One for sorrow, two for mirth

'Amortentia! ' Slughorn announces with alarming joy. The assignment leaves almost nobody indifferent. Girls giggle, boys groan. Well, except for Norbert Cumbers, who is suspiciously inspired. Maybe the Head Girl should watch him closely while they are making the most powerful love potion ever known. After all, no one wants a new disaster like the one which had, apparently, unfurled last year in Ginny’s grade. Yes, Hermione couldn’t believe that while she had been risking her life hunting Horcruxes, here at Hogwarts someone could have had all their thoughts occupied with making their classmates (male and female alike!) fall in love with them. But according to Ginny, one girl from Ravenclaw — very appropriately named Aphrodite — did exactly that and succeeded with about half of her test subjects. Because of that, Professor Slughorn was forced to move studying Amortentia a whole year up. And also expel the culprit from the Advanced Potions class. Hermione herself feels slightly annoyed by today’s topic. She understands the reason for this potion being in Hogwarts' curriculum: it’s really complex and it takes three months to brew which teaches the students to focus on something not for a couple of lessons, but in the long run. You fail at any step, even the very last one — and you have to start over. It’s a crucible of potion making. But ever since she fell out with Ron, she feels very… tired of love. As if the word, the concept itself just sucks out her joy like a Dementor. Fortunately, she already knows the drill, so as soon as Professor Slughorn concludes his explanation, she gets down to it. The first stage is quite packed and may be overwhelming. Which it clearly is, judging by the muffled cursing and grumbling from every corner of the class. But to Hermione, it’s like a walk in the park. She is honing in on sifting pearl dust when a deafening boom goes off right behind her. In a split second, Hermione ducks under her desk. Her hands reach for her bottomless bag. Crap. She doesn’t have it on her, and everything in her satchel is useless. Think, Hermione! But as soon as she starts thinking, she realises — everyone in class is just giggling and snorting. 'What a pity, Miss Greengrass! And this was a shining new cauldron, too! ' Slughorn exclaims, running up to Daphne’s desk. Oh. The thing that exploded was the cauldron. Hermione sighs and comes out of her cover. 'Nice reaction, Miss Granger, ' Slughorn chuckles. 'Truly a woman would stop at nothing to save her hair.' Hermione gives him a weak smile. There is no mirror in the class, but without a doubt, her hair looks like a bird’s nest now. She can’t say if that joke was an attempt to excuse her overreaction in front of the class or if he is simply blind as a mole. 'Sorry, Hermione, ' Daphne whispers loudly, but Hermione just waves a dismissive hand at her. She cannot face anyone right now. Her heart is racing, and the useless compulsion to find something in her bag — something that will help in the battle she was so quick to imagine — is still lingering heavily in her head. Pearl dust. She was sifting pearl dust. The blast wave from Daphne’s cauldron has blown away everything she’d already sifted. No matter. She can start over. This will help her calm down. As Hermione takes up the sifter again, the pearl dust spills partway over the rim of the bowl and onto her desk because of the way her hands are shaking. Shoot. Not now. She doesn’t want the whole class to know that the war hero Hermione Granger scares this easily. But this is not something she can stop at will. Her head is rushing, her ears are ringing, and her heart is going double-time. She floods with the heat of panic — not now, not now, not now — and almost drops the sifter. Everything she can usually anchor herself with — small precise manipulations, forced happy thoughts, memories of Harry and Ron — is not helping. She’s being sucked into her fears faster than usual because there are people around. 'Granger, ' a half-whisper pierces through the wild thumping in her ears. She turns her head, probably too abruptly, and sees Draco. 'Do you still need the pearl dust or?..' With his right hand he reaches for the jar on her desk… and with the left slips something into her pocket. 'Thanks.' He nods and returns to his cauldron. Absent-mindedly Hermione puts her hand in the pocket. A phial. Is this.? She takes a quick look around. Everyone is busy with their potions, and it’s safe to check. She opens her trembling palm and studies Draco’s small gift. Calming Draught. She downs it so promptly as if it’s water and she’s been in a desert for days. Its effect is also similar. It’s heaven. Feeling the anxiety backing down when she’s already given in to a full-blown panic attack is heaven. Hermione steals a glance at her unlikely saviour. Draco is fully consumed with sifting the pearl dust, as if he couldn’t care less for her and her barely avoided breakdown. 'Granger, I can’t believe you don’t have a Calming Draught on you, ' he whispers zealously, rushing up to her as soon as everyone else leaves Slughorn’s class. 'Aren’t you the most precautious person in history?! ' Her initial urge to lash out at him for telling her off like a child dies out in a whiff. Because he is absolutely right and Hermione Granger cannot argue with facts. 'I’ve been managing without it, ' she mumbles out of pure obstinance. She did manage before. She’ll be fine. 'I have my own ways.' Draco exhales heavily and runs a hand through his hair. 'Do you want me to come with you? ' he asks, easing off. 'Come with me? Where? ' Hermione honestly doesn’t follow. 'To Pomfrey’s.' He shrugs. 'You need a supply, I won’t be there for you at all times.' She almost chokes on air. He’s taking this too seriously. 'No, Draco, it’s not like that. I don’t need it on a daily basis, that was sort of an emergency, the explosion and all-' He interrupts, a grimace of shock on his face. 'For the next three months we will be brewing one of the trickiest and most sensitive potions ever, how many of such emergencies can happen, Granger? I am used to you being against me, but against logic?! ' 'Draco, I-' 'Please, don’t be a stubborn mule. Let me at least make sure that you won’t ruin yourself. I’m rarely right, but I know I am now.' Somewhere along this outburst, he grabbed her by the hand and she hasn’t even noticed. In the furthest corner of her mind she feels worried — no, she thinks she should feel worried — about it. But his touch is calming. Is he… Is he truly her friend now? Draco bloody Malfoy? 