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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6

I Wasn’t Prepared

The Hufflepuff common room was buzzing with talk of what Luna Lovegood had done to Denis Harper. No one bothered to suggest they should go to sleep. Tomorrow was Sunday, after all, and everyone suddenly wanted a chance to talk to Draco.

Prescott Cadwallader introduced him around to the other boys who would be sharing their dormitory. There was Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was back for his seventh year after having been in hiding somewhere in Ireland the year before. Curly-haired a kind of mousy, Justin seemed nice enough, if a bit hesitant around Draco.

Draco had already met Jameson Terwilleger, who turned out to be a Ballycastle Bats fan. They spent a few minutes abusing Finbar Quigley’s abysmal performance at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup (Quigley played Chaser for both the Bats and the Irish National Quidditch team), before Prescott called over a boy named Ryan Oaklane.

Ryan sidled up with a girl who looked strikingly similar to him. They both had raven black hair and the same high cheekbones and blue-green eyes. “Draco, this is Ryan Oaklane and his sister Rory.” Ryan and Draco shook hands and Rory waved before getting distracted by another girl who Prescott said was named Tamsin. Rory left to join Tamsin and some other girls by the fire.

By this time, Draco was feeling definitely overwhelmed. He guessed that he’d never actually spoken to the majority of the people crowded in the common room, and he barely recognized any of them from his previous years at Hogwarts. Oh well, he thought. He’d just have to learn fast.

Prescott seemed to know that Draco was getting lost in the flurry of names and introductions. He also correctly assumed that Draco would not want to talk about what had transpired in the Great Hall at dinner. Instead, he guided the conversation back to quidditch tryouts.

“Draco says he’s going to try out for quidditch,” he told Ryan, Justin, and Jameson. They all looked at Draco incredulously.

“Really?” said Ryan. “I thought you wouldn’t want…” He broke off, but Draco knew what he was going to say. Ryan didn’t think Draco would want to be on a team with any Hufflepuffs. He couldn’t honestly say he was surprised.

“Prescott says you need a seeker,” he offered, trying to cover up Ryan’s blunder for him.

Jameson jumped on that immediately. “Yeah, we do. Our last seeker was Ashton Summerby, and he graduated last year.” Summerby had been a pitiful seeker, in Draco’s opinion, and Jameson seemed to read his mind. He said, “And he was nowhere near as good as you, Draco.” Everyone agreed.

“Gryffindor are favorites to win the Cup this year with Weasley as Captain,” Prescott said. “I aim to prove everyone wrong about that.”

This was something to which Draco could relate. He told them so.

“Yeah, it’s a little different when it’s Slytherin and Gryffindor,” Ryan said. “One of the two always wins the Cup. This year is going to be different.”

Draco nodded along with the rest. It certainly was.

Around three in the morning, the common room was distinctly more subdued. Justin suggested they head to bed, and after Prescott issued an open invitation to play a friendly game of quidditch following breakfast to the room at large, almost everyone else decided it was time to get some sleep.

“Everyone’ll want to come and watch, at least,” he told Draco as they walked with Justin, Ryan and Jameson down the hall to their dormitory. That was smart, getting everyone to go to bed by inviting them to an event the next morning. Draco concluded that he liked Prescott Cadwallader. And he liked Jameson Terwilleger, too, who had told Draco just to call him ‘James’.

In the seventh year boy’s dormitory, Zacharias Smith was still awake. His Head Boy’s badge was sitting on his bedside table, and he was reading a copy of the Evening Prophet.

“I was wondering where you got to, Smith,” said James, jumping onto Smith’s bed with a grin. Smith, now looking distinctly rumpled, slid his legs out from under James’ prone figure with a sneer.

“There’s a very interesting article in the Prophet about Malfoy’s upcoming trial,” said Smith in a mock-casual tone. It couldn’t have been clearer that he thought Draco was scum.

James snatched the Prophet away from Smith, looking grim. He scanned the article with his eyebrows raised, then made a noise of disgust and handed it to Prescott, who didn’t bother to glance at the paper before giving it to Draco.

Ministry Prepares for the Trial of the Decade, said the headline on page two.

                Members of the Malfoy family, former Death Eaters of both the First and Second Wizarding Wars, are due to stand trial in the coming months on various charges, including the use of the Unforgivable Curses on muggles and wizards alike, treason, harboring a fugitive, and attempted murder.   Harry Potter, hero of the Second Wizarding War, was quoted this afternoon on his way out of the Ministry where he now trains to head the Auror Office, saying “The Malfoy family definitely has a lot to answer for.” When asked if the rumors of Narcissa Malfoy’s role in Harry’s defeat of Lord Voldemort in May of this year were true, Harry preferred not to comment. “You’re going to cover the trial, right? Well, you can wait until then.”

