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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
Thank you to my beta LivLifeForever!

Also, Gaara's Plaything, did you catch that I quoted you in the Daily Prophet in the previous chapter? I also quoted an anon who reviewed for an opposing viewpoint, so whoever you are, I hope you noticed! I thought you guys would get a kick out of actually having your thoughts included, which is why I asked you what you thought should happen to Narcissa at the beginning of Chapter 16, Sympathy for the Martyr.

Lastly, I apologize for the delay. I believe you will find it was worth it.

Chapter 18

Quiet Hushed Voices

Hermione tapped the envelope against the heel of her hand and tried to clear her head. It was dark and windy and frankly spooky up in the Owlery at night, but still, she'd been standing there for what felt like an hour staring at the alcoves and perches full of school owls, tapping the envelope, unable to decide which owl to use. Hermione knew somewhere in the back of her mind that her quandary had more to do with whether or not to actually sendthe reply in the first place than which owl should carry it. But it was easier to aimlessly debate herself over owl size, breed, etc.

Her lit wand was tucked behind her ear to act as a kind of headlamp in the darkness so her hands would be free to attach the letter. Instead, they were tapping. Faster and faster. The barn owl was bigger, able to go longer distances, but the screech owl was faster. The tawny was a good mix of the two and what if she just forgot the whole thing and tore up the letter and never answered? What if she pretended she'd never gotten a letter from Narcissa Malfoy, and that she'd never written her reply? Surely, even if she was dismissed on every other charge, her case warranted a few unanswered letters. She knew Ron wouldn't respond. He'd have a laugh about it and never think on it again. Harry might, though. She didn't know what theirs said, but if it was anything like what hers had been, Harry might reply. But what good was any of it, writing letters back and forth between sides of a dead war? Well, maybe it could stitch them back together.

Hermione's uncertainty mounted. Her eyes roved over the owls for long minutes as if playing some absurd game of "eeny, meeny, miny, moe", as she reread the letter in her head:

Ms. Hermione Granger,

Thank you for speaking at my trial yesterday. The truth means more to me than you could ever know, regardless of the outcome of proceedings.

I apologize for my behavior to you. We have never met on good terms, and I assume full responsibility for my cold manner. I have long known that I am a selfish, bitter woman whose worldview was unjust, delusional even. Anyone who has ever spoken of you has applauded your intelligence and your tenacity. Blood could never have anything to do with that. I've always known it, I think, but it is so much easier to blame others for your own shortcomings. You, I see, do not fall into this trap.

So, I say again that I am sorry. My attitude was unacceptable, my actions were unpardonable, and I do not ask for forgiveness, only for you to see that these words on this page come from a changed woman.

But I am also a mother. I know you do not know what it is to be a mother yet, Ms. Granger, but one day I hope you feel for yourself how completely your heart beats for your child, how entirely your will seeks his happiness. And so I ask, not for myself, but for Draco, that you give him a chance to change your mind. I know it is his deepest desire to be forgiven for his mistakes so that he may cast aside the chains of his past. You can be sure that he will never be free of the things he has done, but is it too much to ask for absolution? Let him try to earn your trust. He is my son, I know him. He had become a better man that I could have ever hoped.

I hope to see you again one day. Thank you once again for your words at my trial. They may not have been in my defense, but they were honest. I never should have doubted it.

Sincerely in your debt,

Narcissa Malfoy

The thanks and apology of Nacrissa Malfoy. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted those things. And a desire for Hermione to forgive Malfoy, to let him earn her trust. Narcissa sounded like Luna.

Hermione remembered Luna's chiding voice, the sound of her teacup hitting the desk in that empty classroom weeks ago. She'd said, "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?"

Trust. Faith. Acceptance. Forgiveness. A Second Chance.

Hermione wanted all of those things, too. But could she givethem? Was it fair to do anything else?

Her mind raced. She thought about the last time she and Malfoy had spoken. He'd tried to apologize to her and she had lashed out at him. Because he was sorry. Because he had forced her to confront her own confusion with everything. He had tried to explain. Why had she said those things to him? She didn't even believe them. Not anymore. Not about him. Malfoy was someone new entirely. She'd never - never - even considered that she would be in this position. Stuck between her friends, unable to make up her own mind about the right course of action. There wasn't a book for this. There wasn't anything anyone could say to help her. She had to come to her own conclusions. No one could tell her how to think.

