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Atonement	By : absumoaevum Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13723 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor to I make any money from this story. These characters are JKR's, I just play with them.

Chapter List
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Chapter 13

Heart Is Hard to Find

Breakfast at the Gryffindor table was icy this morning. Vicky Forbisher and Ritchie Coote had had a row the night before and were not speaking, Ginny was annoyed with Hermione, who still hadn’t told her about the summons for Narcissa Malfoy’s trial despite being pestered repeated, and to top it off, Peeves was gliding along ten feet above the table bombarding everyone with stick pellets.

Hermione decided that today was going to be a complete bust.

“Hi, Ginny and Hermione,” said Luna, wandering over looking dreamy as ever. Ginny said hello before turning back to Vicky, who had just burst into tears.

“Hi, Luna.” Hermione was still a little peeved at Luna about their frustrating encounter during Transfiguration the week before, but it occurred to her that Luna may have gotten a summons as well. After all, hadn’t Luna been imprisoned in Malfoy Manor? She would certainly be called to testify before the Wizengamot. So it was with a bit more enthusiasm that Hermione said, “How are you?”

“Full,” replied Luna. She was holding an envelope in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. The tea reminded Hermione of something else she’d heard about Luna.

“Hey Luna, can I talk to you?”

“Weren’t you before?” she asked, looking politely bemused.

“Yes, well, I meant, somewhere more private.” Luna nodded and took a sip of tea, and Hermione got up, said goodbye to Ginny (she had her hands full with Vicky anyway), and headed out of the Great Hall with Luna drifting along behind her.

Hermione headed for the same unused classroom where the Gobstones Club met and checked to be sure it was empty. They slipped inside.

Closing the door behind them, Hermione said, “Luna, did you get a summons from the Ministry about the Malfoy trial?”

“Just this morning,” said Luna, holding out the envelope to Hermione, who extracted the letter and read it over. It said exactly what Hermione’s had done: be at courtroom seven for the trial at 9:00am. See Counsel MacDougal for any questions.

“What do you think?” asked Hermione, looking up from the summons. She wondered what Luna thought of being asked to relive her torture and captivity at the hands of Death Eaters. Whatever consternation Hermione felt about the whole thing, Luna’s trepidation must be ten times worse.

But Luna only said vaguely, “It should be interesting.”

Interesting?! Hermione tried to hide her irritation. Luna was always a bit wistful, wasn’t she? Surely must she was as concerned as Hermione.

Unsure of how to continue about the trial, Hermione decided to leave it for now ask Luna about the tea instead. “I heard Malfoy bought you gurdyroot tea.”

Luna turned her huge, round eyes on Hermione. She looked, for the first time, a bit… discontented. “He didn’t buy me,” she said.

Hermione recoiled. Had she implied that? The thought hadn’t occurred to her, at least not consciously, that Malfoy had tried to bribe Luna with a gift… “I didn’t mean to say—”

“Draco apologized to me. He said he was sorry for all the things he’d done in the past.”

“And you believe him?” said Hermione before she could stop herself. The idea of anyone forgiving Malfoy for his past misdeeds was unthinkable, least of all Luna with all she’d suffered at his hands. And ‘Draco’. She’d called him ‘Draco’. Nothing made sense anymore.

“He meant it.” Luna tucked a long strand of wavy blonde hair behind her ear. The familiar dirigible plum earring dangling there reminded Hermione that Luna was — had always been — an impressionable girl, willing to believe anything as long as there was no hard evidence for it. Hermione must have looked skeptical, because Luna went on, “Draco doesn’t need your permission to change, Hermione. The only person who hasn’t realized that is you.”

Luna turned to leave. This was all so uncharacteristically Luna. How could she be saying these things? How could she even think them? “I know he doesn’t need my permission, but don’t you think that giving you—”

“Hermione, stop it!” Luna set her teacup down on a desk with a little more force than was strictly necessary. “Draco has only ever had people treat him the way you do. No trust. No acceptance. No understanding. After everything that has happened to all of us, this is the year when we get second chances. You’ve got yours, and he has his. Why is it so hard for you to have faith that Draco could ever be anything other than how you see him?”

Hermione found it difficult to think with those enormous gray eyes gazing into her. The Lovegoods thought Hermione had no faith, no imagination. They’d always made it clear that they felt Hermione was deficient in that area. Hard facts. That’s what she believed in. Anything else was suspect.