                As a formerly prominent member of the wizarding community, Lucius Malfoy, head of the ancient pureblood family, spent time in Azkaban last year after being apprehended during what has been termed the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. His fall from acclaim could hardly have been more shocking for most of Wizarding Britain. Mr. Malfoy had been a long-time friend of Cornelius Fudge, former Minister for Magic, and a generous donor to many charitable causes. But no more. This reporter wonders how the disgraced family has managed to stay out of Azkaban thus far, but again, Harry Potter has an answer ready for us, dear readers: “Innocent until proven guilty.”

                Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius and Narcissa, is back at Hogwarts to repeat his seventh year…

                (For more, turn to page 7.)

Draco didn’t want to read any more. He wadded up the Evening Prophet and threw it back onto Smith’s bed, then stalked over to his own four-poster where his trunk stood open. He noticed that his uniforms were all there and wondered vaguely how that had come about before laying down on his bed and pulling the yellow and black curtains closed.

Smith and James began exchanging whispered insults as soon as Draco was gone from their sight.

“What in the name of Helga’s frilly knickers did you do that for, you ugly great prat?” hissed James. There was a creaking noise and Draco imagined James getting up and standing over Smith aggressively.

“He’s a snake,” returned Smith. “You all know he’s an evil git. What are you idiots playing at being friendly with an arse like that?”

Draco heard Prescott’s heavy steps as he crossed the room. There was a gasp and more creaking then a thud that sounded like Smith hitting the ground. “Get up and say that again, Smith!” growled Prescott.

“Guys, stop it!” Justin said in a whisper.

“Shut it, Justin! If you don’t want to be involved with this, go to bed!” came James’ angry reply.

Smith wasn’t giving up. “Justin, you know that he’s part of the reason you had to spend all last year with your grandparents in hiding! He’s a Death Eater! He wants to kill people like you!”

There was another thud and a grunt. It sounded like Prescott had Smith pinned against the wall now.

“I don’t care what the stupid Prophet says about Draco or his family. He’s here, and he’s trying to start again, and he’s a Hufflepuff now. That’s all I need to know,” said Prescott.

With a slightly muffled, mirthless laugh, Smith retorted, “Yeah he’s here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed us all in our sleep!”

Ripping paper. Someone was tearing up the Prophet. “I’m with Prescott,” James said between rips, “This is all rubbish. You’re the git. At least he had to guts to come back to school this year. At least he’s trying. We owe him the chance to prove everyone wrong.”

Ryan spoke up for the first time, then. “Smith can think what he likes, James. We all know he’s a sodding coward anyway. I saw you pushing first-years out of the way before the Battle of Hogwarts, Smith. You couldn’t wait to get out of there. I bet you were the first one through that secret passage in the Room of Requirement, weren’t you? Come on, Prescott, he’s not worth it. Let him go.”

Smith stammered a bit before answering. “I may not have wanted to die for Potter, but at least I didn’t try to kill him.” It got very quiet after that. Smith raised his voice to make sure Draco could hear. “Malfoy dueled him back in sixth year, didn’t you, Malfoy? Bet you tried to kill him then. And didn’t you try to kill Dumbledore as well? You’re evil, and I, for one, am not going to pretend that I’ve forgotten that fact.”

Draco tried to think of how to respond, but was saved the trouble by Prescott. “I can’t believe you, Smith. You’re more of a Slytherin than Draco ever was. Come on, guys, let’s go to bed.”

There was a lot of creaking of beds a minute later as everyone changed and got into bed. The lights darkened. Draco lay there fully-clothed and stared at one of the posts of his bed. In the dim firelight glowing through his curtains, he could just barely make out a name carved into the wood there: Wayne Hopkins.

+++

Hermione was alone again. This time, she was the only one awake in her dormitory. Everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago, but Hermione couldn’t seem to shake the events of that evening. Firstly, that Malfoy, a name synonymous with ‘Slytherin’ to her, had sat with the Hufflepuffs. Secondly, that members of his own House had attacked him right in the middle of the Great Hall, and thirdly, that Luna Lovegood had shielded him from harm and retaliated seemingly without inducement on Malfoy’s part. How could any of that be?

She lay in her bed, her curtains open so she could see out the window into the moonlit grounds beyond, and let the scene play over and over in her head. She went through each part and dissected it. Malfoy was in Hufflepuff. Probably to reduce the amount of in-House bullying he’d encountered during his first week back. That had the ring of logic. What better House that Hufflepuff the just, the loyal, the accepting, to take Malfoy in and protect him from further torture from Slytherin? But how could any Hufflepuff look at Malfoy and see a friend? Hermione couldn’t tell.

