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Atonement	By : absumoaevum Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13720 -:- 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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Please, guys (you know who you are), I don't want to see any more of these reviews rudely informing me of how impatient you are. I can't rush these things. I promise the next chapter is coming soon, but seriously, I'm not going to go any faster just because you want me to. Maybe instead of being rude to me, you could try being encouraging or supportive, because I respond much better to that kind of thing.

Thank you to everyone else that has been so awesome. I really appreciate everything!

Also, just so you know, I will be revamping previous chapters in the next few days, adding things and correcting mistakes. I'll tell you when the changes are up (they'll all be done at once), but I'll probably release them after Ch. 25 comes out. Don't worry, if you're not into the idea of re-reading this fanfic, you won't be missing anything significant if you don't start over.

Chapter 20

Promising Light

Draco returned to the Hufflepuff common room so far past curfew that it was a miracle he was even still awake. As he descended the ladder, he knew instinctively that he was not alone. His brain flooded with unhappy scenarios for the few seconds it took to land on the worn rug and turn to face the room at large. Immediately, he spot the little huddle of boys over by the great fireplace.

"There he is!" said James, jumping to his feet and striding over to Draco with a smile. With a few rough pats on his shoulder, Draco allowed himself to be ushered back over to Prescott, Ryan, and Justin, who were obviously waiting up for him.

"What are you all doing out here? Why aren't you asleep?" said Draco solicitously. It was, after all, strange that they were sitting around in the common room so late.

James laughed. "Your owl doesn't like us for some reason."

"Where have you been?" asked Prescott at once, but James, still laughing, answered for him.

"Didn't you see him in the Owlery? With a girl no less!" James shoved Draco down onto the worn sofa and stood behind him massaging his shoulders with considerable force. "You old dog! I knew you had it in you!"

"James!" said Draco, trying to duck away from James's fingers, which were digging painfully between his shoulder blades. "Hey, come on, James. Stop!"

James tumbled over the top of the couch to lie on the seat beside Draco, his head lulling in Draco's lap, the same goofy grin plastered on his face. "Who was she, lover boy?" he cooed, crossing his legs.

"Get off me, you twat!"

"Don't move until he tells us," said Ryan. "We're holding your personal space ransom."

"You've got to be joking," said Draco. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep, yes. That would be amazing. It had been such a draining night. "Can't this wait?" he said, tilting his head to the ceiling and rubbing his eyes dramatically.

"Not if you don't want me cuddled up next to you all night," replied James, batting his eyes up at Draco.

"Just tell him it was Granger so we can go to bed," said Prescott with a yawn.

Justin, seated to Draco's right in a sunken armchair, blanched. "Granger? W-what?"

"Yeah, didn't you know? They've been talking, haven't you?" said James, leering at Draco and trying to cross his hands under his head.

Draco had reached his limit. He heaved forward and James rolled off of him onto the hearth rug in a heap. "Talking, yes," he growled, "And that's not slang for anything either."

"When did this happen? Where was I?" Justin looked around at everyone with a sort of dazedly helpless expression.

"And here I was thinking it was common knowledge," James said carelessly from the floor. He had flipped around and was now sitting cross-legged with his back to the fire, his body silhouetted by its light.

Prescott, who was closest to Draco in a squashy, lemon-colored chair, said "What were you doing up there with her?"

"I just bumped into her." Which was perfectly true, thought Draco. He'd gone up to mail a letter and there she was, sobbing and being miserable, and he had tried to help. And she had apologized to him and tearfully forgiven him. And then they'd watched the fireworks together. But he wasn't sure he wanted to tell them any of that yet. Mostly because he wasn't sure he believed it himself.

"Just bumped into her?" asked Ryan incredulously. "She was with you the whole time, watching the fireworks."

"Very romantic," James cut in.

"No, not romantic," scowled Draco. Definitely not romantic. They should have seen the state of her. More like piteous. The other boys were regarding him with mingled looks of disbelief and curiosity. "Not romantic!" he repeated. "We were talking –"

James cut in, "—again—"

Draco ignored him. "—and mailing our letters—"

"—is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"—and then the fireworks started—"

"—so to speak—"

"—and we sat down and watched them together. No! Not together together! In the same place!"