But just because something couldn’t be real didn’t mean it wasn’t. Hadn’t magic been impossible? Hadn’t the Deathly Hallows been just a fairytale?

Luna picked up her teacup and affected her usual airy manner. “I think I’ll go visit the thestrals.”

Before Hermione could come up with anything to say, Luna as gone.

+++

Monday night’s quidditch practice was amazing. After another long day of Potions, Muggles Studies, and double Charms, flying around a pitch after little balls bewitched to behave like snitches was exactly what Draco needed. He tried to push everything except the wind through his hair and the glorious freedom that came to him every time he flew his Nimbus 2001 out of his mind, but as he dove after a particularly fast ball, he was momentarily distracted by the image of Luna and Granger disappearing into a classroom yesterday morning.

What had Luna told Granger? Was Granger trying to persuade Luna to hate him?

Draco pulled up at the last second, nearly plowing into the field and completely missing the ball, which zig-zagged away toward the other end of the pitch.

“Head in the game!” called James, zooming past him toward the goal posts, quaffle in hand.

Get your head in the game, Draco, he thought. He swerved and shot off after the ball.

He didn’t like it that they were talking. Not they Luna couldn’t talk to whoever she liked. It was just that Granger despised him so entirely that anything she had to say to Luna couldn’t be good. If they’d even been discussing him at all.

Egotistical, he scolded himself, then took a hard left and snatched the ball out of the air. He stuffed it in his pocket and drove on through the rushing wind. They probably weren’t even talking about you!

Night was falling. It was getting harder to see the little white balls, but Draco thought he only had two left. He soared high above the pitch and squinted down, trying to see one. There! Over by Kevin, a flash of white was bulleting around the players. He was going to have to drop right through gameplay to get it.

Draco nosedived between Prescott and Owen, who ducked out of the way just in time. He plucked the ball from beside Kevin’s right elbow and crammed that one into his pocket, too.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” he shouted at Kevin, who grinned, and Draco returned to his spot above the practice to search for the last ball.

The last rays of sun were staining the sky with a riot of color. It was too beautiful to ignore. Draco hovered far above the ground, watching the sun set below the tree line of the Forbidden Forest and trying very hard to be happy.

Just don’t think about the trial. Too late.

Draco wanted to savor these moments where the world was just about sunsets and quidditch practice. He’d even take homework and boring classes. But trials and whispered taunts and memories of the terrible past wouldn’t go away just because he willed them so.

He was supposed to get getting that stupid ball. Where was it? Draco looked down, scanning the pitch for any hint of white. Was that—no , that was the failing light shimmering on Carolyn’s hair. Then he saw it, the final ball. It was right across from him. He’d practically been staring at it. But he hadn’t seen it because of the sun.

Draco bolted straight across the pitch and swirled to catch the ball from behind his back. He thought it had been a pretty smooth move himself, and the rest of the team evidently thought so, too. They’d stopped practice for the night and were all staring up at him shouting their appreciation. He took a bow in midair and flew down to join them at the center of the pitch.

“Great practice, everyone,” Prescott was saying when Draco touched down beside him. “Kevin, Owen, heads are not bludgers, no matter how much James’ face looks like one.” Everyone sniggered, and James folded him arms in mock-annoyance. “And Carolyn, nice moves. I think you’re the best Keeper Hufflepuff’s ever had.” Carolyn smiled as the rest nodded in agreement. “James, pass the ball. Smith, Smith—” Smith wasn’t even looking at Prescott, who hesitated, then carried on without comment when Smith didn’t turn around, “Draco, I don’t know what you’re doing half of the time, but I like it. That dive earlier nearly killed me.” Draco thought maybe Prescott was offering a criticism, but the captain just smiled and said, “So, keep up the good work!”

“Are we done?” asked Smith suddenly. Everyone glanced over at him in disgust.

“Yeah, we’re done,” said Prescott. “Practice again on Thursday. Same time, alright?”

The team broke apart into smaller groups as they made their way to the changing room. Carolyn walked with Draco, her Keeper gloves tucked under her arm and her stride long and graceful. She told him how she’d sustained an injury during practice from Smith, who had been trying to get a quaffle past her and missed.

“He ran right into me,” she said, pulling her shirt down to show Draco the bruise on her on her collarbone.

It looked bad, all purple and swollen, but Draco had to swallow hard in spite of himself. “You’re lucky he didn’t break it because, let me tell you, that hurts.” Draco was remembering his injuries from Vaisey and Harper. He took a deep breath and felt his lungs protest. It was still there, that slight wheeze, the sharp pain that bit at the inside of his chest from the bottom of his lungs. Better, but not gone.

