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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
- 23
- 24
I'm back, bitches! Did you miss me?

I really, really need a beta. Any takers?

Chapter 24

After the Storm

"Mr. Malfoy! What are you doing here?"

Draco opened his eyes. He knew it was early morning by the grayish quality of the light. That fact barely had time to register before another surpassed it in importance: the woman bearing down on him like an angry ostrich was Madame Pomfrey. Draco must have fallen asleep without realizing it on the bed closest to Hermione's. They had stayed up late talking, then the lateness had slowly compelled them into silence and now… now he guessed they were in trouble.

"I said what are you doing here, Mr. Malfoy?"

Shooting a look across the aisle at Hermione, he saw her gazing back at him from between her pillow and her sheets. Her eyes were crinkled with stifled laughter. She mouthed "sorry" then hid her face again.

Draco didn't see what was so funny. He sat up, Madame Pomfrey's admonitions buzzing around him as he ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his robes. Hermione was supposed to be here. It was he who was getting read the riot act for sneaking in to see her. And then staying overnight. Accidentally. That certainly didn't help things.

"—and ten points will be taken from Sly – well, from Hufflepuff House – for this blatant disregard of school rules. Be glad I'm not giving you a detention, Mr. Malfoy. I shall, of course, notify your Head of House. Professor Sprout can give you a punishment more fitting the crime—"

"Crime?" asked Draco, getting to his feet. He was taller than Madame Pomfrey, who shuffled back away from him and eyed him beadily. "I was just keeping her company," he explained, "No crime committed." He thought it was pretty rich of Madame Pomfrey to call a sleepover in the Hospital Wing a crime, especially in comparison to some of the more colorful charges on his actual rap sheet. It was like comparing kittens and chimeras.

Madame Pomfrey, who apparently did not agree with Draco's assessment, shot him one last withering look, made a sound like "hmph!" and then turned to Hermione, who was just a lump of sheets on her bed. "Ms. Granger, how are you feeling?"

"Better," squeaked Hermione without revealing her face. Draco knew it must be because she was still trying to master her embarrassed giggles. After a moment though, she sobered, seemingly regaining control of herself. She pulled the bedclothes around her like a cloak, sat up, and crossed her legs on the bed, looking seriously between Pomfrey and Draco. "It was nice having him here. I couldn't sleep. He kept me company. He's not in much trouble, is he?"

Madame Pomfrey's expression softened very slightly toward Hermione. "Mr. Malfoy should not have… but, if you didn't mind then…" She seemed torn between anger at Draco and compassion for her patient. Hermione glanced around Madame Pomfrey and stared pointedly from Draco to the doors of the Hospital Wing. He got the message loud and clear: get out while you can.

Well, she didn't have to tell him twice. "See you, Hermione," he said quickly, giving her a little wave then hurrying away from her bed, toward the doors, and out into the corridor beyond. He thought it might be time for breakfast now. Certainly he could hear a low hum of voices from the Great Hall. His friends would probably be in there, worried about where he'd been. James would almost certainly give him grief about spending the night with Hermione (even though nothing had happened!) and Prescott would be disapproving as always and Justin would be clueless and Ryan would take Draco's side—

Wham! Draco collided with another person so hard that both he and the stranger stumbled backward clutching their shoulder or chest. His lungs protested the sudden intake of air; he coughed hoarsely and tried to catch his breath.

Meanwhile, the other person had moved to face Draco again, readjusting his glasses on his nose. "Malfoy?"

"Potter," Draco growled, still wheezing. It felt like Potter's bony shoulder had dug straight into his sternum. It was all he could do not to whimper.

"What are you doing here?" asked Potter.

Draco struggled to stand up straight, willing the rattle in his chest to go away, and rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone always ask me that?"

"What—"

"Never mind. So, you're here to see Granger?"

"Yeah," said Potter. He glanced around, running a hand distractedly through his disheveled hair. "Uh, how did you know that?"

