One for sorrow, two for mirth

Hermione has always been a morning person, but she is not yet up on this fine Saturday morning when a Weasley owl smacks against the bedroom window. 'Errol!' Ginny growls and jumps out of her bed to catch the sad bird before it slides off the window-ledge to the ground way down below. They are not in the Gryffindor tower anymore, but a new conjoined dorm on the third floor is still high enough that falling from the window could lead to Errol's untimely death. 'It's for you, Hermione,' Ginny says, barely looking at the parcel. 'Happy Birthday, by the way. And of course, I've prepared a present too, just wait a second!' Hermione smiles drowsily at the sight of Ginny turning all her stuff upside down and opens the wrapping carefully. It is from Mr and (mostly) Mrs Weasley. A red knitted dress for hot weather - airy, lacy, absolutely not like anything Mrs Weasley normally knits. Such a pity Hermione wouldn't have a chance to wear it until summer… 'Finally!' Ginny exclaims and crashes onto Hermione's bed with a small box in her hands. 'Here, Happy Birthd- Damn, did Mum knit this?! Does she honestly have no shame, I'm her only daughter and I never get such pretty things!' She goggles at the dress and grabs Hermione by the shoulders. 'Hermione, they are trying to deceive you! They'd lure you into our snake den of a family with nice gifts and sweet talking, but then you'd get ugly sweaters for each holiday!'  Hermione laughs and tries to open Ginny's box, while her friend continues to shake her mercilessly. 'Hermione!' They both turn to the door to see Astoria Greengrass, a former Slytherin, now a Hogwarts Prefect. 'Hermione, sorry that I'm so early on a weekend. There is trouble with the Hogsmeade trip, we need you at the Prefects' Parlour as soon as possible…' Astoria says hastily and disappears behind the door.  Hermione sighs. 'Sorry, Gin. I'll be back in an hour, I promise.'   It's been almost three weeks since that memorable day in the Great Hall. Everyone has managed to calm down, more or less. But at the beginning, it was extreme. As a Head Girl, she's already had the pleasure to pull apart a dozen fights (magical duels and good old jaw-punching alike), stop two attempts to mark off the new common room with quite tricky partition spells, confiscate a whole bag of 'Slytherin Sucks' badges and - more times than she could count - give students detention for trying to jinx Malfoy. Each jinx was rather harmless on its own, but the quantity and conflicting effects of them mixed together could actually unravel Draco into atoms or make him brain dead or pull him inside out. This would have ended badly if not for some first-class protective ward he had cast on himself. Apparently, he hadn't been appointed a Death Eater for nothing. Thankfully, it seems like students have finally blown off some steam. Or not. There is very little chance that today's problems with Hogsmeade trip have any other roots.   'Miss Granger, finally.' Professor McGonagall is also present in the Prefects' Parlour. To her own dismay, Hermione is the last one to arrive, even though she only bothered to brush her teeth and dress. 'Now that everyone has joined us, let me share some dire news. There has been a killing in Hogsmeade. The trip is cancelled, naturally, but I need you all to keep a watchful eye on the students,' the Headmistress instructs in a cold tone. 'I trust that each of you has a head on their shoulders, but just in case I am tragically wrong: the incident must not be disclosed to anybody.' 'What do we say to other students?' asks Anthony Goldstein, who was appointed Head Boy, together with Hermione.  'Think of something! Oh, Merlin… A terrible case of dragonpox has been spotted among the customers of The Three Broomsticks; we are preventing an epidemic!' Professor McGonagall throws her hands up in frustration. Everyone reluctantly nods.  'If you face any troubles with students, approach Miss Granger and Mr Goldstein. But in case of emergency, come find me in my office at once. Now, down to work, it's almost breakfast time!'  With that she leaves, and everyone drags towards the Common room.   'Just brilliant. Happy Birthday, Hermione.' Praise Merlin, the cancelled trip is accepted rather philosophically by other students. They groan for a little bit, but then dig into breakfast, and the rest of the day passes without much more trouble than usual. Hermione even manages to have a little birthday party with Ginny, Neville, and his new girlfriend Hannah Abbot. Presents from Ron and Harry haven't arrived yet, but she knows they wouldn't forget, and she is rather good at waiting. The four of them laugh and goof around and don't bring up the war even once. It is almost like the old times.   In their animated conversation, it takes a while for Hermione to notice a strange stir in the Common room. Instead of thinning up, the laid-back crowd grows restless and agitated. Students whisper in a particular manner very familiar to Hermione: it's the manner a secret travels among those not meant to know it.   Someone found out about the killing.    Hermione apologises to her 'guests' and mutters a quick blind-eye charm. It's not as secure as Harry's cloak, but it should do. She sneaks after a group of former Slytherins, sneering and whispering as they go down to the second floor. Hermione tries to listen in on them, but they are making an effort to be quiet and she cannot come too close for fear of being spotted. They pass through the hallways and on approach to one of the boys’ restrooms, the imposing silence of Hogwarts at dusk is ripped with cackling voices.  