Carolyn fixed her shirt back into place, eying Draco astutely. “Yeah,” she said. “So I’ve heard.”

Once everyone had taken showers and stowed their brooms, they traipsed back up to the castle talking excitedly about dinner. In the Great Hall, Draco was about to seat himself between Prescott and Carolyn when James yanked him backwards with a whispered, “Oh, no you don’t! You’re sitting with me.” He dragged Draco down the Hufflepuff table to the very end and pushed him into a seat. As Draco settled himself, James rounded the corner of the table to sit across from him.

Draco didn’t have to wonder what on earth was going on for very long, however. As soon as James sat down, he leaned over the table to Draco and said, “So it’s Carolyn, is it?”

“What in the name of Merlin’s sodding ballsack was that all about?!” Draco hissed. Food appeared before them, but neither boy moved to pile any on their plates.

“Carolyn Stump,” James said. “You like her.” It wasn’t a question.

Draco had to think about this for a moment. Did he like her? He’d only known her for a few days. He hardly knew anything about her. Yes, he spent time with her in the Hufflepuff common room. They liked to study together. They didn’t bother each other. And then there was quidditch. She was an amazing quidditch player. And yes, she was quite good-looking. But like her? There were so many other things going on that Draco hadn’t even considered it. He told James so.

“I’ve seen the way you look at her,” said James, not at all like his usual self. “And I’ve seen the way she looks at you.”

A thought occurred to Draco just then. “You like her!”

James sat back. “She’s a muggleborn,” he said venomously, as if he was delivering a death blow.

“So?” growled Draco, flaring up at once. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Did James think that Draco had been playing a game here? Did he think that after all that Draco had done, as far as he’d come in so short of a time, that it was just an act? “You think that just because she’s a muggleborn I wouldn’t like her?”

“So you do like her?” James snapped back. “I knew it!”

“James, you’re freaking me out right now,” said Draco, trying to restore some sense to the conversation.

“I don’t even know Carolyn! She’s just a friend!”

“Right. Just a friend. Sure.” It looked as though James was fighting back a Hungarian Horntail that was spitting fire somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He laughed mirthlessly and bent over the table toward Draco again. “It’s just like you and Granger,” he spat, “You watching her all the time, thinking if you buddy up to her that everyone will just magically think you’re man of the year. I bet you think if you get yourself a muggleborn that people know you’re all rehabilitated or whatever. It’s not going to happen, Draco. I won’t let you.”

Draco drew his wand under the table and twisted it in his sweating hand, exercising all his will power not to curse James into next Christmas.

“I thought you were my friend, James. I thought—” he broke off, unable to put into words the betrayal he felt at that moment. “But I’m glad to finally know what you really think of me. Thanks for that.” Draco got up. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He just wanted to put as much space between himself and James as possible.

Draco felt every Hufflepuff’s eyes on him as he stomped out of the Great Hall.

+++

The school owl that delivered Hermione’s letter to Harry found her at dinner on Monday night with his reply. It landed on her Arithmancy book, dutifully held out its leg for her, and then took flight again after she’d relieved it of the envelope. There were three letters inside. One said “Ginny” on the front, and the others said “Hermione”. The second addressed to her was in Ron’s handwriting. She tapped Ginny on the shoulder and handed her the letter.

“From Harry,” she explained when Ginny, taking the folded parchment, gave her a quizzical look.

“Oh, brilliant!” Ginny, whipped it open and started reading it at once.

Hermione looked between the two letters in her hands and decided to read Harry’s first. It said:

Hermione,

Ron and I will be coming to collect you, Luna, and Malfoy at 7:30am on the 15^th for the trial. The escort is mostly for Malfoy, it’s just a bonus that we’ll be back at Hogwarts to get you, too. It’s all settled with McGonagall. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it.

Both Ron and I have been summoned to testify for Narcissa’s trial as well. And yes they’re all being tried separately, apparently by Narcissa’s request. She’s not exactly blameless, but I think it’s smart of her to distance herself a bit from the rest of the family.

Do you know anything about this MacDougal character? I asked around in the office and no one’s ever heard of him. I mean, I recognize his name. He’s Morag’s dad, isn’t he? You know, that Ravenclaw bloke in our year. Anyway, I don’t know anything about him, but it is strange that Narcissa’s not being represented by Bliswick. Everyone says he’s the best counsel this century, and he’s been the Malfoy family counsel for ages.