Draco stared at Potter incredulously. Why else would he be visiting Hogwarts on a Sunday? Then he remembered that Potter didn't know he knew about Hermione's being in the Hospital Wing. Now there was a problem.

He tried to think what to do. Should he be honest and risk making things worse for Hermione, whose loyalty didn't exactly lie with him? After all, he was in the corridor of the Hospital Wing at the crack of dawn. Maybe should he tell Potter it was none of his business and storm off. Or would that just be playing into Potter's already not-so-great assumptions of him and not do him or Hermione any favors?

He resolved to give nothing away and hope that the conclusions Potter drew didn't upset Hermione too much. Then, at least, she'd be able to tell the Boy Wonder whatever she decided she wanted the truth to be. It was all the same to him. Or he wanted it to be.

"Lucky guess," said Draco, deciding that was nice and oblique. He took a few steps toward the hallway which led to the Great Hall. "Erm, nice chatting and all, but I've gotta go, Potter. I'm late for breakfast."

Potter called after him. "Hey, Malfoy, wait!"

Draco didn't stop. As he rounded the corner into the first floor corridor, he reminded himself the very last person he wanted to be talking to at this moment was Potter.

Well, the very last person right behind the boy headed up the staircase in front of him. "Bloody hell," Draco muttered, dashing behind a suit of armor.

Weasley and what looked like half of the rest of his red-haired family were marching down the corridor together toward the Hospital Wing. Draco held his breath – which hurt quite a lot – but they passed right by him without a sideways glance. He felt like he'd just dodged an Unforgivable Curse with that one. Thank goodness they hadn't seen him. Potter was one thing, but he didn't think he could keep his cool with Weasley.

Draco headed back down to the Great Hall, thinking now of breakfast, and, if he was honest with himself, maybe a little bit of the girl he'd just left behind.

When Hermione left the Hospital Wing, the afternoon light was still tinged with that just-rained quality. It streamed in through the windows as she headed first for Gryffindor tower to get her bookbag, then down to the Library to tackle her homework.

As she walked, she tried to decide how she felt. It was good, she supposed, to have told another person about her dismal summer. Her shame, her anguish, seemed less heavy now that there was someone else to shoulder her secret. It wasn't like telling Harry or Ron, who knew most of the story and had their own good intentions. Draco… he had his own baggage. He was broken like her. And he knew how to carry a burden.

She wasn't quite sure that she should have unloaded all her problems on Draco like that, though. It was true that she had decided to trust him, trust that he was repentant and that he really wanted to make a new way for himself in the world. Still. The Draco Malfoy she'd known for so many years wouldn't just be a sympathetic ear. What if he tried to use her secrets against her? Blackmail her? Go to the press with her sad little story? What if he tried to buy a good word from her for his trial with the information?

Hermione didn't want to think about what a betrayal that would be. She wanted to believe he was transformed, truly and completely, into the kind of boy who would stay up all night talking with her until she was too exhausted to dream. She wanted to think of him as the sort of person his Hufflepuff friends thought he was.

And the rest of it – her missing parents and her upset friends – they would take some figuring out as well. With all these musings clouding her mind, Hermione almost ran headlong into the Library doors.

Ten minutes later, Hermione had finally found an empty table on which to spread out her books and parchment. The Library was full of students trying to finish up their homework before tomorrow's classes. She hadn't thought of that, but it wasn't so bad. The rows and rows of bookshelves between groupings of study tables muffled the whispering a little. Not to the point that it wasn't distracting, but Hermione thought she could use a little distraction.

As Hermione settled herself into the hard-backed chair, she noticed who was sitting at the neighboring table. There were two of them, both Hufflepuff girls. She tried to start on her Herbology homework, but the next moment she had to force herself not to stare over at them when she heard Draco's name.

"… can't just walk up to Draco and tell him," Hermione overheard one of the girls, a pretty blonde, saying.

"Why not?" replied the other girl. She had black hair that spilled over her face but didn't quite hide her piercing blue-green eyes.

