. Never, not in all his life had Malfoy ever smiled like that. It was warm, affectionate and slightly amused: like he was watching something that made him genuinely happy. It was the exact smile Draco would give Hermione.
When they were children, Malfoy and Draco had been indistinguishable. After the first year, they more like reversed images in a mirror. But with this one smile, Malfoy once again became Draco.
Because in his absolute exhaustion at all this poor sixteen-year-old boy was enduring, he was simply too tired to listen to the whispers of his father's brainwashing and the lies he told himself. He was simply too tired to do anything other than feel what he was honestly feeling, and that opened a window to his true self.
Despite that smile, Malfoy still watched Granger with an assessing gaze which soon morphed into surprise. Then finally, that surprise turned into warmth...such, such warmth that only made his smile even more like Draco's
Then...horror. He suddenly looked so horrified.
Finally, Malfoy's eyes became unbearably sad, and that smile disappeared from his face forever. After this, Malfoy stood from his seat.
As he left the library, he made sure to walk past the table Granger was sitting at.
Once he was out, he walked, stony-faced, to an empty corridor. Then he leaned his back against the wall, his shoulders crumpling and revealing how exhausted and unhappy he was. For the first time, Hermione felt he looked worse than Draco ever had. More tired and more afraid.
Malfoy covered his face with his hand. His shoulders shook, and he sighed a painful sigh.
"I'm so stupid," he whispered brokenly, "I've been so, so stupid." He laughed, "I've spent nearly six years tormenting her, and this is the reason why?"
He shook his head still hidden in his palm and moaned very quietly, "Seriously, how cliché can I be? Pulling a girl's pigtails to get her attention. Well..." he laughed dryly and without humour, "...it worked dumbass. Now she hates you. A...A-and..." he choked, "...and she always will."
His hands pulled away, and Hermione gasped at the look on his face.
He was heartbroken. Hermione was used to seeing only arrogance and cruelty on Malfoy's teenage face. But now he looked a little like the adult Malfoy she knew.
Because his face wore a look filled with so much longing and so much regret.
It was the first time in a long time that the sixteen-year-old Malfoy's eyes hadn't looked tired or crazed with worry, and it felt unfair to Hermione that the emotion to replace that should be...this.
Malfoy bowed his neck and stared into his hand for a long moment. Then he mused on a quiet whisper, "Maybe I...I could tell her I'm sorry?" He swallowed thickly, "Maybe. Maybe...I mean, she's... she'd kind. Much kinder than I've ever been to her. So maybe...if I...if I tell her I'm sorry, and that I was wrong...that I lo…" he laughed dryly, "maybe I'd be better off not starting with that. But for now, I could...I could...maybe..." He pulled himself up from the wall and turned towards where he'd come from, a hopeful look on his young face. He looked so young and wistful it hurt.
"Maybe..." He licked his dry lips, "I could go back? I could...I could sit down. Sit next to her and...and when she'd done yelling at me or staring at me like I've gone mad, I could maybe tell her...tell her she looks..." his face crumpled, "I could tell her that I'm a useless prat. And that I was wrong, and that everything she'd ever said about me was right. And everything I've ever said about her was wrong. And that I'm really, really sorry."
Hearing this, Hermione felt her own heart breaking for him.
She'd never seen Malfoy like this, so raw and focused on the emotions of someone else.
He looked exactly like her Draco.
Young, yet older than he ought to be.
He looked sad, unsure, thoughtful, and a little hopeful. He was young and had fallen in love. All the stress had finally cracked the miserable stone bucket that was his head, weighed down for years with all the lies his father had filled him with. Malfoy was finally tapping into the part of him that...that wasn't what he'd been brought up to be. He was finally letting himself be a little of who he could have become.
"She'd kind," he continued to whisper, "your typical bleeding-heart Gryffindor." He ran his fingers through his hair, "If I tell her the truth...if I tell her and I tell her again and again, eventually that know-it-all brain of hers won't be able to resist being curious of whether I'm legit...or just crazy." He laughed with a soft, boyish sound, "And then...maybe she'll give me a chance. No...I know she will."
