“In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you, and take your grief and make it my own. When you cry, I cry, and when you hurt, I hurt. And together we will try to hold back the floods of tears and despair and make it through the potholed streets of life.” 

— Nicholas Sparks

________________________________________

Draco had never been a man to think things through. Actually, no male thought anything through, but this time was much worse. For instance, when he was in fourth year, he’d brought Pansy Parkinson with him to the Yule Ball. Now, if he hadn’t have done that and taken Daphne Greengrass instead, he probably wouldn’t have had to deal with the strain of their relationship for two years afterwards, nor would he have met Astoria and, on the whole, life would be slightly easier to live with.

But no, Draco had not learned when he was fourteen and neither had he when he was sixteen and he’d tried to kill Dumbledore. It hadn’t dawned on him at the time that he was going to be taking away an actual life, and not just anybody’s, but one of the supposedly greatest wizards of all time, which he still didn’t entirely accept.

And now he’d done it again. He had been about to jump into a life of dark deeds all over again. Only moments ago, he had thought of it as his way out. Surely they couldn’t be as bad now as when the Dark Lord had ruled. Surely it was better than how the ‘good guys’ were treating him. But he hadn’t thought past that, he hadn’t thought what it would do to his parents, he hadn’t thought what to do if it were a trap, and he hadn’t thought what would happen if Granger found out. Or more or less, caught him in the act.

He’d wanted to get under her skin and bother her as much as possible, that was still true, he’d wanted her to crack. But now that she had, it wasn’t in the way he’d been hoping for.

She was standing opposite of him, casting spell after spell after spell at him and each time Draco deflected it and occasionally aimed one back at her. He’d thought she would be fun to antagonise, but looking at the fury on her face, he supposed this time he’d gone too far.

But that still didn’t make it okay for her to try and bloody well kill him.

“Stupefy!”

Draco made his move, ducking swiftly under red light narrowly missing his head, he launched himself at Granger’s midriff with such force that both hit the cold stonewall with a grunt.    

“Malfoy – let – go!” she panted, kicking and withering against him as he tightly wrapped his hands around her wrists, pinning them to her sides.

“I don’t think so, Granger,” he breathed back.

“You are incorrigible!” she cried, still furiously fighting for freedom.

He wished she’d stop doing that; her constant moving only pressed her body even closer to his. It was bad enough he was at this close proximity, but Merlin, she was only making it worse for herself. He was sure his tight hold on her must be hurting. The sooner she calmed down the sooner he’d let go.

“Stop it, would you?” he said hotly.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll –”

“Slap me?” she challenged. “Because, hey, you’ve been there once, why not do it again?”

That was when he lost all pretence, shoved her savagely into the wall and turned away on his heel. He was done. The day he had agreed to his mother was the day everything started falling to pieces. He honestly couldn’t have cared less about the stupid family’s reputation. He did not understand why they couldn’t just be Death Eaters already; no one here seemed to be too welcoming on the good side.

WHACK.

Something slammed vigorously into Draco’s back and he stumbled forwards a few feet, only regaining his balance when his hand found the wall.

He peered over his shoulder to see what on earth had the audacity to hit him and the words died in his mouth, which did not often happen often when you were Draco Malfoy.

Granger was standing there, her chest heaving from under her once pale blue blouse that was covered in dirt marks and fingerprints, sweat radiating off her forehead and nose, eyes set and determined.

“You’re not turning your back on me or going anywhere until you tell me what you were doing with them.”

There was a kind of authority in her words that Draco didn’t think he had heard there before. A girl had never, ever obtained the nerve to speak to him like that. All they did was fawn over him and giggle absurdly at everything he said. They never dared to challenge him. It was wasn’t heard of. It was preposterous. He almost admired – hold on, no he did not, but he did feel compelled to tell her exactly what he was doing with those Death Eaters and everything that had gone through his mind. Quite obviously, Draco didn’t, and instead took to turning to face her fully with his jaw set. This was none of her business.

And then, as though she had read his mind, she said, “This affects me too. You were being friendly with Death Eaters and I want to know what’s going on or you’re moving out the moment we return to the apartment. I cannot just blindly trust you here, Malfoy.”    

“We made an Unbreakable Vow, Granger,” he said, volatile.

