Quiet Revolution

Chapter 10 - A Semi Charmed Friendship

Never thought I'd say I'm sorry

Never thought I'd be the one to bring you down

Now, when I look out my window

There doesn't seem to be anyone around

And I, I think I'll change my ways...

Forty Foot Echo - Brand New Day

The news spread like a fuel-injected wildfire the next morning.

Before Ron had even stepped completely out of the common room to grab breakfast, Ginny swept past him in a rushed whisper, saying that she intended to visit Hermione in the hospital wing and briskly asked him if he'd like to accompany her.

And then Ginny walked away before Ron even had the chance to respond. Ginny, Ron noticed, was developing her teenage attitude very nicely.

Hermione's body had been lying knocked out in front of the hospital wing, rumour said. Witnesses said they saw her promptly collapse, but nobody knew what was wrong with her.

One thing was for sure - everybody was looking at Ron.

"It's not my fault," he snarled as he tossed his books down on his bed later that afternoon.

"What's wrong?" a curious voice had piped from the other side of the room.

"Oh, sorry, Neville. Didn't know you were in here."

Neville rubbed his eyes and shrugged. "I was napping. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ron said huskily, awkwardly placing his hand on the back of his neck. "Bit stressed, that's all."

"All right," Neville said cautiously. "We're going to dinner in ten minutes, you're coming right?"

"Yeah," said Ron.

People talked about him a lot - Neville, that is. "Longbottom always shows up in pieces. You just never know when all of them are going to connect." But it wasn't true. Neville didn't come to pieces. When it came to matters of the heart, Neville was whole. When the war had ended, it was only three days later that the Longbottoms received the news. Neville's parents had finally shut off completely and St. Mungo's put them into a peaceful eternal sleep.

Neville's grandmother didn't see him for days. And when he immerged and returned to Hogwarts with everyone else, nobody really knew what had happened. Nobody ever really understood Neville. But Hermione, she had run straight up to him and swallowed him in a rich hug.

"I'm sorry," she had sobbed quietly against his chest. "I'm so sorry, Neville. You don't deserve it."

"We all lost Harry, too," was Neville's only response. "He didn't deserve it either."

Hermione looked up at him with glittery eyes and only hugged him harder. She was the only one who ever really understood Neville.

And now it seemed she was deeply distracted in something else all together. Finding her sanity, maybe. Or trying to lose it on purpose, as Ron saw it.

In any case, though people didn't understand Neville, Neville understood others. He knew what it was like and that when "I just want to be alone," was uttered, no truer words could have rung with Neville. And he saw that Ron needed to be left alone.

Ron's gratefulness for having an understanding roommate like Neville melted like a snowflake being hurled past the sun. As soon as Neville shut the door behind him, Ron pulled his cloak off and tossed it onto his bed rashly. It had been suffocating him all day. He found his head was spinning. All the scandalised hushes and darting eyes and quick-tempo subject changes were attacking him like a swarm of mosquitoes all day.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. He wanted to see Hermione, but he didn't know how. He didn't have someone walking with him on that long winded walk to the hospital wing.

"Why did you have to go?" Ron demanded, glaring down at a framed picture of Harry and him last year after a rough Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. They were muddy from head to toe and laughing, their hearty crescent eyes and full belly laughs challenged the rain to pour harder.

He angrily picked up the picture and hurled it against the wall. It hit with a loud clunk and fell on the floor, face down. He promptly let his knees strike down against the hardwood floors and buried his face in his hands, his elbows propped up on either side of the frame.

"I need your voice of reason, Harry. I need you to tell me things are going to be okay," he whispered, choking up and feeling his breath hitch and his eyes water. "God damn it, Harry. Hermione needs you too. We both need you."

The still of the moment lingered thickly in the air like the cold scent of rain on an early morning after a night of heavy downpour.

And the next few words dribbled pathetically out of his mouth, weakly stumbling around in the air before they disintegrated into thin air.

"Please come back. Please."

***

Cheap gossip, Draco Malfoy mused to himself as he strode through the Great Hall during dinner time, sounded very, very different when you weren't involved in the deliverance.