Malfoy took a step forward, then hesitated. He looked down at his shoes, so his hair hid his eyes and whispered even quieter than before, "If…tell her how sorry I am, will she...give me a chance?"
Then he groaned and unconsciously, his hand went to his arm where his dark mark was.
At that touch, Malfoy became so still.
And Hermione realised, from the way his face morphed from looking like 'her Draco' and turned back into Malfoy, that this was it.
This was the moment that the two roots would separate forever.
Malfoy was wearing the familiar look of worry and pain that he wore whenever he was thinking of his family, trapped in their own house with Voldemort's wand at their necks. And the noble part of him Hermione knew he possessed was making a decision of what part of his soul he needed to sacrifice.
"No" Hermione whimpered, "Don't give up! Go back! Sit with her! Tell her the truth. She'll help you! You're right, I am a bleeding-heart Gryffindor. I'll help you!"
But Malfoy couldn't hear Hermione. And unlike Draco, He hadn't experienced a person's goodwill before.
He didn't believe in second chances.
Not really.
Hermione realised this when Malfoy opened his eyes. Because his face was set with an expression of resignation. He was also crying.
Then Malfoy covered his face again, his palm resting over his eyes, so his mouth was still on view.
This was why Hermione saw the silent words he mouthed on a choked breath.
"I'm s-so...sorry, Hermione, for everything. I'm sorry..." tears fell down his cheeks, "I w-wish I could have done things right by you when we were kids. I wish I'd been kind to you, even just once."
Then he mouthed the words he was resigning himself to never say to the girl directly.
He was choosing to break his own heart to protect the only people he'd held dear in all his lonely life.
And Hermione's heart shattered for him.
Then the memories changed, and Hermione now saw Harry and Malfoy in Myrtle's bathroom. Harry had been stalking Malfoy, convinced that Malfoy was up to something. He'd stumbled upon Malfoy while he'd been opening himself up to Myrtle. In other words, Harry found Malfoy at his most vulnerable.
Malfoy had been crazed with fear and stress...but that did not excuse the curse that Harry used on him.
Granted Malfoy had been about to use Crucio, so she understood why Harry had been afraid. But Hermione still watched in horror and desperation as Draco poured his heart to Myrtle, was interrupted by his worst enemy and then had his body sliced open with a hundred invisible knives by Harry's spell.
"Why that curse!" Hermione screamed at the memory image of Harry. "That was too much! You didn't have to do that!"
She saw Harry's face, horrified and trying to justify what he'd done. But Hermione couldn't agree. Not knowing what she knew about Malfoy. There was no way to justify that Malfoy deserved this.
"He was just scared!" she cried, tears beginning to stream past her cheeks "He hasn't slept in days, and he's stressed beyond anything you will ever understand!" She watched as Harry took a step back. Hermione had never felt so ashamed of her friend. He was leaving Malfoy to bleed all for that stupid book. Didn't Harry realise that Malfoy was the same age Harry was? Did he really deserve to bleed like that on that cold floor alone!
"He was just scared!" Hermione continued to scream at Harry "He didn't deserve that curse. You could have disarmed him, Harry! Or jinxed him...Hell, you could have even made him barf up slugs so he couldn't say the spell. Anything but...this! YOU'D SPARE ANYONE ELSE WITH A DISARMING SPELL, SO WHY THAT CURSE!"
Then Harry ran.
When Malfoy was brought to the hospital wing, what really made Hermione's tears flow was the sight of no one, not one person coming to visit him. Pansy would come to the wing a few times. But she'd always changed her mind at the last minute, looking unsure and vulnerable before leaving. So, Draco just sat there in pain.
Alone. He probably thought he deserved it.
After that event, the memories of Malfoy became hazy and hard to see. Probably because they were based on future events further off in Hermione's timeline. But Hermione did see a blurry image of Malfoy standing on a tower, facing a man who was disarmed. Malfoy pointed his wand with a trembling hand at the man he was meant to kill.
The man tried to reason with Malfoy.
And Malfoy was about to lower his wand.