More skeptical gaping.

"THERE IS NOTHING GOING ON BETWEEN ME AND GRANGER!" Draco bellowed. They all started at his voice, so loud in the relative calm of the common room. How could they be thinking this? What could they possibly think was going on? Draco was taking deep, calming breaths through his nose, trying to stop the gravely wheeze in his lungs. This was ridiculous. He stood up suddenly and said, "I'm going to bed."

"No, no! Draco!" said James, getting to his feet and catching hold of Draco's arm. "Hey, mate, we're just kidding you. Calm down!"

"It's not a joke, ok? She was a witness at my mother's trial! She's probably going to be at my father's trial and mine! She's a total stranger—" Draco broke off. Yes, that was the word she'd used. Stranger. But it wasn't bad when she'd said it. 'Stranger' coming from her sounded like hope. It was Draco who was now using it to create distance, to draw a line between them. He regretted saying anything at all.

"We know, Draco," said Prescott. Draco looked at him, half out of his chair, his body as tense as the moment. "We understand what Granger is to you."

"What does that mean?"

"You told us all about it, remember? We know she's how you're measuring your success."

It sounded idiotic coming from Prescott. Draco: measuring his acceptance as a changed man by the whims of a seventeen-year-old girl who didn't even like him. It was clear from Prescott's tone that he thought Draco was being absurd. But if it was true – and Draco suspected it was – that she had actually changed her mind about him, maybe it wasn't so crazy of him to want her approval. Only a little. Mostly he wanted her not to hate him so that would be one less person judging him by his past.

Even as he thought all of this, he knew that he wasn't ready to voice it, so Draco changed tacks. "Did you get in much trouble?"

"Detention," said Ryan, Prescott, and Justin together.

"And none of us can watch the Gryffindor-Slytherin match next month," Prescott said. That explained how solemn he was looking.

"Ouch," Draco said sympathetically.

"Which is why you'll have to go without us," Prescott continued, sounding as though it cost him dearly to have to say these things out loud, "We need eyes on that game, watching for their strategies. Both Gryffindor and Slytherin have new captains this year. We need to know what sort of tactics they're employing. It's up to you, mate." Prescott stared into Draco's eyes in earnest, and Draco could tell he was more upset about being barred from watching the upcoming match than he was letting on to their friends.

"I'll be there," said Draco, "Taking notes and drawing little diagrams or whatever."

"Aw, I wouldn't bother with the diagrams. Yours could never be as good as Prescott's," said James. Everyone looked at him in surprise, waiting for the punch line. Honest compliments from James were hard to come by. James grinned. "What? They're good!" He shook his head in a you-people-never-believe-me sort of way and turned his attention to Prescott. "Cheer up, little buddy! Draco here is going to try to be a useful scout. And if that doesn't work, we'll spy on their practices. I'm willing to make moral sacrifices to beat the snot out of those two teams this year."

Draco nodded fervently, and Prescott smiled in spite of himself. There was a beat of silence, then Draco turned to James and said, "What happened to you? This lot got detention, what did you get?"

"Oh, me? Just a week weeding the greenhouses with Sprout. Filch was threatening thumb screws." They all laughed, the memory of James running off into the night wielding a gigantic rocket still fresh in their sleepy minds.

"I would have gone with the screws," said Draco sagely, "That would have at least impressed Carolyn."

Everyone turned to James. "Nah," he said breezily. "She would have just been hacked off that I couldn't catch the quaffle properly. Girls only like bad boys when they don't actually have to put up with them."

"Good point," said Prescott.

There was a brief pause. A log settled in the fire. Then Justin said, "He likes Carolyn?"

Hermione sipped her tea in Hagrid's hut on Saturday afternoon, half-listening to him prattle on about the impressively large pumpkins out in the garden, half-reminiscing on the fireworks the night before. And Malfoy, of course. Draco.

