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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 4

Rootless Tree

An entire night of peace, and most of the next day, too. No classes, no taunting, no torture. Now it was Saturday evening and Draco was trying to not to limp as he made his way to the Headmistress’s office, his backpack slung uncomfortably over his shoulder, his school uniform rumpled and unwashed. What did she want with him anyway? Was she going to expel him after all, after practically bending over backwards to get him back to Hogwarts?

He almost didn’t want to know.

“Rontra Narconum,” he said to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance. It leapt aside and he climbed the spiraling staircase up to the door.

Before he could knock, he heard McGonagall’s voice say, “Come in, Mr. Malfoy.” He pushed the door open.

It was quiet, except for the whirring of delicate instruments to his right. McGonagall was sitting at a huge desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose, her lips pursed as she watched him.

“Sit.”

Draco crossed to the desk and sat in the chair opposite the Headmistress. She regarded him unblinkingly, scrutinizing, saying nothing. He tried to return her penetrating gaze, but he broke off after a moment, hating the feeling of worthlessness welling up in his gut, hating the slight wheeze of his breathing, his lungs still not quite healed.

“Mr. Malfoy, you must know that you are not welcome here.”

There it was. She was going to expel him.

“While you must know that I have very little sympathy for your predicament given your history, I cannot allow brawling in the hallways, nor will I condone bullying, especially the sort that results in—” she glanced at a parchment in front of her on the desk “—‘fink’ written on the back of any students’ neck.” She caught his eye again and held it meaningfully, then continued, “Therefore, I have asked you here in order to find a solution to your problem. It would seem that your fellow Slytherins no longer have any use for you in their House. I propose then, that you need a new House.”

Draco blinked. He was still grappling with his anger that Madame Pomfrey had included the ugly brand she’d found festering on his neck in her report to the Headmistress (though of course she would have had to have done). At first, the weight of McGonagall’s words did not sink in. “Headmistress?” he asked, confused.

“You need a new House, Mr. Malfoy. And soon. What do you think?”

“You mean, you’re not expelling me?”

“No. Not today, Mr. Malfoy,” returned McGonagall severely. She folded her hands over the papers on her desk. “But I think we can both agree that your current state is pitiful. It cannot be allowed to continue. I have discussed your predicament with the heads of House and Professor Sprout has graciously agreed to accept you into her House. You should gather your things and report her immediately.”

Professor Sprout? But she was head of…

“Hufflepuff?!” Draco sputtered. The idea of it! Draco Malfoy in Hufflepuff?! It was ridiculous, inconceivable!

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, Hufflepuff.”

“What? Why?!” he gasped, nearly laughing. Surely this was a joke! Yes, the Slytherins all hated him, and Gryffindor was out of the question, but Hufflepuff? Draco tried to plead his case. “What about Raven—”

“Professor Flitwick intimated to me that he would prefer a rampaging nundu to your presence in Ravenclaw tower. Professor Sprout, however, was happy to accept you into her House. You should be grateful, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Headmistress—”

“That is my final decision, Mr. Malfoy. Either go to Hufflepuff or go home.” McGonagall shuffled the papers in her hands and rapped them on the desk smartly.

“But—”

“That is all, Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall waved her wand and behind him the office door opened. “Good afternoon.”

+++

Hermione added the last bullet point to her study schedule and glanced over the long list, trying to think of anything she may have missed. Her N.E.W.T. level courses were exciting, difficult, and consuming. Without Ron or Harry there to distract her, though, she found that filling the empty hours with studying was oddly unsatisfying.

Not that she missed the near-death exploits or the constant bickering over their avoidance of homework, but she would have liked a little company. There was nobody to talk to here anymore. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Everyone in Gryffindor was eager to get a moment with the famous Hermione Granger, the heroine of the Second Wizarding War, the girl who helped defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all.

Hermione didn’t feel like any of those things. She barely felt like her. Eyes unfocused, she gazed blindly at the parchment in her hand, thinking of bodies like bundles littering the school lawn and rubble falling from the castle battlements and the blistering hot fire that had raged in the Room of Requirement—

“Hermione?” It was Ginny, her broomstick over her shoulder, coming to a stop in front where Hermione sat huddled in a corner of the Gryffindor common room. “We’re going to have tryouts now. Do you want to come?”

“So soon? I thought tryouts for quidditch weren’t until next week.”

“Well, I’m the team captain, and I say there’s no time like the present,” Ginny replied with a smile. “So, do you want to come along?”

“Thank you, Ginny, but no. I think I’m going to head to the library to—”

“Do some studying,” Ginny finished for her, looking vaguely amused. “Alright. See you at dinner, then?”