'See, he can change! He's not as…'
The memories that came after took all Hermione words away. She saw someone else kill the man instead. She saw someone who sounded like Harry blaming Malfoy, and she saw Malfoy completely give up on himself as he and someone else escaped from the tower.
And each day that the war drew out, Hermione watched the little humanity Malfoy had left die a bit more.
Malfoy didn't show Hermione all his war memories, he also didn't show the memory of him killing her parents. But he did show every other memory he had with Granger.
Hermione could tell that he wasn't even selecting the memories to be manipulative. He just seemed to...want to share them.
He was sharing them like someone would share every secret they had at a confession: it was an act of unburdening.
He showed Hermione every scheme he concocted to keep Granger safe. He let her watch every battle where he fought and killed while slyly hiding the fact that Malfoy was killing anyone he needed to keep the attention off Granger.
It was sickening, but Hermione felt horrified at the realisation that she couldn't hate him for it.
Because as she watched this war corrode Malfoy's soul, she realised his love, which was bordering on obsession at this point, was the only good thing he had.
It was also the only reason he hadn't killed himself, though he'd tried a few times.
Once, he'd come so close to just letting himself die. But then he'd pulled up the will to get back up, cast a healing spell and keep on living. All so he could watch her sneak secret dates with a grown-up version of Ron.
It broke his heart, but it was still all he had.
And yet, that sad, pitiful existence of his came to an end when Granger's wedding was interrupted, and she was killed.
Ron tried to protect Granger by shielding her, but after he died, she was still killed.
Hermione decided that it was both gruesome and fascinating to watch herself die.
But it was horrific to watch Malfoy find her body.
He found her lying on the ground and his will to live snapped in a second. Hermione saw it happen.
He killed Granger's murderer like he was simply killing a fly. Then he grabbed her body and apparated away.
Then on the floor of some random forest, Malfoy held Granger's broken body as if it were the most important thing in the world and tried to wake it up.
"Wake up," he screamed. He threatened to kiss it, tried to make it angry, and when that didn't work, he begged.
When he finally accepted the truth, he pulled back and looked at the sight of her cold, grey face.
And he howled. Holding her body and he wept every tear he'd denied himself since that day in the corridor.
Draco's emotions were so raw in his memory, Hermione could even hear his thoughts at that moment, and they too broke her heart.
'This war has taken everything from me. Now, it's taken Hermione too. This-This wasn't what was supposed to happen. What am I to do now? Isn't there anything I can do? She was the smartest witch of a generation, she was special, she was precious. Isn't there anything I can do to bring her back? She c-can't be dead!'
He held her and sobbed.
"I love you. I love you, Hermione." Words he had kept hidden for so long, words he never wanted her to hear, words he now desperately wanted to reach her, wanted her to know. "Dammit, can't you hear me? Wake up! I love you." Her head lolled to the side, her ears hearing nothing.
The tears wouldn't stop, but Malfoy didn't care who found him as he held her close and howled his pain.
Because this small child in his arms was the only thing that had gotten him through his darkest moments: knowing he couldn't die yet, because he had to keep her safe.
There was no man who treasured Hermione Granger as much as he did - her childhood nemesis.
"Don't leave me!" he wept brokenly.
Hermione watched him cry and cried too.
Because since this was a pensive, Hermione could sometimes feel echoes of the emotions attached to a memory, if they were strong enough. And right now, she felt his pain so deeply. That's how strong it was.
She felt it in her soul. A deep, deep anguish.
"Enough," Hermione begged, "Please, no more, I can't watch anymore. Please. Let it be over!"
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As Severus and Jonah walked through the halls to the Hufflepuff dorm, Severus noticed the stiffness in the boy's shoulders.
'This is…peculiar.' Severus couldn't remember ever seeing Jonah Ashwin looking so…hard.
As they neared the dorms, Jonah stopped suddenly. Without turning to face the man behind him, the blond boy spoke in a quiet yet firm voice, fully intending to be heard.
"Don't write to her father."
Severus raised an eyebrow, though Jonah couldn't see him do so, as his back was to him.