'A scum tattoo for a scum person, right, Nazi?' echoes under the high arches of the hallway.  The group she is following quickens their pace, obviously to make it in time for the spectacle. But Hermione cannot waste another second. She rushes through them and bursts into the restroom.   'Stop this right now!' she screams, raising her wand, before she can even comprehend what exactly is going on in here.  Everyone freezes. It's Draco. She should have guessed. He is on his knees, a gang of students huddled around him. One is pinning him down, another is holding a wand against his chin, one more is... Carving something on his forehead. Hermione steps closer yet. It's a Swastika. 'All of you, to your dorms.' Her voice is an enraged whisper. She wants to cast something on all of them. A Reducto. A Bombarda. At least a Bat-Bogey hex. 'Every student present here gets detention, and a nasty one. I will see to it personally. Out!' With visible reluctance, they finally release Draco. The guy who decided to demonstrate his drawing abilities turns to her. It's that Ravenclaw who trashed Draco back on the train, Joshua Pinescrew. 'Granger, are you really so desperate to suck up to McGonagall that you're ready to defend this murderer? You, who are a Muggleborn, like us?' he mocks. 'He killed a man in Hogsmeade just this morning - or assisted in it, who cares - and you wish to help him? Are you this cheap?' She is the Head Girl. She is absolutely not hexing a student for being a brainless ogre.  'I said, out, Pinescrew.' 'It's really sad that you get to be a friend to Harry Potter,' he spits and turns away.    Sensing the party is over, the rest of the students leave the scene, and eventually there are only her and Draco. He gets up from the floor and limps to the nearest mirror. 'Am I grounded too, Granger?' he asks matter-of-factly as he washes the blood off of his lips and chin.' Hermione flinches at the sound of his voice. They haven't spoken for… For a couple years now. Somehow, she still expects him to speak in that challenging tone with an ineradicable note of petulance. Her brain can’t process this hollow sound at all. 'Of course not, Draco,' she sighs and approaches him. 'Show me your forehead.' He steps back.  'Leave it. I can heal this myself. The Killing curse is not the only spell I know.' Hermione doesn't have time or patience for this. 'Show. Me. Your forehead.' He turns off the tap and gives a long sigh.  'Fine, Granger. After all, you came to my rescue. I suppose, I'm in your debt.' He squats down facing her. Hermione leans in and starts banishing the symbol on his forehead. 'If you wonder what they've tried to brand you with, it's a Swastika. A symbol of the oppressors in the worst Muggle war that's ever happened. I know you've never taken Muggle Studies, so you probably aren't familiar with the topic. There was a man in Germany who wished to rule the whole world. And to justify such ambitions, he promoted Nazism, an idea of a race that is above all others on Earth - the so-called Aryans. He had succeeded for many years, conquered many countries and in doing so, murdered millions of people. He is still considered a Muggle version of Voldemort and-' 'Sorry, Granger,' Draco interrupts the second she is done with healing him and jumps to his feet. 'I'd be happy to fulfil your nerdy needs further, but at this rate, your lecture might hold us here till morning. I know of Hitler. In rather broad lines, but still.' 'Couldn't you just say so right away?' Hermione groans, putting her wand back inside the pocket. He shrugs.  'Watching you being a smart-arse was a nice nostalgic touch, I guess.' He turns to the door and starts to walk, still slightly limping. 'Thanks again, Granger.' 'Draco, wait.' He glances at her over his shoulder.  'I'm here, if you need anything,' she blurts out while he is still here.  He doesn't stop or slow down.  'No, Granger, we are not doing this. The last thing I need is your pity.' 'Aren't we all pitiful?' she asks without even realising it. He freezes in the doorway.  'I am hated by everyone, Granger. You have as good as won in life.' He scoffs. 'It's like our First year, but reversed. Don't you feel the irony?'  'Our victory seems smaller each time I see people hexing you. Or even calling you names,' she starts, trying to stay collected. 'What was the purpose of fighting for Muggleborns if they now behave like pure-bloods used to?' He makes several uneven steps towards her. His lower lip is trembling slightly, like he's holding down a scream or tears.  'I am not simply a pure-blood. I am a Death Eater who is not in Azkaban for some reason. This is inevitable. You cannot catch every angered student and explain to them how Draco Malfoy killed people, but it's fine since he really didn't want to.' He speaks in that gravely calm manner that Hermione uses herself when she wants to scream but persistently tries to keep the decorum.  'You haven't killed once.'  'Do you know that?!' Draco loses it after all. 'Can you prove it to them?! Can you be sure of it yourself?..' There is no such proof, so she stays silent.  'See? To them, you might as well be defending a murderer like Dolohov.' He exhales sharply and looks her straight in the eye. 