“Sure.” Hermione gathered up her books, stuffed them into her backpack, and followed Ginny and what felt like the rest of Gryffindor House out into the corridor. She trailed behind the crowd down the stairs until they reached the third floor where she broke off and headed for the Library.

She could see the library doors ahead of her when something else caught her eye. Someone was walking slowly down the hallway toward her. There was no mistaking that head of white-blonde hair. Malfoy.

Hermione sped up, trying to get to the library before he noticed her there. The last thing she wanted was a yelling match.

“Granger! Hey, Granger!” he called, speeding up too as best he could. Was he limping? Hermione remembered the state he’d been in when she had seen him last. Of course he was limping.

He reached the doors of the library almost exactly when she did. “Go away, Malfoy,” Hermione said.

“No, wait!” He leaned up against one of the doors just as she grabbed for the handle. “Wait.”

She turned to face him, folding her arms defensively. “What, Malfoy?”

“I wanted to say…” he seemed to be struggling for words. She heard a slight wheeze in his breath. “Thank you.” Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Thank you. For what you did.” She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Yesterday.” As if she needed reminding. “That’s all.” He shifted his weight from the door and took a few shuffling steps around her before continuing his slow trek down the corridor toward the stairs.

She watched him go in utter confusion. Thank you? When has Malfoy ever thanked anyone for anything?

+++

It was a long, long way from the Headmistress’s office to the dungeons to pack his things in solitude, then to Professor Sprout’s office near the Herbology greenhouses. He could hear people on the quidditch pitch as he crossed the lawn to the little stone building that housed extra gardening supplies and the head of Hufflepuff’s quarters. When he knocked, she answered the door herself, welcoming him in, though a bit stiffly. She pressed a slightly dusty mug of tea into his hands and offered him a chair near the window.

“Now,” Professor Sprout began as she seated herself adjacent him and set her own mug down on the little table between them, “the Headmistress told me this morning that you were having troubles in Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. I gather that’s true?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. He was uncomfortable with how personable she was, how inviting.

“And I suggested you come to my House, to Hufflepuff.”

“You ‘suggested’ it?” he asked. McGonagall had made it sound like Sprout had needed a lot of convincing.

“Well, yes,” said the plump little witch, taking a sip of her tea and wincing. “Be careful, dear, the tea’s still hot.” She set hers back down and looked at him sympathetically. “What was I saying? Ah yes, naturally, Hufflepuff would be happy to have you. If that’s what you want, Draco. May I call you ‘Draco’?”

Disarmed, Draco nodded. Happy to have me?

“And you could stay in all your normal classes. N.E.W.T. classes are all Houses together, aren’t they? So that’s no trouble. We can charm all of your uniforms to match Hufflepuff colors, black and yellow, you know. And we have a vacancy in the seventh year dormitory since Hopkins—” She broke off suddenly, her eyes filling with tears.

Draco didn’t know what to say. He knew why Sprout was looking so upset. Wayne Hopkins was one of the students killed during the Battle of Hogwarts. He remembered the name from the list of deaths in the Daily Prophet. He’d practically memorized that list.

Sprout had gathered her mug back into her hands and was cradling it distractedly. Draco remembered that he, too, had tea and took an indecorous gulp of the scalding liquid to distract himself. His whole face contorted with the pain of the piping hot tea scorching his throat.

After an awkward minute, Sprout took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. “Well, anyway, there’s a free bed,” she said thickly. “Draco, no one is going to force you into this. I just want you to know that we Hufflepuffs, well, we’re not like your House. You would be safe in my House, I promise you that. No one would… judge you for your past… mistakes.”

Draco wondered how any person could be so good. She, surely, knew who he was and what he’d done. Surely she hated him every bit as much as McGonagall or any other person at this school. And what about the other Hufflepuffs? Were they likely to be as accepting of him as she assured him they would be? Draco thought back to over his first week. It was true, no Hufflepuff had joined in the constant harassment he’d had to endure since the start of term. In fact, not a single Hufflepuff had so much as sneered in his direction.

He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he decided that he would take Sprout up on her offer. Draco supposed that he’d made up his mind back in his Slytherin dormitory as he packed his things. Besides, it couldn’t get any worse, could it? He smiled inwardly as he remembered his derisive feelings toward Hufflepuff at the Welcoming Feast. At least he wasn’t in Hufflepuff. How times change.

“So, Draco, what do you say?” Sprout said, fixing him with a steady gaze.

“Alright,” he answered feebly, then with more conviction: “Yes. Thank you, Professor Sprout.”

Sprout clapped her hands and smiled. “Good, very good! Well, I think we should head there now, don’t you?” she said, standing up. Draco looked up at her then glanced back down at his half-drunk mug of tea. “Oh, just leave it, dear. I’ll tidy up later.”

Draco set his mug on the little table and got to his feet. Time to meet the Hufflepuffs.
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Atonement