“We did,” she agreed. “Albeit, I have no idea what it is you’re up to and if you’re going to be hanging around your old friends I want no part in it!”

“That’s –”

“I could come home one day from tea with Ginny and find Death Eaters gathered around my table!”

“Do you really believe I’d ever lead them to your shitty flat, where the best friend of Harry Potter lives?”

“It’d certainly put you on higher terms with them, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d never do that,” he said seriously.

“Care about me, then?” she taunted.

“No,” he said at once. “Just if you die, I die, remember?”

She wasn’t impressed. “Yes, because we can’t have that, can we? What a devastation that would be.”

He scowled. “Who died and made you the bitch of sarcasm?”

With a very nasty look, Granger seized his hand and without warning Apparated back into the familiar flat. Both let go of each other’s hand straight away, Draco still scowling.

“You shouldn’t do that without –”

“You were making a deal back there, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie!” she exclaimed. “When I said you could work for me, that was tolerable. But living with me was another matter. Can’t you understand why I’m so wary about that? It’s bizarre. I hadn’t seen you for four years much less even thought of you for four seconds and then you tell me to stock the fridge with apples because you’re moving in. You’ve been an arse to me the whole time you’ve been here; you hit me, now you’re conversing with Death Eaters. I think I deserve some kind of explanation because I have been more than –!” 

“Fine!” Draco threw his hands in the air. “They offered me to abandon everything and go with them.”

There was a pause in which she watched him closely, possibly debating with herself whether or not he was lying.

“But I thought they hated you…?” she said slowly.

“I know.” He started pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I did too.”

“What’s the point in having more Death Eaters?”

“No idea.”

“Did you agree?” she asked, a little fearful.

He halted and met her eyes. It was a very still moment, her brown orbs searching his for some kind of comfort, some kind of proof that she hadn’t seen what she had. Granger was always one for believing the best in people. And he knew that was her weakness: believing in people when others thought they were beyond repair, seeing past everyone’s flaws and always seeing something worthwhile.

He wondered if she could see anything worthwhile in him. That was foolish, of course. After everything that had transpired between them, she couldn’t, ever in a million years, think there was any atonement left in him.

And like that, looking at her in that instant, he realised that she did. Realised why after he hit her he’d had the impression she’d given up on him. Not only trying to keep the peace between them, but all along she’d been attempting to help him out, to put up with his attitude because she believed he could be better. 

Then he went ahead and slapped her.

“You saw what you saw Granger,” he murmured, finally dropping his gaze to the floor. “I was going to shake his hand.”

He went up the stairs, taking two at a time, and only when his hand was on his doorknob did she say something, “But you were hesitating,” he looked at her in amazement, “and the prospect that you knew it was wrong is at least something.”

He had no idea how he felt about that. He should probably be repulsed that he was allowing this moment, for once, to not be about blood statues or how much they hated each other or how different they really were. But then and there, he surprisingly didn’t care. 

***

A few days passed and they never spoke of it again. He thought this strange. Granger was notorious for nagging and badgering people. Perhaps she sensed that this situation was different than Potter’s usual dramas. Perhaps when it really came down to it, she understood when to hold her tongue.

Things continued on as they had been, there was no unnecessary conversation and they only ever came into contact with each other when passing in the small hallway, or walking by each other around the table or kitchen, where their arms would gently brush and briefly would he catch her eye.

Draco knew he was unhappy, he kept wondering and wondering why join the Death Eaters again – just what was the point? Potter and Weasley had not caught all of them that day in Diagon Alley. Apparently, they were in such a fury that it had Granger constantly leaving the flat at ridiculous hours to just calm Potter down. It seemed every Auror in the country was looking for the liberated Death Eaters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and letting them slip out from under their noses like that, when most were vulnerable and in a group, had been disastrous. He didn’t really care what happened to them though; it wasn’t his problem. Armstrong had been off to questioning by the Ministry of Magic, being asked every question imaginable. From what Draco overheard when Granger was talking to Bun Woman, Armstrong had been on his own lunch break like Jennings had been, and he’d been cornered by the Death Eaters and asked about Draco’s whereabouts, and because Armstrong had been the last person to direct him to the freaking ice cream store, of course he would know exactly where Draco had been going.