Then he said "That isn't any of your concern. Miss Parkinson obviously had no regard for her own safety or the safety of others. If I cannot get through to her, then—"
Jonah turned his shoulders slightly, still not quite looking behind him, but making himself visible enough that Severus could see the hard set of his clenched teeth.
Then he said in an even tone, "If you do that, Professor, I will make you regret it."
Severus also stopped, anger once again beginning to broil in his chest. First Pansy Parkinson feels it's suddenly her right to wail at him like some muddle-headed banshee, and now Jonah Ashwin was actually discovering the gall to make threats at him?
Clearly, these students no longer remembered to fear him: an idiotic thing to forget.
Severus narrowed his eyes in a cold glare and said in a tone just as even as Jonah's, "Is that a threat Mr Ashwinn?"
"No, Professor. That was no threat." Jonah replied, his tone suddenly low and almost...dangerous. He turned, and his violet eyes finally met Snapes. They were narrowed and held a chilling hardness that Snape recognised as 'intent'.
"That was me ambiguously letting you know of my intentions."
Jonah then turned fully around, so he was facing Severus properly and looked up at him with a gaze that, despite the boy's curled eyelashes, had an unmistakably dangerous glint in them.
"What we did," Jonah said, his voice low and even tone, ", it wasn't smart. I'll admit that me going along with Pansy to brew at night may be part of the reason she felt brave enough to try brewing alone tonight and that her actions had been dangerous. I also understand that considering your obvious ignorance of your own student's true abilities, you have reason to doubt the safety of Pansy's experiments."
On the surface, Jonah's face was calm and held no malice. His words, too, were said so reasonably it appeared obedient at first. However, Snape was Slytherin enough to know that there was a hidden insult beneath his words.
Then Jonah took a step forward and said, "However, I want you to think carefully, Professor. You say you're writing to her parents because you are worried as a teacher, but is that the truth? Are you really only punishing her this way because of what we did? Or is it because you don't like what someone like Pansy said to you?"
Snape opened his mouth to put the boy in his pace, but Jonah interrupted, "Pansy's father is a sadistic bastard. Does that matter to you in any way?"
Snape felt his entire body arrest. "What are you implying?"
"You're not an idiot, Professor," Jonah sneered, "though you seem to think we are. You know very well what pureblood families are like. You know how many of them treat their children. You even know Mr Parkinson, personally. So, I think you at the very least suspect, but don't want to admit, the kinds of things he inflicts as means of…punishment on his daughter."
Severus frowned, not liking what he was hearing. But Jonah wasn't finished.
"I don't care what you do with me," he said with an unvoiced snarl, "It's true that despite knowing I'm considered a blood traitor, I've still been leaving my bed at night to get hot chocolate because I can't sleep. I've also been keeping Pansy's secret for months, and I've been accompanying her when she brews at night to keep her safe. The truth is, I've spent more time walking these halls alone than she has, and for less important reasons. So, if you want a scapegoat to vent your inferiority complex on, I'm a better target. I piss you off all the time anyway."
Snape glared at him, "How dare you—"
"I'm sorry that you don't like my tone," Jonah interrupted, "but I hope you'll forgive me for being a little irate. After all, I just watched you unfairly tearing apart someone I care deeply about. The saddest part is that you seriously have no idea what that girl, who you think is just a simpering moron, has endured with more bravery than a Gryffindor. Nor have you any understanding of what amazing things she's actually capable of, and she's supposed to be in your open house. If you had even the slightest clue about what Pansy can do, then you of all people would bite your tongue and groan at how stupid everything you said to her was. Because you are judging her unfairly, Professor!"
At this point, Jonah paused, and Severus realised he had an opportunity to interject.
But he didn't take it.
After a second, Jonah closed his eyes and sighed. Then, a little more calmly, he said, "Pansy Parkinson is many things. She's arrogant, catty, vindictive, manipulative and has this mean streak that isn't really a mean streak." Jonah's eyes softened, "She likes to hurt people because she's been hurt, but at the same time, she doesn't like to hurt people at all. Probably also because she'd been hurt. It's why her jibes and catty taunts are childish and limited to basic mean-spiritedness, instead of any real planned cruelty. She's just mean because she thinks it's expected of her, and that girl cares far too much about accommodating others expectations. It's how she survives."