"Rory, don't be stupid. This is Draco we're talking about here. You know he's—"

"That's just a rumor," the girl named Rory said dismissively. "No one actually knows what's going on with him and Hermione Granger."

"Shh!" hissed the blonde girl. They both glanced over at Hermione, who tried very hard to look like she was busy writing notes. After a moment, they began again.

"What about you and James?" asked Rory. Hermione could hear the glib grin in her voice.

This was obviously a point of contention for the blonde, who closed the book in front of her rather harder than was necessary and said, "What about James?"

"You know he likes you!"

"I know nothing of the sort! He's never—"

"Now who's being stupid, Carolyn? You've like him for years and you never said a word to him about it. And you know he feels the same way! You're both too stubborn to just go for it," said Rory, exasperation poured into every word. "I don't want to end up like you two. If I like Draco – and I think do – then I'm not going to sit around forever waiting for him to look my way!" Rory slammed her own book shut and Hermione jumped at the suddenness of it. Both girls looked over at her again, and she endeavored to pass it off as shifting into a more comfortable position.

Rory stood up, crammed her book into her backpack, and slung it over her shoulder. "Are you coming?"

The blonde girl, Carolyn, hesitated, then grabbed her own things and followed Rory out of the Library without another word.

Hermione sat there, staring blankly down at her fake scribbled notes. Then, like a tiny tug in her stomach, something began to gnaw at her. The Rory girl liked Draco. Hermione tried to dismiss this as none of her business, but feeling grew stronger, as if someone was slowly dropping thumb tacks into her churning stomach.

So Draco had an admirer. Hadn't he had that pug-nosed slag Pansy Parkinson slobbering over him for years at school? And she'd never given it a second thought, except to wonder disgustedly how anyone could ever have feelings like that for someone like Draco Malfoy.

But now… This was different. Draco was different. Things between her and Draco were… Maybe they weren't chums exactly, but he wasn't the odious, loathsome toad he had once been. He didn't treat her like scum under his shoe. Hermione had thought that he maybe even sought her friendship.

Of course he did! This didn't change anything! He could be friends with Hermione and still be with that Rory girl, right? Right! Still, her stomach boiled with… with what? Jealousy? Surely not! She wasn't jealous that someone liked Draco. That was ridiculous!

Wasn't it?

Hermione rubbed her eyes. Maybe she was too tired for homework, but it still needed doing. She had too many notes to take to get distracted by some girl liking Malfoy. Liking Draco, she corrected herself.

She was just confused. And tired. And a wreck. That was all. And anyway she needed to do her schoolwork. That would take her mind off of things. So, with a cleansing sigh, Hermione pulled her Herbology book toward her again, struck out the silly little squiggles she'd made before, and started outlining Chapter 6, Identifying and Caring for Bile-Spewing Fungi.

Almost two weeks later, Luna caught up with Draco after class. It was Friday the 13th already and Draco was trying not to wonder where the time had gone. It had been so long since he'd talked to Hermione that night in the Hospital Wing. He hadn't had a chance to really speak to her since.

More importantly, his mother had stopped answering his letters about his father's trial. Even though it was all over the Daily Prophet, he still ached to know every detail. As far as he could tell, the proceedings had been fiendishly slow and very hard on his father, who the Prophet now described as "gaunt and wild-eyed".

So, when Luna started out their conversation by informing him that she'd been summoned to speak at his father's trial the following week, it didn't improve Draco's mood. If anything, it worried him even more. Luna seemed to sense his discomfort at the thought.

"Don't worry," she said as they headed toward dinner together, "I'll tell the truth."

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," said Draco. He shifted his backpack to his other shoulder and attempted not to sulk. It wasn't fair to be upset with Luna for being summoned, even though he'd been summoned ages ago an never heard another word about it. It was even worse to be angry with her for her pledge to tell the truth. Yes, obviously he didn't want her to lie to the Wizengamot. But he didn't exactly want his father to go to Azkaban, either.

