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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9

Revealing Too Much

Gobstones turned out to be rather fun. Hermione got squirted with a lot of the slimy, smelling liquid from the stones, but it was worth it. She didn’t have time to wash up much before lunch, so she ended up heading over to the Great Hall with the rest of the Gobstones club without a quick cleaning charm to get the worst of the ooze off of her hair and face.

Still, no one was very keen to sit near them while they ate. Ginny was immersed again in talk of quidditch with Vicky, her new Keeper. Hermione decided to write back to Ron. She pulled out his letter, reread it, then took the paper and writing supplies out of her bag to reply.

     Dear Ron,

     Looks like that visit before Hogsmeade is a no-go. Sorry, love. We all knew McGonagall wouldn’t go for it.

     I can’t say I’m excited to testify at the Malfoy trial. As much as I’d like to see Malfoy’s dad back in Azkaban where he belongs, his mom didn’t seem too involved with the Death Eaters, really. Did she even take the Dark Mark? And Malfoy’s always been a prat, but you should see him now, Ron. I think Hufflepuff’s really agreeing with him. I wonder what he would have been like if he’d been sorted into that House to begin with. There are purebloods in every House, after all. Maybe he didn’t really belong in Slytherin.

     Hope to hear from you soon! Can’t wait until Hogsmeade in October!

     Thinking of you,

     Hermione

Hermione looked up from writing to see half of the Gryffindor table gone. Ginny and Vicky had moved down the table to give Hermione some privacy while she wrote, and even they had finished eating.

“We were waiting for you,” Ginny explained when Hermione caught her eye.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m going to take this letter to Pig, then I’ll see you in the common room, ok?”

Ginny leaned in a little and whispered, “Are you going to take a bath later?”

“Yes,” Hermione laughed. “I’ll sneak in while everyone’s at dinner.”

“That’s my girl!” Ginny smiled and stood up with Vicky. “See you later!” They left.

Hermione folded her letter, packed her things, and started for the Owlery at the top of West Tower.

Pig had a whole section of the Owlery to himself, not because there were only a few owls around, but because he seemed to annoy them so much that they didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Instead, they bunched two to a perch on the other side of the circular stone room and watched him imperiously. When he saw Hermione, Pig started whizzing around and hooting excitedly. Hermione tried and failed several times to catch him, her frustration mounting with each unsuccessful attempt. It was drafty and wet in the Owlery with its windows open to the elements, and the wind howled through every few seconds. Even with her sweater on, Hermione was freezing.

“Pig, come here!” she shouted angrily as he zoomed out of reach for a fifth time.

“Did you just call that owl ‘Pig’?” asked a voice behind her. Hermione jumped, startled, and lost her balance. She swung her arms wildly around her, trying to keep from falling, but whoever it was caught her and set her back upright. “I seem to be doing a lot of that,” the voice said over a fresh wail from the storm.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, straightening her sweater and making to turn around. “Doing a lot of wha—” She broke off when she saw Malfoy standing there, holding a rolled-up copy of The Quibbler in one hand and a bright violet envelope in the other. Her cheeks flushed furiously and she was suddenly very aware that she smelled like gobstone stink-juice. “Malfoy!”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a grin. “Whoa, hey! Granger, calm down.” Hermione guessed she must have been looking murderous, because Malfoy took a few steps back from her and held his hands in front of him in a gesture of submission. “I’m sorry I scared you, ok? Just don’t hex me. I only came up here to… mail off an order.”

Hermione glared at the magazine. “Is that a Quibbler?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding it out for her inspection. “One of the girls at lunch had a copy and I thought I’d… well, anyway. Yes, it’s a Quibbler.”

What on earth was Malfoy ordering from The Quibbler? Hermione endeavored to recover herself. She looked around, trying to locate Pig again, and was just on the verge of giving up and using one of the school owls when Malfoy spoke again.

“Do you need that owl? Pig, is it?” He pointed up into the rafters, where Pig was half-hidden behind a heap of dried owl droppings.