As Jonah spoke, his face grew sadder and sadder.
Then he blinked and frowned, his sadness replaced with anger, "But that is no reason to think her stupid. Pansy is an amazing brewer. She's honestly the most talented person I've ever known."
Then Severus watched as something dark crossed over Jonah's eyes, wiping away the sad, yet affectionate expression that had been creeping in as he spoke about his girlfriend.
"Her father is abusive and cruel, and her mother is a heartless bitch who wouldn't know how a "real" woman should act if one came and slapped her silly. Calling them parents is an insult to the word: one both physically and mentally harms his child, the other thinks it only natural and leaves said child to bleed on the floor till the house eves have time to clean up the mess! Pansy's been brewing medicinal potions for years as a way to survive all that. And that's not all!"
Unknowingly, Jonah's hands became animated and excited, "She's actually gone a step further. She not only brews them, but she also improves them! When her father started using a switch, she created a potion that completely erased the scars. When she suffered under Reuel's hands for half a year, where he beat her senseless and even repeatedly broke her fingers in public, she got through each day by improving a bone-healing potion so that it could restore both the bones and torn ligaments!"
Then Jonah's face changed. His excitement fizzled, and he clenched his fists. "But though all of that..." he gritted his teeth, "suffering, not one bloody teacher noticed! Not Pomfrey, not Dumbledore and definitely not you! Not one person noticed her bruises or her scars. And why did no one notice? It's because she's too good at her potions, and because she's become very experienced at redirecting people's attention so they'll never notice her broken body or spirit. She does that because she knows people like you won't give a damn anyway."
As Jonah continued to speak those harsh words in that harsh, disrespectful tone to a teacher, the reason Severus remained quiet was that he couldn't think of what to say.
Even when Jonah fell silent, Severus remained wordless and nauseous as something sickening took root in his stomach, though Severus didn't let any of this show on his face.
He just remained silent.
Realising that his Professor still wasn't planning to interrupt him, Jonah kissed his teeth and turned his head, feeling disgusted. Disgusted with the man standing in front of him; disgusted with every blind moron who'd allowed his girlfriend to suffer for so long; and disgusted with himself for being one of those blind morons.
Yet knowing that his words were probably being wasted on the stoic Professor, who was still refusing to say anything, Jonah sighed heavily and looked up.
"So, that's why I'll repeat myself one more time, Professor Snape, and please let me know if I'm still not being clear enough."
Then Jonah said smoothly, "Professor, please rethink very carefully about whether you should send that letter to Mr Parkinson. Because I might be weak, stupid, and a just a Hufflepuff, but I am still the son and brother of two murdering Death Eaters. So, believe that when I said, 'I will make you regret it', I wasn't delivering a threat: I was granting you a warning."
Jonah took a few purposeful steps forward, till he was standing close enough to Severus to see eye to eye with him, being nearly the same height.
"If you write to Pansy's father, and if he hurts her, then I will do to you ten times what he does to her."
And with that, Jonah Ashwin turned on his heel and stomped down the corridor to his dorm.
Snape didn't follow.
Nice long chapter this time.
Sorry for the late chapter. First my cat decided to chew off the end of his tail, which led to a series of vet visits and more. Then I accidentally deleted a file with a part of this chapter...meaning I had to write it again.
The last part of Hermione's memory-viewing, Theo's confrontation and more will be in the next chapter.
Stay tuned. :)
Also, the drawing request by 'Hugo L' is done and the link is on my profile. Sorry it's so round-about. I can't seem to get the link to DeviantArt working. Also, the redraw of Jonah/Joana is done. I drew them a long time ago when I still didn't know how to draw the way I wanted to, so I couldn't make him look right.
But I redrew that drawing recently and now it looks perfect. Just like how I imagine Jo to look. So, I'll also put up a link for that. Drop me a message on Deviant, in a review or even a PM if you see the drawings. I'd really love to know what you guys think of him ;)