Again, Luna knew exactly what he was thinking. "It's hard, isn't it?" They turned a corner and started down a staircase. "Trying to do and think the right thing all the time must be very difficult for you."

"Yeah, well, it's never simple for people like me. There's a lot of gray area."

"There's a lot of gray area for everyone," said Luna. "You're just new to choosing the right shade."

Draco laughed in spite of himself. "You're full of metaphor today."

"What is going on with Astoria, Draco?"

This took Draco aback a little, thought he supposed Luna's abruptness shouldn't really surprise him anymore. "Well, she's… Astoria is… complicated."

"How so?"

"I don't know. She can't just come out and say what she wants, exactly. High society girls never do. But you heard her; she's the only thing standing between me and constant dueling in the halls."

"That's nice of her," Luna said.

Draco chuckled mirthlessly. "I think not. If I know Astoria, and I've known girls like her my whole life, she's not calling off the dogs to be friendly." They stepped onto a staircase, which started to swivel slowly in another direction. They stopped walking and held onto the railings to wait for it to stop.

After a moment of the thunderous grating of stone on stone, Luna said, "So, what does she want?"

The staircase grinded to a halt, but they didn't move. "Honestly?" Draco asked. He turned to look down at Luna, who gazed back at him unblinkingly. "I have no idea."

As it transpired, the change of direction put them directly above the corridor leading to the Entrance Hall. Draco and Luna started off down a final flight of stairs.

Luna changed the subject again as they reached the long, narrow hallway with the cavernous Entrance Hall before them. "How is Prescott?"

And again Draco was completely caught off-guard. "I– well, he… Luna, why—"

Then a hand closed around his arm and swung him around. Draco was suddenly staring into icy blue eyes.

"Hello, Draco," said Astoria smoothly. She didn't look away from him, but she added, "Goodbye, Loony."

"Don't call her—" Draco started, feeling blindsided and angry, but Luna cut him off.

"It's alright. You can tell me about it later." And just like that, Luna walked away, leaving them alone.

Astoria's smile lifted the corners of her lips only vaguely as she backed into an empty classroom, her grip on Draco's arm still tight as ever. He could easily wrench away from her grasp, say something snide and catch up to Luna before she got too far ahead of him, but something held him back. He allowed himself to be led through the doorway. He wanted to know Astoria's angle. This was how.

When they'd taken several steps together into the room, Astoria released him and slid with sensuous grace onto a desk. She crossed her legs. Everything about her was posed and calculated. It made Draco nervous. He hadn't played this game for a long time. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Loony Lovegood, Draco?" said Astoria with contempt. She tossed her curtain of black hair back and returned her gaze to him. The smile was gone. "You can do better."

It was clear he wasn't going anywhere. Draco closed his eyes, shrugged his bookbag off his shoulder, and threw it onto a desk. He rolled his back, trying to ease some of the stress from his body. Finally, with a renewed sense of control, he let himself look at her. "I don't recall asking for your opinion."

"I don't need an invitation to speak my mind. I'm not the one on trial here, Draco." Astoria cocked her chin up slightly. "I'm the judge."

Draco raised his arms. "So judge! I have nothing to hide and I have the added advantage of not caring what you think."

"Silly boy," she said. "Of course you care."

Draco let that hang in the air. He dropped his arms and moved to lean against the desk with his backpack on it. This was her game. If she wanted a conversation, let her come up with the topic. Let her think she has all the power.

After a moment, Astoria spoke again. "You know I've replaced you. Slytherin is my House now."

"You can have it."

"I didn't ask your permission."

"If you had, I would have told you that you are in way over your head."

Astoria's smile was cold. "I don't think so."

"That proves it. And you can barely control those thugs at school, let alone outside of it. Just look what happened at Hogsmeade. You're not going to tell me that was all part of your plan." Astoria's eyes flickered with anger, and Draco felt a rush of satisfaction to see her icy façade crack just a little. "They must not respect you as much as you think, to come after me like that the moment they weren't under your thumb."