She didn't really know what to think of it all. It was true that she had finally been honest with herself about him, admitted that he had really changed, that he was not so much repentant as a completely different human being. Hermione had to admire his strength in the face of so much adversity. She had truly been wrong about him. But what was she supposed to do with that information?

"—An' a performance by the ghosts, o' course. Well, all except Peeves. He don' need any more excuses ter make trouble."

"Right," said Hermione vaguely.

"Are yeh alrigh', Hermione?" Hagrid asked, setting down his bucket of tea to peer at her beadily.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"About the trial?" Hagrid's bushy eyebrows seemed to swallow up the few inches of his face that weren't hidden behind his wild beard and hair. So they'd come to it at last. The trial. Was that all anyone could talk about?

Hermione tried to think of a good answer. She hadn't exactly been thinking about the trial, but she had been thinking of Mal-Draco. Maybe that counted. "Yes."

"I've been asked ter testify at old Lucius's trial. Got the summons last week. Did yer get one?"

"Yes. Bliswick seems to be mounting an elaborate defense." Hermione glanced over at the Daily Prophet on Hagrid's bed. The front page was another speculative news article about the Malfoy family. This time, there was an accompanying photograph of them taken at the Quidditch World Cup, except the little black and white versions of Narcissa and Draco were standing separately from Lucius, who appeared to be muttering to himself. That didn't bode well.

"I read in the Prophet today that the counsel – Bliswick's his name, I think – has been callin' on everyone tha' Lucius ever knew to testify at the trial."

"I read that, too," said Hermione. That was worrisome. The longer the trial stretched out, the more pain Draco and his mother would be in, the worse it would be for them. "Don't you think—" started Hermione, but she broke off, unsure of how to word her question.

"Yeah? What's up, Hermione?" said Hagrid encouragingly.

"Don't you think that all of this is a little unfair? I mean," she hurried on, as Hagrid opened his mouth to reply, "I mean, don't you wonder why no other Death Eater family has been prosecuted? It feels like the Malfoys are sort of — sort of taking the blame for everything, don't you think?"

"Well, they've all ruddy well left the country, haven' they?" said Hagrid, "Or been killed or summat. There was an awful lot of them that died back in May, yer know." He was eyeing her with a curious expression.

She shouldn't have said anything. Hardly any of her friends would agree with her that the Malfoys might be getting a bit of unfair treatment. It was stupid to think Hagrid would feel any differently than Harry or Ron.

He leaned back in his chair, which groaned under his weight. "Hermione, I've had a letter from Harry about yeh. He seems ter think that yeh might be havin' some sympathy for old Draco Malfoy now that he's been moved ter Hufflepuff. That wouldn't be true, now would it?"

Hermione felt herself bristle. "So what if it is true? He has a right to change if he wants to! He doesn't need my permission, or Harry's or Ron's or yours!"

"Alright, calm down, Hermione," said Hagrid soothingly, but Hermione wasn't done.

"He is really different now! You haven't even spoken to him!" Hermione slammed her teacup down on the table and was forcibly reminded of Luna doing the exact same thing during a similar conversation a month ago. That's when she knew she was on their side, Luna's and Draco's. She was going to fight this battle with them. She was going to stand up for Draco because someone should. And he'd earned it.

"Well, he hasn't apologized ter me," said Hagrid in a huff, as if that settled it, in his opinion. "I don't see what yer so upset about, Hermione. This is a long time comin' fer the Malfoys, if yeh ask me. Bunch 'o slimy gits, the lot of 'em."

"Hagrid!" cried Hermione. She couldn't believe him! "Draco's changed—"

"Oh, Draco, is it now?"

Hermione stood up, indignant, enraged. Much angrier than she should have been. After all, Hagrid didn't really know any better, did he? He hadn't talked to Draco. In his mind, these trials were justice being served. But to Hermione, they were a bitter vendetta, and excuse to point the finger at the only people left to be held accountable, whether they were to blame for their actions or no.