"Draco doesn't need your permission to change, Hermione." But he wanted it. The boy who'd bullied her for six years, who'd tried to kill Dumbledore, who'd joined the Death Eaters, who'd watched her be tortured, who always ran away, wasn'tthat boy anymore. There was so much hatred and awfulness associated with that sneering face. Anger. Prejudice. Death.

The Owlery was spinning.

And the owls were hooting and shifting on their perches and ruffling their wings and staring down at her out of the shadows with bright amber eyes and she should choose one now because it was getting late but how could she just choose like that this was a huge decision and not one to make lightly should she send it or shouldn't she should she tell Narcissa that she forgave her or not should she trust Malfoy should she let her fear and sadness and grief and guilt and all her failings go and now Hagrid was carrying Harry's limp body up to the school surrounded by Death Eaters and Ron was screaming "NO!" and she was joining his anguished cry and Lupin and Tonks were dead in the Great Hall and no one knew who had murdered them and George was leveled and sobbing over his twin's body more broken than anyone Hermione had ever seen and Ron was leaving the tent in the cold rain never to come back and Malfoy's back turned on her that night in the Headmistress's corridor while his echoes rang in her ears—

"Are you ok?"

Hermione blinked tears from her eyes and watched them hit the stone floor of the Owlery and break into a thousand liquid sparks of wandlight. Someone had spoken. Slowly, she raised her head. She wasn't tapping anymore, but she heard the beat of it in her ears still or maybe that was her heart.

"Whoa! Hey!" said the voice, then strong arms caught her and guided her to the ground because her knees didn't want to be knees anymore. Every part of her was buzzing and no part felt like it belonged to a body at all. It felt… it felt like an ache, thumping drumming pounding out from her stomach and Hermione wondered how much longer her heart could pump the ache through her veins. How long could she last without blood?

The arms became hands, drawing up her face to look into his. It was a he, wasn't it? With gray eyes that were like crystal on cave walls in the wandlight, deep caves where the light can only reach so far but the spectacle of crystal is brilliant. And there might have been a little gold.

Warm hands, careful hands, felt her forehead, smoothed the tears from her cheeks, grasped her shoulders to shake her gently. She struggled to recover herself. This is stupid; get a hold of yourself.

And of course it was him, kneeling down next to her, cradling her as she leaned on him. How was it that he was always there?

Hermione couldn't breathe and she became aware that she was sobbing. Why? Why was she crying? She forced herself to answer the question. Because she wanted to let go. She wanted to forgive. She already had.

She flung her arms over his shoulders and held him tight, even when he stiffened against the embrace. Tentatively, with the aching gentleness of this fragile moment when nothing and everything finally made sense, his arms enfolded her.

Hermione heard herself say "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I forgive you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." and heard him echo her words in a whisper into her hair.

They stayed that way for what felt like a long time, their apologies drifting away into silence, before he said, "Shhh, Hermione. It's ok, it's ok…" And they realized together what he had said. Her name. Just her name. Hermione.

That's when she realized that she was smiling.

They parted, and he cupped her face in his hands to get a better look at her. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It was stupid. I'm ok. Really," she said with a little laugh.

And he smiled back. "Well, if you're sure." He let her go and stood up, offering her a hand. It was so ridiculously chivalrous coming from Malfoy that she actually broke into nervous giggles. He sort of shifted uncomfortably above her, but just as he started to withdraw the gesture, she slipped her hand in his and let him pull her up.

Now she was acutely aware of what a mess she was, sniffing and puffy from crying and her hair just chaos and her clothes just some comfortable jeans and a baggy t-shirt. And here he was still in his dress robes from the courtroom.

He rifled in his robes for a second then produced a handkerchief for her. Hermione took it from him gratefully and blew her nose. She offered it back to him, but he said, "Keep it."

"Thanks," she said, tugging the wand from behind her ear and looking around the Owlery floor for her letter.

"Looking for this?" Malfoy was holding the envelope in his hand. It was crumpled and dirty, but the address was obvious even in the semi-darkness. Had he realized who she was writing to? Was he going to ask her about it? "Here," he said, handing it over. "Where's your Pig? I'll get him for you."

Hermione laughed again. "It's just Pig, as in Pigwidgeon. And he's not here. I was just going to use a school owl."

"Me too," he said, turning to face the owls, his wand already ignited. He shone the light over the selection, now depleted somewhat as a few had left to go hunting since the last time she'd looked. "Do you want me to get you an owl?"