"They have been dealt with," she said coolly.

"You don't know the first thing about controlling your court." He smiled. "Pretty soon, it'll be 'off with her head'. They'll find a new queen. Or king."

"You're wrong, Draco, but I forgive you."

"You are too kind," he said, inclining his head in a parody of submission. The slight was not lost on Astoria, who slipped off of her desk and started toward him. Draco was seized with the urge to grab his bag and run away. Her azuline eyes bored into him with such intensity, and her movements were so deliberately serpentine, that he was momentarily stunned with panic.

"I am kind, my pet. You don't understand yet, but you'll find my forgiveness significantly more worthwhile than Loony Lovegood's or those Hufflepuff idiots'. Or the Granger girl's." She was very close now, too close, a breath away, her hand on the desk as she leaned into him.

Draco mentally shook himself. Astoria was talking about his friends, about his desire for their forgiveness, his need to move past his mistakes and forward with his life. She was not allowed to do that. He wouldn't let her. Fury melted his momentary panic. This simpering little sixth-year did not get to hiss through her forked tongue about his life like she had any inkling of understanding.

He leaned down toward her upturned face and said with all the venom he could muster, "Stay. Away. From me."

He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her roughly backward. Her seductress mask crumbled. She stumbled back on unsteady legs, looking for all the world like the pouty little heiress she was. He had truly surprised her. She hadn't expected him to cast her aside so easily. In fact, it wasn't easy, but there was no need to alert her to that fact.

"You effing git! How dare you touch me!" she shouted at him, her grace gone, her eyes wild with rage. "How dare you—"

"Oh shut up! Or better yet, tell me what you want, Astoria. It's dinnertime and I'm hungry."

"You don't fool me, Draco Malfoy! You think if you cuddle up to that filthy little mudblood and her friends that they'll accept you into their club. Well, no one is falling for your act! In the end, what you really want is back in. Just like your mother, am I right, Draco?"

Draco seethed at the mention of his mother. "Don't talk about my mother!"

"You'd be willing to do anything for your mummy dearest, wouldn't you?" she said, continuing on as if he hadn't spoken, "We both know how desperate she is for all the right invitations. And we are getting very close to the winter season, Draco." Astoria was regaining her composure. She turned away from him and sauntered back to her desk. "Imagine if none of those invitations arrive."

Draco wanted to cut in, to rage at this pompous, preening little witch. But he didn't. They were circling her real reason for luring him here. He forced himself to remain calm, to listen imperiously as she condescended to him about his own mother.

"I can just see her," she sighed, gesturing airily as she seated herself on the desk, affecting a forlorn posture, "sitting by a window, waiting for the owls that never come. It's just so sad, isn't it, pet?" Astoria punctuated the last word with a glance of feigned pity in his direction. Draco still said nothing. "What with her husband wasting away in court and her son gone to school and all of her friends abandoning her, I think being snubbed this season would basically kill her, don't you?"

It took everything he had not to curse her. His fingers itched for his wand, but he managed to maintain his appearance of stony indifference. He didn't move; he didn't even blink. Draco was afraid even one twitch would result in some brutal attack.

"So, you see," Astoria said. "My forgiveness makes all the difference."

Draco did see. Whatever Astoria wanted, she was offering to arrange for his mother's return to high society's good graces in exchange.

Through gritted teeth, Draco asked, "What is your price?"

"I think you know," she said, her eyes catching his.

"No."

"Yes. Drop the mudblood. Drop the act. Come back to us, Draco," she said with a mock-pout, "We miss you."

"Hermione is none of your business."

"Please. You're so far out of her league that I'm surprised you two even speak the same language." Astoria ran her fingers through her hair carelessly. She looked utterly at ease again. "She's just not like us, Draco. We're in a different class. Not that I need to tell you any of this." She looked down at her long nails. "You've been slumming it long enough to know the difference, I'm sure."