“No, I can just—”

“I can get him for you. Can you call him?”

“Oh!” said Hermione, disarmed. She was immediately suspicious of Malfoy trying to help her, but he didn’t seem to be planning anything devious. “Um, ok.” He stuffed The Quibbler into his trousers pocket, and she turned to look at Pig and called him sternly. Pig took flight again and swooped down over them, apparently up to his old tricks.

Malfoy watched Pig rocket around for a moment, then his hand darted into the air. Hermione’s eyes widened incredulously. There, in Malfoy’s outstretched hand, was a struggling, hooting Pig.

“Wow,” said Hermione before she could stop herself. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, handing Pig over to Hermione and turning his attention to the school owls.

“Don’t you… don’t you have an owl of your own?” Hermione asked. Malfoy had chosen a tawny and was attaching the brightly-colored envelope to its leg with a string.

“I do. My mother’s got him right now, though. Her owl…” His sentence faded away on the whine of the wind. Hermione got the impression that whatever had happened to Malfoy’s mother’s owl, it wasn’t good.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she busied herself fixing her own letter to Pig. How was she supposed to make conversation with Malfoy? But she felt compelled to say something else, just to break the awkward silence between them. “So, a purple envelope, huh?”

Malfoy’s back shook with his laughter. “Right. Well, it came with the magazine. It’s for mail orders, you know?”

Hermione resisted the urge to ask him what he was ordering. There was another little pause, then she said, “Hufflepuff?”

He turned to face her, his gray eyes flashing. “What about Hufflepuff?” he snapped hostilely. The tawny owl flapped its wings in agitation behind him and took off through the window, Malfoy’s mail order in tow.

Now it was Hermione’s turn to take a step back. “I didn’t mean… it’s just… You don’t think it’s odd?” she stuttered.

Malfoy’s face softened considerably. He regarded her as if unsure of whether he could trust her or not. Hermione thought this was rather rich coming from Malfoy, but said nothing. She was so curious at his abrupt transformation, and she didn’t want to miss this opportunity to learn anything she could about it.

“You saw how the Slytherins were treating me. They think I’m some kind of traitor,” he said, cradling his arms defensively. “Hufflepuff doesn’t think that way. They… like me. And not because I’m rich or because I’m a pureblood. They like me.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how to take that. How could anyone, anyone like Malfoy? That was beyond her comprehension. He was an awful little boy who’d done awful things to good people. He was a bully. He was a Death Eater however repentant he may seem. Her gaze flicked unconsciously down to his left arm, to the brand she knew was there, concealed by his sleeve.

He had noticed. “Listen, don’t bother. You wouldn’t understand.” He turned his back on her and headed for the door.

Brought up short, Hermione felt anger and uncertainty and disappointment well up inside of her. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to tell her what the hell was going on! “Understand what?” she called after him.

He didn’t bother to look back. “You’re going to kill that owl if you don’t stop squeezing him like that.”

Hermione looked down in confusion to see Pig’s eyes bulging, his wings fluttering feebly against her grip. She released him and he sped out of the window as fast as he could. When she returned her gaze to the entrance of the Owlery, Malfoy was gone.

+++

To avoid thinking about his altercation with Granger (What else could it have been? A conversation? Surely not), Draco submersed himself in his homework all afternoon. The Hufflepuff common room was loud and there was no shortage of distractions, but he preferred it to the Library or even his dormitory now. People socializing without pretense, completely at ease, were still something of a novelty for him. He found that he enjoyed it.

Sitting in the corner with a bunch of flutterby bushes in gigantic pots crowded around him, he toiled away at his Potions essay for a long time. No one bothered him as the rainy gray afternoon light faded to an evening amber, but after a while, Carolyn Stump came over with her own pile of homework and joined him. They didn’t speak; she just found her place in her Charms textbook and began taking notes, tucking her blonde hair over her ear every so often. James brought over a couple of Butterbeers and set one down near Draco and another in front of Carolyn, then disappeared again.