"Sure," she said. He was being so nice. It was only reinforcing her conclusion that Luna and his mother had been right and she had been wrong. About him.

Malfoy had moved to the wall and was coaxing two tawny owls down onto his arm.

"Who are you—" she began, but she stopped herself. She shouldn't be asking who he was writing to. That was rude. It was private. Stupid stupid

"My mother," he replied, guessing her question.

"Oh me too!" The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she'd even realized she'd said them. Malfoy was staring at her perplexedly. Should she explain? Would that upset him?

"You're writing to my mother?" he asked. On his arm, the owls jostled impatiently. He ignored them.

"Well, writing back. She… she wrote to me. She sent an express owl." Now he was walking back to her with the owls, holding one out to her. Hermione took it, trying to read his expression, but it was inscrutable. It was like he was reconciling everything in his head, trying to understand why his mother would be writing to her. She decided she wanted to tell him. "You mum, she thanked me for speaking at the trial," she said. "And she told me to give you a chance to explain everything."

Malfoy turned away, presumably to affix his own letter to his owl. After a while, he said, "That's just like her."

"Is it?" said Hermione. Maybe she just wasn't used to getting thank-you letters from people at whose trials she had recently testified.

"Oh yeah. She's always trying to sway the odds. I don't think she understands that she can't just ask you to trust me." So Malfoy was concerned that his mother's request was rude in some way. Was it rude? Hermione didn't think so.

"It's not a big deal. She's concerned about you. She's your mother," she said, and Malfoy nodded.

He finished with his letter and the owl swooped out of the window and off into the night. "Did you want some help with that?" Hermione looked down and realized that she hadn't even started with her own owl. Without waiting for a reply, Malfoy crossed to her and took the crumpled letter from her hand, passing his wand tip over it, smoothing it out.

"So," she began, making a brave attempt at normal conversation, "You're the new Hufflepuff Seeker?"

"Yeah! Where did you hear that?" He deftly latched the newly-straightened letter to the tawny's leg and began tying a knot, holding his wand between his teeth.

"Ginny won't shut up about it."

"How's the Gryffindor team looking this year?" he asked, his words muffled by his wand.

"I have no idea, really. I'm not much for quidditch," she confessed. Why did she bring up a topic she knew nothing about? Now what?

"Alright," Malfoy said to the owl, and it took flight with a soft hoot.

Then a distant bang and a bright golden light illuminated the Owlery. They both jerked around to look out of the huge open-air window that faced the lake. Another bang, another light. This time bright green. Hurrying over to the window, they peered out into the night. Hermione could see the wings of the tawny owl emblazoned with emerald light as- what appeared to be a firework-zoomed around in the sky beneath it.

"What the—" Hermione began, but Malfoy interrupted her.

"It's my House. They're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?" she asked. A whiz then a shower of red and blue sparks. Malfoy's face was cast in mottled purple light.

"My mother's acquittal," he said, leaning against the wall to watch, a little smile on his lips.

Hermione thought about this. She knew the Hufflepuffs were known for their acceptance, their fierce loyalty of each and every member of their House, but this? Shooting off fireworks for Malfoy's mother? She didn't know how to respond to that.

Malfoy looked over the edge of the window. It was a straight drop down over seven stories to the school grounds, but he bent down and sat on the wide stone frame covered in hay, his head resting against the inner edge wall. Hermione was scared of heights. To her, this was tempting fate. But something made her want to join him. He looked so peaceful seated there, his body relaxed, silhouetted every now and then by another brilliant jolt of color.

"Can I join you?" He looked over his shoulder at her, then nodded to the place beside him on the window's edge. Slowly, apprehensively, she approached, her gaze trained on the darkened grounds below. There were a lot of people down there, over by the lake. Hermione imagined she could hear their shouts, their peals of laughter, as they ran around dancing or else lay in the dew-damp grass gazing up at the stars and the flashes of fireworks. The Hufflepuffs were tiny, like ants. And they were a verylong way up.

Finally, she was there, on the straw-covered ledge. She sat quickly. Every inch of her body buzzed with fear.

Malfoy turned and looked at her, taking in her fingers gripping the stone, her hunched shoulders, the terror in her eyes. He put an arm around her as another fountain of jewel-toned sparks rocketed up into the air before them. "Don't worry. If you start to fall, I'll catch you."
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Atonement