"'Slumming'—"

"And what about your little friends in Hufflepuff? Really, Draco, it's nice to see you so friendly with the common folk, but it's time you returned to your own kind. You need to be with people who understand you."

"I'm with the people who accept me for who I am."

"That's not what I said. Acceptance makes one complacent. We know that the pressures of our world drive us to be better, don't we, Draco?"

"I don't under—"

"You don't understand? Of course you do. You're a Malfoy. No one understands better than you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Is this it? This is your big plan? To separate me from my friends? To try and blackmail me into being your puppet in return for my mother attending some snobby parties?" He laughed cruelly. "You really don't get it at all. This," he said, gesturing at himself, "is not an act. This is me now."

"You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"

"I don't care what you believe." He grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. "No deal." Draco turned to leave.

"You're not playing the game, Draco. Where's the fun if you don't play the game?"

Draco couldn't help it. His feet carried him across the room to where Astoria perched on her desk. He got close, invading her personal space. She looked up at him, fear evident on her face. It was obvious, so obvious. She was such an amateur, despite all her pretense.

"This is not a game, Astoria," Draco shouted, "This is my life. This is your life. Stop pretending or you're going to end up like I did. You're going to go crazy doing all this to yourself! You're going to hurt people!"

She smiled at him then. It was not pleasant, not even simpering sweet; it was menacing, a serpent's sneer. "I look forward to making your life very difficult."

Draco laughed. "My life is already difficult! Do your worst!" He pivoted on his heels and started toward the open door again.

She giggled a little manically then, as if echoing his derisive laughter, and called after him. "You and I are going to make a great couple."

Hermione knew that it was Draco in that empty classroom arguing with Astoria Greengrass, and though she had every intention of not listening, she still ended up with her back flat against the stone wall just outside the door, her ears straining to catch every word they said. It was pitiful, really. She hated herself for eavesdropping, but she reasoned that they were talking about her anyway. Well, not just her, but she didn't really understand what was going on.

She'd come in at the middle, about to pass by on her way to dinner when his voice had caught her attention. And before she knew what she was doing, she was transfixed by their venomous exchange.

Astoria was trying to convince Draco of something, to "drop the act", and Draco was refusing, actually scornful in his rejection of her propositions. And then Astoria had said some very nasty things to Draco about his friends, about her. She said she was going to make his life difficult. That certainly didn't bode well.

But before Hermione could even pretend to look innocent, Draco had emerged from the classroom. If he'd so much as glanced to his left, he would have seen her there, plastered against the cold stone wall, a guilty grimace on her face. He didn't look. Instead, he turned around as if unable to force himself to drop the argument. He glared into the room again and said, "Couple? You're mental."

Astoria's dulcet voice cooed indistinctly from within, but whatever she'd said, Draco apparently didn't like it. He took a step forward, his body now half-hidden from Hermione, who was mostly torn between a desire to drag Draco out of there by the scruff of his neck and an urgent need to get the hell away from this scene.

"I don't need your help, Astoria," Draco was saying, "I can make my own way in the world."

A pause. Obviously Astoria had some reply of her own that Hermione could not hear. "You're wrong. I've changed," Draco retorted, disappearing entirely from view. "I'm different. We both are."

We? Who was "we"? A second later, Hermione had to flattened herself against the wall again as Astoria appeared. Had she not been focused intently on Draco, who was still somewhere out of sight, she would surely have spotted Hermione. And then what?

Instead, she tossed her sleek black hair over her shoulder and said, "I'm dying to prove you wrong, Draco," before blowing him a kiss and heading down the corridor without even a backward glance.

Hermione didn't have time to decide what to do. She thought fleetingly of following behind Astoria, of starting to walk as if she hadn't just snooped around in Draco's life yet again (she was still beating herself up for eavesdropping on those Hufflepuff girls weeks ago). Plenty of students came this way to dinner. It wouldn't be strange if she just happened to be passing, would it? Then she thought she ought to stay put. Draco hadn't seen her before and Astoria had taken no notice of her. Maybe playing the fly on the wall would work again.