"I can' believe you, Hermione. I thought that yeh of all people wouldn' fall for Malfoy's—"

"Malfoy's what? His what, exactly?"

"He's a bleedin' fake, Hermione! Palin' around with those Hufflepuffs, he's no diff'rent than he was b'fore!"

"He is different. You'll see!" She grabbed her coat and turned to leave. Her hand was on the door when the sound of scraping wood on wood filled up the cabin.

Hagrid had gotten to his feet. He crossed to her, put a massive hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, if yeh really feel tha' way—"

"I do!" she cried, spinning around to look at him. "I believe him, I believe in him. He's changed. I don't care what any of you think. In fact, I feel sorry for you! You're all so blinded by your prejudice that you're not even willing to hear the truth about everything! I know, because I was like you. I let myself hate him even though I didn't know the whole story, just because he's Malfoy, but it's not fair! Why do we think we're any better than him? Why do we think our pain was more, that our hardship was greater? Just because we don't understand it doesn't mean it's not true!" She was breathless now, holding back tears.

Hagrid looked at her seriously. "Alright, Hermione. Alright. Calm down."

"No, I will not calm—"

"I'm tryin' to say that I hear yeh. Yer right, Hermione. Yer always right." Hagrid patted her shoulder and she tried very hard not to flinch. "I trust yeh. If yeh say he's tryin', then he's tryin'." Then he looked at her strangely, cocking his head to the side.

"Y-you think I'm right?" It was almost too much to hope for. Had she actually convinced Hagrid?

"Will yeh sit down an' tell me about him?" said Hagrid, nodding over his shoulder back at the table. "I'm listenin'."

Finally. Someone was listening.

"Myrtle, you're not even listening!"

"Am so!"

"Are not—ugh! No, I'm not going to do this with you. Look, Hermione isn't my friend, per se, but she was trying to help me! She is! She did!"

"She lied to me!"

"You wouldn't have told her anything if she hadn't lied!"

"But—"

"I want her to know, Myrtle! I want her to know everything about me!"

It was Saturday evening and his friends were expecting him at dinner, but he hadn't seen Mrytle in so long, and now this. Why hadn't Hermione told him that she'd talked to Mrytle about him? Well, he reasoned, she hadn't had much time between yelling at him, crying hysterically, and not speaking to him. Maybe she would have told him eventually. But it would have been nice to have a heads-up, if only to prevent the argument he was currently having with the ghost of the second floor girl's bathroom.

That had been quite a bombshell to drop, and Myrtle knew it. When she'd told him of the conversation that had occurred in the Prefects' Bathroom a month ago, Draco had found himself torn between horror and jubilation. Hermione had asked the one person who knew it all, the whole story of his terrible sixth year. And Myrtle had defended him. It was almost perfect. Now if only he could get Myrtle to see it that way.

She was holed up in the third cubicle down the aisle, furious and on the verge of one of her famous breakdowns. And he was standing on the other side of the stall door with his hands braced against it trying to make her understand. But the silence was lengthening in the time since he'd last spoken, and Myrtle was only sniffing a little. No response. Maybe he should say something else…

"I want her to know the truth, Myrtle. Thank you for telling her, even if she tricked you. It was good. I'm glad you did it."

"Really?" she asked in a very small voice, something like a whisper, more like a sigh.

"Yes! Of course! Don't be dense, Myrtle! Come out here and talk to me!"

She emerged suddenly through the cubical door and he took a few hurried steps back. That was really unnerving. She knew he hated it, which explained the smile on her face. "Then I haven't ruined everything?"

"No! Tell me what she asked you! Tell me everything she said!"

After thirty more minutes with Mrytle, Draco was feeling more reassured of his success with Hermione than ever. She had asked some of the right questions. She'd seemed curious. And Myrtle had told her the truth, which was perfect. The walk to the Great Hall took no time at all.

"Thank goodness! We were about to gather a search party!" said James, standing up at the Hufflepuff table and waving him over.