Draco put the finishing touches on his essay before popping the cork on his Butterbeer and taking a long drink. He watched Carolyn for a moment, then opened hers for her, too. She smiled up at him quickly and said “Thanks, Draco,” but returned to her homework.

He wondered what time it was. Must be at least five o’clock, he thought. He found a squat clock on the mantelpiece. It read 5:13pm. Dinner had started already. Why was everyone just hanging around? He approached Prescott over by the fire and asked him.

“Oh, we have dinner in the common room on Sundays sometimes,” Prescott said breezily, clinking Butterbeers with Draco. “You can go to the Great Hall, if you want. I bet there’ll be some people there.”

Draco digested this. Dinner in the common room? “Can we do that?” he asked.

“It appears we can,” said Prescott, standing up and nodding significantly over Draco’s shoulder. Draco turned to see James leading a troupe of Hufflepuffs down the ladder into the common room. He wore such a goofy grin as he balanced a platter of chicken legs in one hand that Draco couldn’t help but smile back.

“Dinner is served!” James called to the room at large, sliding the dish onto a table in the middle of the room, and everyone whooped. Soon other dishes joined the first: plates of sandwiches, tureens of stew, jugs of pumpkin juice.

“This is fantastic!” Draco said when James handed him a chicken drum and a napkin.

“Try not to get too excited,” James replied, biting into a sandwich.

“We’re practically next door to the kitchens,” said Prescott, helping himself to a ham sandwich, “It has its perks.”

After dinner, Draco returned to his mountain of homework. Carolyn was no longer there, having apparently completed her Charms notes. He saw her chatting with some other sixth-years at the other end of the room where a few bookshelves dotted with potted cacti stood lit by lamplight. He had pulled a fresh sheet of parchment from his bookbag and settled in for another essay when James and Ryan tossed their backpacks onto the table, making Draco’s Butterbeer teeter precariously.

“What are you working on?” asked Ryan.

By way of reply, Draco flipped his book closed, keeping his place with a finger. The title read Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles, Volume 7.

James clutched his heart in shock. “Muggle Studies?!” he gasped. Ryan’s mouth hung open in stunned amazement.

“It was a condition of my return to Hogwarts. I have to take N.E.W.T. level Muggle Studies. Stop laughing!” James was beside himself in hysterics. Ryan was still looking confunded.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” guffawed James, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Wow. I did not see that one coming.”

“Thanks, guys.” Draco reopened Home Life and Social Habits with a scowl.

“Oh, come on! Don’t be like that. You have to admit it, that’s funny!” James said, taking a seat next to Draco. He unhooked the clasp on his bag and withdrew his Potions book. “Have you done Slughorn’s essay yet?”

“Just finished it before dinner,” Draco grumbled.

James and Ryan groaned and started in on their homework, too. Every so often, James would suppress a chuckle and Draco would shoot him a dirty look. Around nine o’clock, they decided to pack it in. Ryan stuffed his half-finished essay into his Potions book as if it had done him great personal injury. They retreated to the dormitory, followed soon after by Prescott and Justin. Smith had the curtains drawn around his four-poster. They didn’t bother to lower their voices.

“Did you change your colors yet?” Prescott asked, nodding at Draco’s trunk.

It took Draco a second to understand his meaning. “Oh, on my uniforms? No, not yet.”

“Hufflepuffs wear yellow and black,” said James as he changed into his pajamas.

Draco gestured around the room with a no shit expression. James sniggered again and murmured something that sounded like “Muggle Studies!” Draco let it go. It was a little funny. Or it would have been, if he didn’t have so much catching up to do.

He pulled out his ties, sweaters, and robes, tapping them each in turn with his wand until a stack of black and yellow clothing littered his bed. “Done!” Draco said. Everyone (except Smith, who hadn’t uttered a single word) gathered around to look. It felt like something final, something positive and definite.

James slapped Draco on the shoulder. “Now you’re really one of us.”
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Atonement