As imagined, being seen with former Death Eaters did not do well for Draco’s reputation. It was published in the Daily Prophet very soon after Potter, Weasley, the other Aurors and Granger had been questioned. Obviously no one cared for his side of the story, and once again, just when everyone had become used to seeing his face around the office, they were all gaping at him with fear and whispering behind his back again. Times like this he really needed Blaise.

Turns out he wasn’t the only one in need of a friend. It was Friday night when he heard Granger’s sobs, louder than usual, from inside her room and carrying over to his. Normally he could ignore this as she only sniffled softly or managed to smother it most of the time, but this time it really was too much. He had no idea why she was even crying and nor did he care. What he did care about, however, was that she was interrupting his sleep, and sleep was hard to come by as it was.

Grumbling under his breath, Draco flung the sheets off himself, grabbed a cotton t-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it on before going to her room. He thought maybe he should give her the tiniest of warnings, so he slammed on the door with his hand and then, after a pause, pulled it open with the other.

There was a dull light on her bedside table, giving the whole room a kind of warm glow as it shone weakly on light pink wallpaper, there were shelves of even more books than there already was downstairs on the wall opposite him, where her double bed with white and lilac sheets was spread out just across from the books (he thought the bookshelves were placed so close to the bed so Granger could simply reach out to them if she wished). A wooden wardrobe was placed at the wall facing her bed, which was to Draco’s right, and a little way along was a rocking chair with no more than three frilly pillows, a blue blanket, and under that was Granger.

Her hand was resting on her forehead; her elbow perked on the chair’s arm, her legs curled underneath her and lips trembling. A book was lying on the floor a few feet away from her. She hadn’t paid any mind to him yet, her hand kind of covering her eyes as well as her forehead, but then she gave a sniffle, wiped her tears, and looked at Draco.

“You look like hell,” was the only thing that came out of his mouth. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the redness of hers.

She hiccuped and a few more tears spilled down her flushed cheeks. “Thanks.”

“Why do you keep crying?” he asked, failing to hide his annoyance. “You’ve been doing it for a while now but tonight it’s –”

“Ron found out,” she said softly.

“What?” He took a reluctant step in the room, waiting for her to jump up and shout at him. She didn’t. 

“When all those Ministry workers tried to get answers from us…” her voice cracked, “to get more insight on what happened with those Death Eaters… one let it slip out about you working for me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Granger, he was bound to find out eventually.”

“He didn’t take it well,” she went on shrilly as a sob racked her body. “He was yelling, at me and then at Harry because he already knew and then he started throwing things and –” She hiccuped and sucked in a deep breath. “The look on his face, you should have seen it. He looked at me as though I was contaminated, as though I disgusted him. I – I don’t know how we’re going to – to get through this one…” Her head fell in her hands, seemingly incapable to finish.

Draco didn’t know what to do. She was crying. Sobbing. In hysterics. A mess. Hermione Granger had lost it and he wasn’t even enjoying it. It was actually kind of scary, seeing someone from your childhood who’d almost always held it together crumble like this.

Pretty much all of him wanted to run, and he could do it right now if he wanted: he could leave and close the door behind him and forget that any of this had ever happened, or perhaps even tease her about it in the morning when he’d regained his wits. It must be about three in the morning for Christ’s sake. The door was not even four feet away, he could leave right this second – Weasley’s temperamental trust issues weren’t his problem.

But Draco knew what it was like to be abandoned in your worse moments and instead his foot moved forward and slowly, steadily, he began to cross the space of the room to where the weeping Granger sat, her arms now folded around her legs and hugging them tightly against her.

He paused only when he was right in front of her, not really sure how to go about this or even what he was going to do. He’d witnessed many sobbing girls in his twenty-two years, but that’s because they were always sobbing over him, not sobbing over some other guy (a guy he didn’t even like, he might add).

Draco sighed heavily, still standing awkwardly before her. “Listen, Granger, I – I’m not going to say I know how you feel because I know whenever someone says that it always ticks me off. No one really knows how you feel. No one knows what it’s like to be you… unless they’ve drank Polyjuice Potion.”

She laughed languidly, but she was still in the middle of sobbing so it came out as a kind of snort. Nevertheless, he felt a small amount of satisfaction and… and something else. He wanted to think it was distaste because that noise she had made was truly unflattering, but he knew he’d be deluding himself.