I wanted to talk to you about Malfoy. Ron told me what you said. Well, shouted at me is more like it. I made him write to you and explain himself. That last letter from him was not exactly fair.

I hear what you’re saying about Malfoy, Hermione, but I want to warn you anyway. Be careful. Malfoy’s a slimy git, and I wouldn’t put it past him to put on some act to try to get everyone on his side before the trial. I’m sure it’s occurred to you that he’s manipulating everyone. I told Ron you can handle yourself and that if you think Malfoy’s piss poor attitude is on the mend, you know what you’re talking about. Still, Hermione, watch your back. I agree with Ron. He’s still a Slytherin, and he’s still a Malfoy. Two weeks of playing nice isn’t going to change my mind.

See you soon!

Harry

Well, that didn’t make Hermione feel any better. She’d been so conflicted since her talk with Luna the day before that she could barely concentrate on her studies. And now Harry was telling her to be careful. He thought that Ron was right.

She read the letter again, trying to focus on something besides the last paragraph. Harry and Ron were coming to get her and Luna and Malfoy. So Malfoy was to testify as well. And Narcissa had requested a separate trial from her husband and son. Hermione wondered why, but she moved on.

MacDougal. MacDougal? Hermione hadn’t heard of him either. He’d never been in the Daily Prophet, to her knowledge, and he wasn’t included in any of the Wizengamot court cases she’d ever read. But Counsel Bliswick was. From what Hermione knew about him, Bliswick was a force to be reckoned with in the courtroom. So much so that he wasn’t allowed in the courtroom for Lucius Malfoy’s trial a few years ago because the Ministry was afraid he’d get Lucius off on some minor oversight. Instead, the Death Eaters had been represented by some junior counsel who could barely read the charges, let alone defend his clients. Hermione couldn’t say she thought that was fair, but most of her didn’t particularly mind that the Death Eaters were not properly represented in that case. Serves them right.

Hermione moved on to Ron’s letter.

Dear Hermione,

I’m sorry about my last letter. I was bang out of order. But I agree with Harry. Just be careful, ok?

Harry and I are coming to get you in October for the trial. Maybe we can talk about it then? You’re the smartest girl I know, Hermione, if you think Malfoy’s changed, I think you could be right. I still want to see it for myself, though.

I miss you, and I can’t wait to see you. And I’m sorry again.

Love from,

Ron

Hermione folded up both of the letters and tucked them into her Arithmancy book. You will see it for yourself, Ron, Hermione thought. Then maybe you can tell me what to think.

When Hermione looked up to ask Ginny what her letter had said, the redhead was staring at her.

“You got a summons for the Malfoy trial and you didn’t tell me?” Ginny asked.

Nodding and feeling dutifully ashamed of herself for keeping such an important thing from her friend for so long, Hermione said, “Yes. A few days ago.”

“Why did I have to hear this from Harry?”

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Hermione said. “I should have told you. It’s just hard for me to…” She didn’t really have an excuse and she knew it.

Ginny glared at her for another minute, then seemed to decide to let it go. Her expression softened when she said, “So Harry and Ron are coming to collect you then? That’s good news!”

Hermione nodded again. At least Ginny would get to see Harry before the first Hogsmeade visit. As much as Hermione missed Ron and wanted to see him, Ginny and Harry had been practically inseparable all summer. They had the kind of love that authors spent whole books trying to adequately describe.

When Harry had decided not to come back and finish his seventh year, the Burrow shook with Ginny’s wrath, but eventually she relented. After all, Harry had good reason not to want to spend a full school year wading around in terrible memories. Hermione almost envied him and Ron. She knew that school was important, but it was almost worth skipping out on her last year to escape the haunted feeling she got whenever she let herself think about the battle here only months before.

“Hey, you ok?” Ginny was watching Hermione intently now. “Harry said Ron was a prat to you in his last letter. Want to talk about it?”

“No thanks, Ginny.” Hermione packed up her books and parchment and stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “I think I’m going to go up to the common room and study there. Want to come?”

Ginny shot a look over at Vicky and Ritchie, who were canoodling down the table from them. “Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes pointedly. Hermione and Ginny laughed all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

+++

Draco wandered around the basement floor of the castle for a long time before actually going to the Hufflepuff common room. He didn’t want to see James. He didn’t want to see any of them. They all thought he was a fraud. He knew that now. And they’d all been so nice to him. Draco didn’t think he could feel any worse.