'For what it’s worth, I'm genuinely sorry for all I've done. And I'm thankful that you happen to be such a rational and forgiving person. But I deserve every jinx, hex and curse I get and I deserved that Swastika crap branded on my forehead. Leave it be, Granger. There have to be consequences for willingly aiding a Hitler.' This doesn't look like posturing. He seems to be honest in his determination to atone for his sins. And it's unbearable. 'Oh my god, Draco, are you mental? You are a victim of his too! You may have been an annoying, envious, bigheaded brat, but a person nevertheless - and he's ruined you just like any of us or maybe even worse!' He flashes a furious glare at her.  'I know it!' His lips curve in this unmistakable ugly way they do when one is about to burst into tears. But he swallows them. 'I know it, believe me. I am not saying my actions cannot be explained. They cannot be excused, though. And no matter how many times I tell you how desperately sorry I am, this will not erase the scar from your arm.' He unconsciously glances at her wrist still bearing Bellatrix's uneven handwriting. 'Draco. One sincere apology is quite enough. For me, at least. Besides, sometimes it is not what we do that forms us and shows one's value. It is also what we do not do.'  'Oh, is that the 'Draco Malfoy not killing Dumbledore' card? Are you honestly going to play that one?' He gives her an indulgent sneer.  'Well, as a matter of fact, I do believe that refusing to stoop as low as murder shows your value!' she snaps at him wearily. 'But that was not what came to my mind.'  'And what was it?'  Hermione stalls, unsure if this should resurface after everything has changed so much. But he needs something to hold on to so badly, even if it's the smallest thing… 'Your love note in the Third year. You could have mocked me to no end for showing up, but you never did.'  Draco just watches her silently and blinks. 'What?' he finally whispers in a hoarse voice. 'You don't remember your own prank?' she wonders and immediately regrets even mentioning any of that. Of course he doesn't remember! Why would he? That was a stupid tomfoolery of a thirteen-year-old daddy's golden boy, and a fairly innocent one at that. He has done far crueller things to her. 'I do. I am surprised you remember.' ‘Well…' She feels her cheeks flush a tad. 'It- It happened to be the first time I've received a love note, so… Honestly, it has been the first time a boy showed any interest in me. And I- Well. Let's say I had high hopes.' Draco noticeably pales, even though he has been pale as a corpse ever since the Sixth year. 'Then it turned out to be you and your clique. And it also turned out the love note had your name on it, and I just haven't noticed it since the letter combusted too quickly. So I made a profound fool of myself by demonstrating half of Slytherin that I was desperate enough to throw myself even in the arms of my enemy if it meant someone wanted me. I was furious, I hated you so much that year! But more than that I was… Afraid. I was sure you would tell. Well, you cannot blame me, that is how you were then, right?' She giggles nervously. It was supposed to be Draco's repentance; why is she diving into her teenage worries? She is not that girl anymore. She is a witch that defeated Voldemort and a girl that had dated Victor Krum. She has proven herself in every way. Why then?  'I have dreaded that for several years. I thought the whole school would laugh at me and all because I didn't notice you signed the stupid letter!  'I did not,' he whispers and bites his lip. 'What do you mean?' 'There was no name, you've read everything correctly, I just… I told the guys I signed it. I thought they might think I honestly fancied you and I lied. There was no name. I knew you would never come for Draco Malfoy, I wasn't that daft even then… Hermione snorts and raises an eyebrow.  'Seems like you were a bit daft, though. Why would you worry that anyone could ever suspect you of fancying me?' 'Because it was true.' 'What?' 'I did fancy you. A lot. And I was terrified that someone - not Crabbe and Goyle of course, but maybe Pansy or Blaise or Theo - would do the maths. So I did everything in my power to mock you as much as possible. When in truth I was... I was mad about you, Granger. Oh, Merlin, this is so stupid!' He buries his face in his hands, unable to continue.  Hermione blinks blankly at him. How twisted was his childhood, that simple first love - oh, God, she is Draco Malfoy's first love! - was a cross he had to carry on his own, constantly reproaching himself for the wrong choice. 'Draco…' He jerks the hands away from his face and raises his eyes at her.  'Even now… Even though we've stopped being enemies, I always call you Granger so that no one could even surmise… That I… I love you still. And I know you're with Weasley, I know you shall never return these feelings, but I cannot bottle it up anymore.' She was dumbfounded enough to learn that he had liked her back in the day. To find out he yearns for her now is… Like being struck with a Petrificus Totalus. 'Draco, I am really flattered. I could never imagine the letter was honest… ' is what she wants to say, but nothing comes out of her inanely flapping mouth. 'Sorry, Granger. It seems, I've made your life more complicated once again. Happy Birthday, I guess,' Draco whispers, then smooths his hair nervously, gives her an ashamed glance, and leaves. Hermione stands alone, gaping like a landed fish.