It didn't sound delicious and fresh out of the oven like it did during those almost bearable days back at Hogwarts when ever Draco would proudly speak of Potter's near-death injuries and Granger's disgustingly obvious crush on Weasley. It only sounded petty and childish, and he found himself scowling at all the stupid Hufflepuffs who were making up theories that Hermione saw the ghost of Harry and promptly fainted.

Granger may had been a Gryffindor and, he shuddered, a Muggleborn, but in all honesty, she really was no weakling. The closest thing she did see to a ghost was close enough to one and that was Draco Malfoy himself and Draco could distinctly remember her not being anything close to wanting to faint, damsel in distress style. Her reaction read more of what the fuck are you doing here please leave me alone you foul Slytherin to him.

He thought about what she had yelled at him before fainting.

"You're scared to live up to what might be true, so you use every defense mechanism from the past to protect you from that. Can't you see? What you've hated all along might be a good thing and it might even be good for you!"

"Good for me?" he retorted with a low class snort. "Dirty blood and rude savages and mousy looking idiots are good for me?"

"Learning to accept with an open mind might be good for you," she responded, her voice coarse. "It's people like you who are pulling this world back from a revolution."

"Nobody needs a revolution," he snarled at her, watching her chest heave up and down with the process of collecting strength.

"We need a revolution," she had finally whispered, before promptly collapsing.

He shook his head to clear it and continued walking through the crowds of infected First Years, sitting down closely with their friends. Snippets of speech floated through his ears.

"...Failed Snape's exam, I'll bet..."

"She was dating him? I thought she was with Russell!"

"I don't think so, wasn't it purple last week?"

"I don't know if that's edible..."

"Hagrid's class was painful today..."

"...Hagrid's class is always painful."

"Hermione Granger, yeah. She's a right foul fool, lost her mind after the War people say. People also say she talks to herself a lot. She used to be smart, you know. Used to be brilliant. A stick up her arse kind of girl, but she used to be relatively normal. Now she's just a batty Mudblood."

Draco narrowed his eyes and followed the last bit of conversation he heard to a first-year he didn't recognise. What he did recognise was that this young boy was sitting at the Slytherin table, only a few feet away from where Pansy and his old gang were eating, quietly discussing the same gossip, undoubtedly.

But this kid, who was he?

Draco made his way over to him and looked him right in the eye. The boy continued eating and talking pompously to his, what seemed like, two best friends who were listening intently.

He then casually lifted up the boy's plate, with all the strength in his Wanderer's body and proceeded to mash it into the boy's face. The boy shrieked out and his two best friends quickly backed away, looking shocked. Pansy, Crabbe and Theodore Nott looked over with half feigned interest and then turned back to their meal. The boy was now whining incessantly and ordering his friends to fetch him napkins.

Draco walked away smirking.

A minute later, the smirk flew off completely and turned into a face of horror. Why the hell did I do that?

More thoughts tore through his mind as he took off and swept out of the Great Hall.

He needed to see Hermione.

* * *

The hospital wing was a different place at night. During the day, it was hectic - bustling with guests and patients coming in and out in all different directions and each for different reasons. Madam Pomfrey usually could be seen in the middle of all this, running around scattering herself to each patient. It was true, she was a fussy woman who... well, fussed. But there was no doubt in peoples' minds that she knew exactly what she was doing.

Draco watched her for a long time as she tended to Hermione the longest. The first time she did, she pinched Hermione's nose down for her and slipped a vial of bright orange liquid down Hermione's throat.

Hermione had coughed helplessly, spluttering drops of bright liquid down the front of her shirt.

It was so pathetic and unlike her that it even made Draco cringe.

Pomfrey sighed and went to tend to another student who had a stairway accident.

When she came back, Hermione was bright pink and both her nostrils were bleeding profusely. Pomfrey charmed up two rolls of cloth and carefully injected one into each nostril. Hermione looked up and saw Draco looking and she looked away. Draco kept watching anyway and saw that Hermione was crying from the place where her head was laid flat against the bland pillow.

They were the worst kind of tears.

They were the kind of tears that flowed when you were helpless - the kind of tears that pinched out at the sides of your eyes when you were lying down and streamed uncomfortably down your temple and onto the pillow.

They were the kind of tears that you didn't bother to wipe away.