Maybe he was a fraud. Maybe he’d been kidding himself to think that just because he wanted to change that he ever really could. He had been hoping so hard for so long that things could really be different. But they weren’t. They never would be. He hadn’t even been to court yet and he was already condemned. And he’d done it to himself.

Up ahead, a shimmering something was wafting down the corridor. It was the Fat Friar, the stout little monk who was the Hufflepuff ghost. Before Draco could duck out of sight, the Friar had hailed him. “Ho there!” He sped up to meet Draco in the hallway and came to a stop before him, rubbing his belly congenially and grinning from ear to ear.

“We haven’t officially met! I’m—”

“The Fat Friar. Yes, I know,” said Draco.

“And you’re Draco Malfoy, the newest Hufflepuff. Our reputations precede us.” Draco suppressed a grimace at the mention of reputations, thinking that he’d rather his buggering reputation would take a damn holiday. The Fat Friar had noticed Draco’s expression. “Something on your mind, young man? You can tell me, you know. I’m a friar!” He chortled pleasantly and pretended to lean against the wall. Draco thought of another ghost who’d been willing to lend an ear to Draco’s troubles and decided he’d go see Myrtle as soon as he had some free time.

Draco looked up and was almost startled to see the Friar still watching him. Right. He was supposed to be answering his question. Something was definitely on his mind. Did he want to talk about it, especially with the Hufflepuff ghost? Could he be trusted? Draco shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. Of course the Friar could be trusted. And yes, he did want to talk about it. But he didn’t know how to begin.

Draco was spared the necessity of starting, however, by the Fat Frair. “The Bloody Baron speaks very highly of you, Draco.” What did that mean? Draco wasn’t sure he wanted the Baron talking about him at all, let alone saying glowing things about him. Again, the Friar seemed to know what he was thinking. “He says that you have a lot of potential. You’re ambitious and of good noble stock. Exactly what a Slytherin should be.” The Friar gave Draco a dubious look. “But you know, you’ll forgive me if I confide in you that I have always found that Slytherin House has lacked, shall we say, a certain measure of compassion. What do you think, Draco?”

Draco said nothing, so the Friar went on, folding his hands pensively over his gigantic ghostly belly. “Every House has its flaws, Draco. Ravenclaw can be, pardon me, a bit aloof, tucked away in their tower with their books, and Gryffindor is a little on the reckless side.”

He couldn’t help himself, Draco laughed. “Reckless is putting it nicely!”

“Well, quite,” said the Fat Friar, chuckling genially. “As I say, each House has its flaws. None of us is perfect, but together we strive to do more — be more — than any of us could hope to accomplish on our own. My own House is known for compassion, much the opposite of Slytherin. We have our hearts open when others would rather not. And sometimes that gets us hurt. Sometimes we wish we were not so accepting of others. Because, you see, we still live with the fear that our hearts will be broken just like everyone else does. It’s a different sort of courage than Gryffindor the Brave, you will agree, but it is courage nonetheless. And sometimes, our courage can falter, and we start to doubt what we know. We Hufflepuffs have no problem showing kindness ourselves, but at times it can be difficult to accept the kindness that comes from others. Does any of this make sense to you, Draco?”

Draco stared at the ground rather than look at the Fat Friar. “Yes,” he said quietly. He knew what the Friar was getting at. James wasn’t afraid Draco was a fraud. Not really. James was afraid Draco doubted himself, that he would slip back into his old ways out of his own fear of the unknown. And then people would get hurt. Because they did care about him. Because they did trust him.

“Acceptance is a tricky thing. We all want it, but we’re all wary of it,” said the Friar. “I know Hufflepuff is a good fit for you, Draco. Do you know how I know that?”

Shaking his head, Draco looked up at the Friar, into his small, pearly bright eyes. “How?”

The Friar smiled warmly. “Because you accepted us, too.”

Draco was speechless. He hadn’t thought of that. The Fat Friar pulled a pocket watch from his monk’s robes and glanced at it, then clapped his hand to his forehead. “Look at the time! I’m late for the weekly meeting of the ghosts. You’ll have to excuse me, Draco. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” He floated past Draco down the hall, but stopped short of a bend in the corridor. “And Draco,” he said.

Draco turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m proud to have you in my House.” The Fat Friar disappeared through the wall ahead, leaving Draco alone in the hall with a silly grin on his face. After a moment, he took off at a run down the corridor toward the Hufflepuff common room. He needed to find James.
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Atonement