Then he was there, close enough to touch, looking away from Hermione. She held her breath, wishing she had thought to cast a disillusionment charm.

Draco seemed to relax. He stopped just inside the doorway and watched Astoria flounce off toward the open doors of the Great Hall where students were still pouring in for dinner. His hands clasped either side of the door frame, and he didn't give any sign that he'd even noticed her until Astoria had completely disappeared from sight.

Hermione started when he spoke. "Listening at doorways now?" He turned his head to face her, and she was caught off-guard by his smile.

She had tried not to look at him much over the past two weeks. He seemed thinner now, more wan than before he'd transferred into Hufflepuff, more ashen and gaunt even than he had done during their sixth year. Hermione had thought that Hufflepuff was doing him good. Whatever was happening in his life now, it was obviously causing him constant anxiety. But now he was grinning at her like he had when they had laughed together in the Hospital Wing. He seemed genuinely glad to see her. Glad and concerned. A weird mix of guilt and happiness churned in her stomach.

"Sorry," she said. Her heart pounded. She didn't know what to do. When she took a hesitant step toward the Entrance Hall, Draco caught hold her arm.

"Hey, stranger," he murmured, swinging her around and pulling her back through the open doorway of the classroom. She tripped over her feet trying to catch up as he dragged her. When they came to a stop almost at the back of the classroom, she tried to regain control of her balance, but just fell into him.

He laughed and put her right again. "I'm starting to worry about your balance, Hermione."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been eavesdropping—" she started, but he held up a hand to stop her apology.

"What did you hear?" His gray eyes were all piercing seriousness. He wasn't upset exactly, but there was intensity, an edge that cut through the smile. He really was worried, and it had nothing to do with her balance.

"I don't know," she said. It was lame, she knew that. But what was she supposed to say? Everything?

Draco wasn't buying it. "Just tell me."

Hermione hesitated a moment before answering. "It- it sounded like she was trying to bargain with you. There was something about your mother… And she doesn't like me at all, does she?"

"No," he said, and then added, "To be fair, that's probably a good thing."

"You're not going to take the deal, are you?" Hermione wondered at her boldness. This was none of her business. Still, she didn't want the old Draco back. That would ruin absolutely everything. Surely he saw that.

"No. Of course not." He didn't meet her eye.

Now it was Hermione's turn to be incredulous. On impulse, she brought a hand to his cheek. "Draco…"

"No. No, I wouldn't," he said to reassure her, covering her hand with his, and though he drew it away from his face, he did not let go. "My mother will be fine without Astoria's help. There's nothing she could say, Hermione. She's got nothing I want." He squeezed her hand then. Only a little.

"What do you want?"

"I want to move on. I want to finish school, get a job. You know, be normal."

Hermione wanted to laugh. She wanted to ask, "What is 'normal', exactly?" but she was too distracted.

He still hadn't let go of her hand. They stood there for what felt like a long time with the distant hum of voices from the Great Hall filling up the silence. It occurred to Hermione that they were late for dinner. Ginny would worry. She should go. But she didn't want to. She wanted to stay like this for as long as he would let her. She wanted her hand in his. She wanted to be in his confidence like she had taken him into hers. She wanted to help him. The idea of it was overwhelming.

"I… um…" she stammered, and the moment was gone, ruined, popped like a soap bubble. He released her and took a step back as though remembering himself.

He flexed his hand. His brow furrowed, and he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"She's not going to stop trying, Hermione," Draco said suddenly. When Hermione looked confused, he went on: "Astoria. I don't know what she's got planned, but she's not going to give up so easily."

Hermione frowned.

"But neither am I," he said. "I promise."

She readjusted her robes and smoothed her jumper over her skirt, more for something to do than because they needed fixing. "That's good." Ugh. Lame!

But if Draco thought it was an inane response, he didn't show it. "Come on. We should get you to dinner before Ginny kills us."
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Atonement