Madam Pomfrey went to Hermione at the end of her shift and took Hermione's hand in hers whispering a few words before she placed another vial of, undoubtedly, medicine next to the bed stand and then took off for the day.

Before she even stepped complete foot out of the ward, Draco had swiftly walked over and was at Hermione's side.

Hermione looked up, her face pale and sticky bits of hair were plastered to the edge of her cheek. She coughed quietly and looked up.

"Just go," she said, her voice raspy and uncharacteristically wobbly. "I have no diagnosis for you, I have no explanation. Madame Pomfrey doesn't even know what's wrong with me. She looked it up in the books and all they told her was that I have the symptoms of a Muggle flu."

"The flu? Well, simple then," Draco started effortlessly. "We learned about that when I had to sit through Muggle Studies for punishment. The flu is just a--"

"Why is this happening to me?" she whispered, cutting him off. "I know what a flu is. It's a common virus that Muggles get. It shouldn't hurt this bad. I shouldn't be this weak."

"Just... it'll be okay," Draco said, shrugging. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Ron didn't even come to see me, did he? Why are you here anyway? Oh, wait," she laughed bitterly, in spite of herself. This worried, well - startled Draco a bit, but he didn't say anything. "I remember now. You need me. For that bloody spell."

"Now, Granger--"

"I hate you," Hermione whispered.

"What?" he spat out. Those words would have been sweet candy for breakfast had they been fed to him a year ago when he was still alive. But today, they felt hollow as the vocals travelled through his body. He didn't like the feeling the words invoked.

She lay in her bed and looked up at the looming ceiling, thin trickles of tears cascading down on each side, running past her temple and resting in her pillow once again. "I want out," she whispered.

"I thought you were stronger than that, Hermione Granger."

"I thought so too, Draco! But I can't do this. I don't believe in any of this anymore. I can't do this if my best friend has walked out of my life and if I'm getting so sick and falling so weak all the time. And I'm sick of you talking down to me."

"Stop it," he ordered.

"You stop it," she seethed. "And get out of here. I don't care about the spell anymore. I really, really don't. Don't think I'm stupid, you know I'm not. I know you came back to find me only because I would be resourceful. I know you're only using me and I'm so sick of it!" She was shaking. He continued to study her while she raised her hands to smooth down the blanket.

"What's the matter with you?" Draco snapped. "And why are you shaking?"

"I don't know!" she shouted, her teeth chattering. "I can't stop shaking, I can't move my body and I feel like I'm on fire. Are you happy now?! I'm at my weakest and I'm probably better off dead!"

"Dear Merlin, if you want to be dramatic then you'll do just that won't you?" Draco leaned forward and placed a hand on her forehead. He couldn't feel the heat she had described to him earlier, but he saw that his palms had turned slightly pinker after touching her.

"Ye Gods, Granger," Draco whispered. "I told you I felt warm but this is completely off the charts. You always feel the need to compete with me, don't you?"

"Just go away," Hermione whispered, teeth grinding and face turning pinker.

"Where the hell is Pomfrey? As if that woman has an actual life at home. You need to have this checked!" Draco cried frantically, staring at her face where the redness was growing.

"Why should you care?" Hermione yelled, voice growing shrill, highlighting her bright crimson face. "You only want me to stay alive because I have the brains to help you with the spell!"

"No, I'm afraid that you're wrong again," Draco said coolly. "You've clearly lost your mind so that would be of no use to me. I just can't stand having the school glorify another dead Gryffindor." And then Draco promptly walked forward and pulled off his gloves and moved closer to her as the gloves graced the marble floors.

"What are you doing?" Hermione whispered through clinks and chatters of her teeth. Her body temperature had risen considerably and she felt nearly faint. Draco didn't say a word as he placed his arms around her tightly, slowly moving his hands down her back.

She understood now. Wanderers were always cold. She was hot. He was trying to lower her temperature and help her condition.

"Why are you really doing this?" she whispered weakly.

"Logic, perhaps," he said gruffly as he shifted slightly to make the two more comfortable on the tiny single bed. His body was pressed uncomfortably close to hers. "Hot is neutralized by cold. Pain is eased away by pleasure."

"Pleasure," she laughed weakly. "This is pleasure?"