And Slytherin must truly hate Malfoy to antagonize him so furiously. But why? What had he done to incur their wrath? They’d called him a fink. Finks were informants. Had he given up the names of their Death Eater parents to the Ministry? No, that couldn’t be it. At least, not all of it. Hardly any student at Hogwarts even had a relative who’d been a Death Eater now. Hermione could only think of one: Malfoy himself. Maybe it was because he’d gone against their Slytherin code. Which was…? Be a slimy git at all costs, thought Hermione maliciously.

The Sorting Hat always used words like “cunning” and “ambition” to describe Slytherin. What else? Hermione ticked off traits in her head. Traditionalism. Self-preservation. Shrewdness. Class, whatever that meant. Had he violated any of these expectations? Hermione decided that she could make a case for self-preservation. He’d left the safety and solitude of his estate to come back to Hogwarts and face those he’d injured with his bullying and bigotry. Were Slytherins not supposed to do things like that? Hermione had no idea, so she left that line of thought for a while.

Luna. What could she have been thinking? Luna hadn’t so much as mentioned Malfoy for months. Granted, Luna had been the bullied in the past. It made a sort of sense that she would defend Malfoy, who was suffering even worse than she had done. Had they spoken? Had he apologized? Hermione wished she knew the whole story. She resolved to ask Luna about it during breakfast.

A rush of movement at the window caught Hermione’s eye. Ron’s tiny owl Pig was pinging through the air just outside of the glass. She got up quickly to opened the window, and a moment later Pig was zooming happily around the darkened dormitory. With some difficulty, she caught him and managed to make him sit still in her lap long enough to extract the letter tied around his leg.

It was from Ron. Finally, a letter. Hermione felt a flood of guilt at not having written to him yet, then another surge of happiness. She grabbed her wand, murmured “Lumos,” and began to read.

                Dear Hermione,

                I hope you’re doing ok. Harry and I are training hard at the Auror’s Office. It’s not much fun, to tell you the truth. This place needs an overhaul. Harry mentioned he got ambushed by some reporter (not Skeeter) outside of the Ministry today. They really need to step up security. Oh hang on, that’s our job.

                Listen, I was wondering when your first trip to Hogsmeade would be. We want to come see you and Ginny. I know Harry’s downright disgusting in his letters to her. Have you seen them? Don’t.

                How’s Hogwarts? How’s Luna and all the old D.A. lot? How was your first week back?

                Missing you,

                Ron

Hermione felt like she had never been so happy to receive a letter. Seeing Ron’s handwriting was comforting beyond words. She reread the letter a few times, laughing silently at his jokes, fighting back tears of relief for who knew what reason.

Finally, she stuffed a now positively quivering Pig into her pillowcase where he hooted happily, and rummaged around in her backpack by her bed for quill, parchment, and ink. Once she’d gotten everything, she padded over to the window and extinguished her wand to write.

                Dear Ron,

                Ambushed by a reporter? What did they want from him? The usual hero stuff?

                I hope you’re learning loads at the Auror’s Office. I almost wish I could be there with you, but my studies have kept me pretty busy.

She stopped there, her quill poised over the full stop she’s just made, and wondered what to say about Malfoy. When the words came to her, she began again.

                Malfoy’s in Hufflepuff now. It seems like he’s had a pretty rough time of it so far at school. Ginny and I found in fighting with some other Slytherins outside of Charms on Friday. I had to take him to Madame Pomfrey afterwards. Then at dinner tonight, one of the Slytherins tried to hex him in the Great Hall and Luna blocked it and hexed the boy right back. I wonder why she would do something like that. Do you know?

                Anyway, our first trip to Hogsmeade probably isn’t until October. I’ll keep you posted.

                Hogwarts is good. That memorial statue Harry said he hated really is awful. Everyone’s good here. Ginny had quidditch tryouts today. From what I gather, Peakes and Coote are back on as Beaters and Vicky Frobisher is the new Keeper. Then there’s Neil Randall, Michael Karume, and Ginny, of course, as Chasers. And a fifth year girl named Thelma Holmes is Seeker. Thought you’d like to know.

                My first week back was quiet, aside from everyone wanting to talk to me about what we got up to all last year. They make it sound like a holiday, you know? It’s a bit off-putting.

                I miss you, Ron. You and Harry.

                Love from Hermione

Hermione folded up the letter, retrieved Pig from the pillowcase, and tied it on with the string from Ron’s note. Pig zoomed off into the velvety night sky, and she watched him until he disappeared before shutting the window and climbing back into bed clutching Ron’s letter to her chest. It felt like a long time before she drifted uneasily into sleep.
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Atonement