On the other side of the wall, Draco settled himself on his bed and listened intently to her grief. Sweet Merlin, he missed her calming shower-sighs. He examined his messy hand with a scowl, searching again for any possible indication that their blood was different. But there was nothing; same colour, same texture...just the same.
I shouldn't have goaded her...
He shuttered his eyes, wondering why the hell he suddenly felt guilty. He should have been roaring with rage and scheming to cause her pain in return for what she had done, but all he could do was question what had made her snap. He wanted to despise her; to charge back in there and bask in her distress.
But he didn't.
He didn't hate her.
.
.
Hermione had no idea how long it took for her cries to subside, but she would safely assume it had been at least three hours. All of Hogwarts' background noise had fizzled out and her dorm was definitely darker. Her eyes fell to her normally pristine tiles, frowning as she studied the telling red smears scattered around her. The crimson fingerprints held her attention for a moment, reminding her of poppy petals in the snow. They were Draco's fingerprints.
She would probably never know why, but she was desperate to apologise to him and try to rationalise her actions. She was so angry at herself for taking things out on him, for losing her head. She was supposed to be the sensible one amongst her friends, the voice of reason, and look what she had done.
Her puffy eyes turned to inspect the slash from her ring-finger to her thumb, and she noted that the blood had already started to coagulate. She realised then that at no point had her self-inflicted gash caused her any pain, and she couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy's hurt. Tucking her teeth into her bottom lip, she forced her hand to remain steady as she healed the damage.
A couple of whispered incantations later, and the bathroom looked completely normal, save the broken witch in the centre. She stayed still for a couple of stolen minutes, desperately trying to summon the scattered remains of her dignity and courage.
She needed to see him. She needed to explain.
Using the sink for support, she dragged herself off the floor and clumsily left the cold tiles on wobbly legs and a pang in her chest. She swallowed a nervous lump away as she faced his door, slowly bringing up her hand to drum her knuckles softly against the wood.
"Malfoy," she called. "Can I come in please?"
"I told you not to come near me," came the gruff response, but she'd expected that, and she refused to be deterred.
"Alohomora," she mumbled, taking a deep breath before she pushed open the door. She edged into his room anxiously, her damp gaze finding him sitting upright on his bed and looking so much calmer then she'd expected. "Malfoy-
"I thought I made it quite clear I didn't want you here," he interrupted evenly, dangerously low and smooth.
"I know," Hermione murmured, taking some more steps towards him. "But I need to explain-
"Get out," he demanded, not once looking at her. "I don't want you near me-
"Draco, please," she begged, tossing her pride to the wind. She'd screwed up and he had every right to know why. "My b-blood won't actually stay in you...Your system will have already-
"I am perfectly aware of how my anatomy works, Granger," he drawled, and she saw his jaw tense. "Leave."
Merlin knew why she decided that crawling onto his bed would work in her favour, but some part of her had seemed to think that if she was closer, he would be more likely to listen. He finally fired his steel-silver eyes in her direction, but still there was no sign of the contempt she'd prepared for. He simply looked at her like he'd never seen her before, and for some reason that bothered her.
Draco had no idea how to act in her presence. Every cell in his muddled brain was telling him to grab her and dump her outside of his room, repeating it until she got the point, but his confusion had somehow beaten his fury, and he needed to know why she'd done it. He knew enough about biology to acknowledge that her Muggle blood wasn't infecting him, but that wasn't the problem. It was her. He would swear he could feel her in his system; dancing in his veins and affecting his mind. That was the problem.
"I'm so sorry, Draco" she sputtered, drawing his attention back to her. "I really am. I'm just...I'm so sorry."
There were two things that made him flinch; the first was her use of his given name, and the second was her practically gushing her apology. He quickly scanned her features, finding only a sincerity that was strangely refreshing when he compared to her earlier emotions. The emotions that had led to this.
"I-I found out that Professor Burbage was killed today," she revealed carefully, and he could see she was trying to resist the new batch of tears behind her almond eyes. "By Voldemort."
He blinked. Her outburst made sense now, but he hadn't heard that name since Snape had abandoned him here. He realised then for the first time that he couldn't consider her an enemy; it just simply didn't make sense when the same...creature wanted them both dead. No, not enemies, but certainly not allies. Just somewhere in between.
"She was a friend," Hermione continued with a slight sniffle. "And when you-you said those things I just...I took it out on you and that wasn't fair."
.
.
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