"Well, you're feeling less pain, aren't you?" he stated and she eased her body closer to the edge to leave room for him. He lay down next to her and she turned to face him as they laid together. "And I'm usually not one to brag, but a Malfoy is notorious for their... pleasuring skills; take that with a grain of salt if you will."

She laughed dryly. "I'm not talking to you of all people about pleasure."

"Well, why not?" he asked, studying her face closely. She breathed a little more soundly as he continued to hold her close. "So, tell me... which of these Hogwarts measles did you snog... or perhaps, do a little more with? Weasley, no doubt. But I don't care for details on that particular relationship."

"Stop it!" she cried, feeling blush creep onto her cheeks, though her body temperature was cooling off. She felt like a rock being baked under the sun for days had finally been rewarded its shade of the comfortably cool evening glow.

"I can keep a secret," he insisted from his spot. He wrapped his arms around her snugly and she breathed comfortably. "Come on, Hermione, don't you trust me?"

There was some more silence.

Then, "Neville."

His hold on her seemed to have tightened as if protecting her from the said act. "You're clearly joking!"

"It was a pity kiss!"

"Well, that's a given! But... still! I expected better even from you!"

She laughed and nestled herself closely in his embrace. "Thanks for the vote of confidence..." she trailed off. "I really am sorry, Draco... for Will---"

There was a pause and a slice of a shift before he spoke again. She took note of that pause because she had been holding her breath during it.

"Forget it," he said heavily. "I broke a promise and called you Mudblood. We're even."

She exhaled and hoped that he didn't hear.

"I find it almost amusing that a Malfoy and someone of your stature would even claim there's such a thing as being even. I thought you just divided and conquered. There's such a thing as a fair trade in your world?"

"I thought that you said my world was your world," he stated evenly, not missing a beat.

"What? Well. Yes. But according to you---"

"Dying has taught me a few, I hate to admit it, valuable lessons, and one of them is that I was blind-sighted for a long time when I was alive."

"How do you figure that?"

"My father isn't here for me now. Neither is my mother. Neither are the Slytherins. I'm left on my own and all I have is you. The Gryffindor Mudblood, excuse me, Muggleborn that was bred to hate all my life."

"So has that changed?" Hermione asked gently, feeling her heart pause in anticipation for his answer.

"Everything's changed," he answered simply. "And that's all I'm going to say for now."

She didn't press the matter.

"Well, I'm glad you're willing to cooperate more, Draco. Seeing that we have the spell to work on."

"We haven't exactly started it yet, as we're still on Step One," he muttered.

"We can do it. I'm sure of that much."

He clucked his tongue thoughtfully. "You know, H--, Granger. That's one of the things that used to make me despise you. That Gryffindor determination... I suppose it comes from befriending books. But all this newfound faith outside of the pages, I'm surprised at you."

"It's something I picked up from you," she said awkwardly.

Draco grinned. "I knew you didn't hate me. I mean, as if that was humanly possible. No need to declare that I'm influential and wonderful. It's read between the lines."

She hit him.

"What? Okay, fine," he said. "I'll admit, it's sad and we're lucky this will all be forgotten with the spell, but you've grown on me a little as well." He paused. "Kind of like a fungus."

"Is that supposed to make me like you or something?" she retorted weakly from her place nestled in his arms.

He paused. "Or something," he finally drawled with smug confidence.

But all he did after that was hold her closer.

And Hermione would have liked to say that things progressed because Draco had finally come to terms of realisation with himself and finally seen his hatred for Muggleborns as an irrational property of living life and had now gained an open mind, but that really wasn't it.

While on the other hand, Draco most likely would have charmed a third hand to pat his own back for finally making Hermione see that it was okay to be wrong sometimes, okay to be weak sometimes, and okay to let someone else take the much needed charge in her life.

But, that also wasn't really it either.

What was it was that somewhere along the line between the last page and this new one, Hermione Granger learned to take a chance on the hardest game of life - trust. And sometime between the yesterday that we call history and the tomorrow that is called brand new, Draco Malfoy thought of someone other than himself and became, for those few moments, what is called unselfish.

And somewhere in Hermione's room on a certain page in a certain book, the directions to Step One melted away and Step Two appeared in its place.