Draco crouched down tentatively and thought very carefully about something else he could say to make her feel better, but at the moment it was like all words had left the planet and none he could think of were the right ones to say.

Swallowing, he tried, “I can’t offer you the words to suddenly make it all okay, but,” – oh lord, if his father could he him now – “but I’ll listen, you know, if there’s any blabbering you need to do or any punching, just you know… do it,” he finished lamely.

Next second, in a swish of blue sheets, she had unravelled herself from the blanket and practically thrown herself at him, arms going tightly and securely around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.

Normally his first reaction would be to shove her off, and he very nearly did, what with the shock of it all. He had only said she could talk them both to death (she used to always do that anyhow), he’d only said she could hit him if she desired (because she’d already done that as well), but he had said nothing about this sort of physical contact.

But what was truly intriguing was the way she clung to him, as though he were the only thing keeping her alive. Like if she let go, she’d be lost forever. He’d never had anyone hold him like that. Truthfully, he shagged whomever he wanted and left it at that – there were no cuddling and mushy feelings. The only time he’d been in a proper relationship was with Pansy, and even the hugging was at a bare minimum. All she did was hang off him.

This was different. No one had ever hugged him because they needed the warmth of another, the comfort. It made his stomach feel… weird. And not in the aroused way. The whole thing stirred something deep within him awake, as though there’d been some kind of feeling that had never been felt before – that had been missed, dormant, all along.

He thought about pulling away, he didn’t like where this was going.

Her voice stopped him.

“I miss him,” she whispered thickly. 

“What?”

“You asked why I’d been upset, I miss Ron.”

“You’ve been crying over Weasley every night?”

“No, just – just when I have a really bad day.” He didn’t say anything, partly because he knew a lot of those bad days happened because of him, and then she gave a broken little laugh and said, “Whenever I would have a horrible day at work, Ron would always cheer me up by attempting to prepare dinner without magic. He can’t cook, you see. And just watching him destroy our whole kitchen somehow lifted my spirits, though it probably shouldn’t have. A lot of the time he caught his hair on fire but it’s so red you couldn’t notice anyway…” 

And so he listened. She talked about Weasley all through the night, laughing as she reminisced old times she’d had with him, crying again as she talked about the things he did that’d hurt her. Other times it seemed as if she were only speaking to herself and had forgotten all about him.

Draco had just started drifting off to sleep after a long silence when she abruptly asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

Silence met her words, and suddenly he was very much awake. He contemplated pretending to be asleep, that way he wouldn’t have to answer, but how could anyone fall fully asleep in a sitting position? They were still both on the ground in front of the rocking chair; Draco’s back resting uncomfortably against her bedpost as she leaned into him, his chest completely drenched where her face was, dark sweet smelling frizzy hair tickling his lips as he breathed in and out.

“I thought I was once,” he said slowly. “Trouble was, I didn’t know who.”

“Who?” she asked puzzled.

“I didn’t know if I loved Pansy or Astoria.”

He waited for her disapproving McGonagall impression to happen, but it never came.

“Well,” she said quietly after a moment, “as the talented Johnny Depp once said –”

“Johnny what?”

“– if you love two people at the same time, choose the second one, because if you really loved the first one you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.”

He paused to think this over. 

“Of course,” Granger mused softly, “it’s also quite possible to have more than one true love. It’s really sort of stupid when you think about it. There are billions of people on the planet, naturally you’re going to have more than –”

“Do you believe in love, Granger?” he asked suddenly.

She too went very quiet, just as he had. He listened to her soft breathing, no longer ragged, and waited for her reply. When she finally did answer, she seemed very far anyway and Draco once again had the impression she’d forgotten he was there.

“It’s something nice to believe in, don’t you think?”

He supposed yes, it was nice to think there was someone out there right for you. But that didn’t necessarily make it real. In all honest, he always thought love was just something made up by people who didn’t want to believe that this really was it. There was nothing else.

It was only when Draco’s head began to loll hopelessly on his shoulder much later on, drifting in and out of a restless doze, did she tell him that today was her birthday.

 ________________________________________

Next chapter; Hermione finds a fellow Hogwarts student in the missing section of the Daily Prophet, Blaise returns, and Draco gets the drunkest he's been and finally speaks his mind. 

Happy birthday to JK Rowling and Harry Potter! And the first clue to get into Pottermore is up! It's all so exciting :D