He remembered then that Granger had told him she was heading to Hogsmeade with that Ravenclaw fucktard, and he felt fury flicker under his flesh. His chest felt ready to cave in from the sheer weight of his sudden and powerful anger, and when he finally heard her move to the bathroom, he couldn't chase away his volatile thoughts to relish her as he usually did.
Instead, suspicious and unwelcome images of her pruning and preparing herself to meet that joke of a wizard hammered in his head. The idea exaggerated itself and he gnashed his teeth, as wave after wave of disgust rocked him. His fingernails pierced the skin of his palms as he clenched his fists, and he didn't dare move until she had returned to her bedroom for ten minutes before he heard the main door close with her exit.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat with seething breaths steaming from his mouth and pupil-blackened eyes. He started with the closet and the desk, chucking them onto their sides and kicking them until wooden shards were decorating the floor and the furniture was dented beyond recognition. He worked on the bedding next, tearing it into a tattered mess of fabrics and pillow-feathers that did nothing to soothe his temper.
With a final roar of jealousy-powered rage, he grabbed the chair and hurled it at the window, only to watch it explode into a rain of splinters. He eyed the charmed and unscathed window bitterly as he sunk to the floor amongst the littered remains of his outburst, and rested his back against the foot of his bed. He stayed there for hours, battling cruel imaginings of Granger enjoying her time with Corner.
In his lonely heap on the bedroom floor, he came to a conclusion that quaked his core. Either Granger was wrong, and he had every right to despise Muggles and Mudbloods for their inferiority, or if Granger was right, as she so often was, then he had been a brainwashed bastard...
Her words from their post-kiss argument throbbed in his brain.
All I ever wanted was for you was to realise that Muggle-borns are people. That I am a person.,,
You are still in control of your actions...
I wanted to stay...
What if she was right?
What if it had all been for nothing?
What if he, and all his family, were wrong?
Then...then maybe it was okay for him to want to touch her, but why the fuck should she allow it?
If she was right.
He didn't have a clue what to believe any more.
He remained still for hours and hours. The thoughts swarmed around in his head too loudly for him to realise that she had returned, that she was knocking on his door, or even that she was calling his name.
That was how Hermione found him as the day turned to evening; slumped in a defeated position, surrounded by a self-made chaos. Her wide stare scanned the wreckage with confusion before her eyes were drawn to Draco in the centre of the room, and she felt a glitch in her chest. She could see he was shivering, yet he was making no attempt to warm himself, and his eyes were eerily absent and unfocused. His vulnerable and distorted shape instantly reminded her of the night she had found him mid-nightmare, and how it had led to two forbidden kisses.
The concern came so naturally to her as she dropped her bag and rushed to his side, sinking to her knees and grabbing his face between her frosty hands. A flash of recognition and life flashed in his grey gaze and she sighed in relief as her thumbs instinctively stroked his pale face.
"Draco," she whispered close to his lips. "Look at me, Draco. What's wrong?"
He swallowed loudly and lidded his eyes. "How long have I been here, Granger?"
Hermione blinked in bewilderment but quickly added up the dates in her head. "Just over five weeks," she offered after a moment. "Thirty-seven days, I think."
"It feels longer," he mumbled.
"Why did you trash your room?" she asked quietly, taking back one of her hands to remove her wand from her pocket. "Draco-
"I don't know," he blurted, and she felt him relax a little more into her palm. "I don't know."
"I'm going to clean up the mess," she told him as she flicked her wand. "Stay still, okay?"
He didn't respond as all the evidence of his tantrum slowly started to rectify itself around them. He wondered if there was some irony there; Granger fixing something he had demolished for a reason he couldn't quite understand, but his brain was too laden with doubt to pay the thought any heed. Instead, he just studied her features, searching once again for any indication that she was inferior but, once again, he found none.
Not a trace of anything he could hate, no matter how hard he tried.
"You're cold," she commented, bringing her attention back to him. "Let me-
"No," he said without his usual bite. "I'm fine, Granger."
She frowned but didn't argue, knowing better than to aggravate him in this instance. "I got the things you asked for," she told him, summoning her charmed bag. She swished her wand again, and Draco watched with half-hearted interest as his drapes and bedding were replaced with rich green fabrics, and his requested selection of sweets landed on his repaired desk. "Draco, what's wrong? Why did you trash-
"I told you, I don't know," he repeated quietly. "I just did."
"You don't look very well," she murmured, bringing one of her hands to his forehead. "Let me get you some-
"Don't," he stopped her, clenching his eyes shut. "Just...don't go."
"Draco, you're worrying me-
"Why should you worry about someone you can't stand?"
Hermione tilted her head to catch his eyes. "I told you I don't hate you-
"You should," he told her firmly. "You should loathe me."
"Well I don't," she argued calmly, shuffling a little closer to him. "Maybe I should, but I can't-
"Then how do you feel about me now, Granger?"
"That question again?" she sighed, setting her hands in her lap and averting her gaze. "I don't know, Draco."
"Do you think I am evil, Granger?" he asked bluntly.
"You're not evil," she assured him without hesitation. "You have just been...mislead. You're human, Draco, and you've made mistakes, but I can't hate you for that."
He lifted his head and released a shaky breath. "I should hate you."
"Should?" she echoed with a puzzled tone. "As in, you don't any more?"
"I don't know," he muttered so quietly, she wasn't sure he'd said it at all. "I am...confused."
His reluctant confession was flimsy and questionable, but she found herself feeling encouraged by his doubt. That hopeful spark that she'd been so determined to ignore blossomed in her chest before she could help it. This was what she had wanted; some voiced confirmation that he was starting to question his prejudices.
It teased her Gryffindor courage and she slowly shifted closer to him again, boldly settling herself between his legs and resting her weight against his chest. She expected him to instantly reject her brazen gesture, but he didn't even flinch as she rested her head against his shoulder. He remained completely still and unresponsive, but she felt inexplicably safe there; warm and comfortable in a forbidden moment that lulled her into a sleepy state.
"This doesn't mean anything," she heard Draco murmur by her ear, possibly more to himself. "It doesn't."
"I know," she whispered.
Draco was painfully aware that this was far too intimate and undoubtedly wrong, but after two days of denying his craving to be this close to her, he was too absorbed now to push her way. He knew in the morning he would come to regret this lapse in judgement, but he couldn't resist the drugging effect she had on him.
It was barely eight o'clock, but sleep stole Hermione quickly, and Draco followed her a moment later with a disturbing realisation that things were changing.
He was changing.
.
.
.
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