Draco sat down between Ryan and James and told them he'd been to see Moaning Myrtle. They all stared at him incredulously, except Prescott, who was writing furiously and had his nose pressed so close to the parchment that Draco was surprised there weren't ink spots on it.

"You mean," said Ryan, "You actually went looking for Moaning Myrtle?"

"We're old friends," Draco explained, then nodded at Prescott. "What's up with him?"

"The D.A.D.A. essay," said Ryan simply. Draco groaned his sympathy, but Prescott didn't look up.

"Well, you've got some weird friends, Draco," said James. "Lucky you have us around, really, otherwise you'd be hopeless."

Draco laughed and stole a glance over to the Gryffindor table. He could see Hermione sitting there reading the Evening Prophet. As he watched, she brought a fork full of ham up to her face and tried to eat it without tearing her eyes away from the page, but missed her mouth. She looked up, startled, and their eyes locked. The hand holding her fork dropped to the table so fast it was comical, but he resisted the urge to laugh. He knew by the way she blushed that she'd realized he had seen, but she just sort of rolled her eyes and smiled a little. He smiled back.

"Earth to Draco!" said James, who had clearly noticed what had passed between him and Hermione.

Draco pried his gaze from the Gryffindor table and turned to James. "What?"

"Are you ok, mate? You're worse than me!"

"Worse than you how—Hang on!" But they were all laughing. Draco joined in. When he looked back at Hermione, she was buried in the newspaper again.

"LOOK UPON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY AND DESPAIR!" bellowed Prescott suddenly, standing up and punching the air.

"What?" James, Draco, and Ryan all said together, utterly nonplused.

"I'm done, you prats! Yes!"

"Was that more Shakestick?" Draco muttered to James.

"That was Shelley, Draco. And it's 'Shakespeare'," Prescott said. He blew on the parchment and folded it before stuffing it into his bookbag with relish. "I can't believe I finished that. Must be record or something."

"Congratulations," said Ryan flatly.

Prescott settled back into his seat and started pulling platters of food toward him, shoveling a mountain of potatoes and peas onto his plate. "We have got to do something about your deplorable ignorance of the classic poets, Draco," he said.

"I think I can live without it," Draco said through a mouth full of chicken.

"Ah, but you haven't truly lived without the Muggle classics!" said James sagely, folding his hands on the table in front of him and giving Draco mock-scrutinizing glare.

Prescott poured gravy over his potatoes and roast beef. "He's making fun of me, but he's right."

"We can have a poetry reading on the lawn tomorrow. You'll have to pardon me if I'm not present. I've got detention. Draco, however, has no excuse."

"I think Draco's the only one who doesn't have detention tomorrow, actually," said Ryan. "The rest of us are cleaning the potions classrooms."

"Oh, that's delightful," said Draco, glad that for once he wasn't the one in trouble.

"Yeah, it'll give you time to work out how you're going to help James with Carolyn," said Prescott.

"Wait, what?" said Draco and James at once.

"I don't know anything about getting girls!" Draco laughed. It was true. The only girl that had ever shown any interest in him was Pansy Parkinson, and she was long gone. He'd never had to try with her anyway. She just threw herself at him.

"Yeah, but none of the rest of us has had any luck with getting him to pluck up the courage to make a move. You're by far the most qualified to teach Jameson here a thing or two about bravery."

Draco thought about this. What was Prescott referring to? He didn't feel brave at all! When had he ever…

"Yeah, Draco. You've got a solid brass pair of balls by my estimation, not that I've been looking or anything," said James with a grin. "Maybe you could help me out."

"You've all completely lost your minds," said Draco, but he smiled anyway. Yes, he decided. He would help James with Carolyn if he could. Maybe he could help James. Maybe that could in some way make up for everything he'd done for Draco.

Hermione was walking past the Hufflepuff table with Ginny now. He looked up at her and caught her eye again. "Hey, stranger," he said quietly.

Ginny glared at him then turned away haughtily, but Hermione smiled. He smiled back. Then they were gone.

James chuckled and said, "See! That's what I'm talking about!"
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Atonement