'Fine, I’ll go, ' Hermione whispers. 'But I’m going alone, ' she adds in a challenging tone, seeing how he grabs his things, clearly determined to accompany her. Draco freezes. Then nods reluctantly. 'As you wish. Just be ready to show me a battery of phials you’ll get there.' Damn, the audacity! Hermione feels a surge of long-forgotten unique type of resentment that only this ferret had managed to stir inside her since the day she’s heard the term 'Mudblood' for the very first time. 'I’m not showing you anything, Malfoy. You helped me and you asked me to go, so I’ll go. That’s it. I’m not accountable to you because you happened to have a Calming Draught on you today! ' She starts for the door, furious, when he answers: 'It was you who said that we’re all pitiful, wasn’t it? Let yourself be pitiful then! ' Hermione wants to leave, but it’s like his words have pinned her to the ground. And he doesn’t stop: 'Not only because of those all-around accepted reasons like breakup, but pitiful about whatever you need to be. It’s hard to ask for help if you’re- you’re lost. It’s hard even to ac- accept help when people offer it to you freely. But if you miss your chance to do that, you might- might end up- end up lost-er than you’ve been… I’ve learnt that the hard way.' She’s not so heartless as to walk away when he’s unravelled enough to fight for each word like that. And what he says is… hitting too close to home. 'Draco, I’m here to help if-' 'No! You are not getting out of this one because I’m miserable… It’s you we are talking about. And I’ll say what I must even if I drown you in tears or whatnot. You don’t have to be strong every day, like it had been in the times of war. It is over. And if you still live like it’s not, and you cannot stop on your own, and all your glorified good-for-nothing friends are too blind to notice-' He falters, either lost for words or too afraid to say what he’s meaning to. Hermione takes a ragged breath — apparently she forgot to breathe, listening to him — and gnaws the very tip of her tongue. It’s painful just enough to stay focused and not cry — which she wants to. Because he is right, he is so right it’s scary, he is exposingly right. She doesn’t even care that he trashed her friends again. In this moment, it seems like one more word can fix all of it, fix her . But he doesn’t say anything, gasping for that one right word, and the moment is gone. 'You can come with me if you are free right now, ' she croaks, pulling up the strap of her satchel, and starts for the door, very much focused on her steps. They drag their feet in awkward silence along the halls and up the stairs. Madam Pomfrey barely asks a thing. When she disappears inside the storeroom, Hermione flops onto the hospital bed. Draco had stayed by the door when they entered and is still standing there like a guard, leaning on the doorframe, his arms folded. As indifferent as can be. 'Here you go, dear.' Madam Pomfrey hurries up to her with three tiny pouches. 'Nothing complicated: in here you’ll find your trusty Calming Draught for any kind of emergency. If you feel the need to drink it too often though, please pay me another visit.' Hermione nods and takes the red pouch. It’s extended enough to hold about thirty small phials. 'This one is for your sleep. Nothing drastic, just helps to relax and fall asleep faster. Take it every day before going to bed.' Hermione nods again. This pouch is made of dark-blue velvet. It’s sweet how Madam Pomfrey has made the colour of the package fit its contents. 'The third one is much like the Calming Draught. The effect is not as momentary and strong, but it’s more lasting. Say, you drink one in the morning and the day will go by easier, with much less of a chance for the Calming Draught to take the stage.' She hands the last pouch to Hermione and pats her on the wrist. 'It’s good you stopped by, dear. Oh, and if you mix anything up — as far-fetched as it might seem — you can ask me anytime.' Even though Hermione promises to do exactly that, she probably knows another professional in this matter. 'So you have it too, ' she says when they share their usual reading session in the evening. It’s not really a question, but rather, a summary. 'Have what? ' Hermione gives him that look Harry and Ron have hated for years. The infamous 'do I really have to spell it out' look. 'PTSD.' In truth, it’s the first time she has actually spelled this out — aloud or internally. But she is now loaded with remedies for everyday usage, so sweeping this under the rug would be kind of stupid. 'A what? ' Draco looks genuinely lost. 'Oh.' Of course he wouldn’t know. 'The- The condition, Muggles call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.' Draco raises a mocking brow. 'Ah, the Undead Malady? By Merlin, your folk love a convoluted name…' Hermione has heard this term once or twice in the past years, but there were lots of more pressing matters than to look it up. She’s sincerely thought it’s some zombifying disease. 'Why is it called Undead? ' He sighs and fixes his perfectly set hair. 'Because you are alive, but you either feel dead or wish you were.' She feels her jaw drop at this brief but terribly precise diagnosis. Sometimes Wizards truly see into the very core of things. He leaves her to process the information and buries himself in the book again. Hermione rolls her eyes. 'Draco, you haven’t answered.' 'Well, I haven’t noticed a question, to be honest.' He chooses to be bitter, which means he truly hurts. 'You kind of made a statement out of that.' She looks away to try and give him some space. 'It’s transparent enough. You seem to know the drill too personally.' He heaves a sigh. It’s fine. She is often considered overbearing, and she’s used to it. 'Yes, Granger! Yes. I know it personally.' The bitterness dissipates, just like she expected. 'It doesn’t- manifest quite like yours. The last panic attack I had was, I suppose, when- when I got busted with Katie Bell’s curse ordeal… My thing is sleep deprivation.' 'That’s why you’re up every night? ' she throws a glance at the book in his hands. 'Pretty much, ' he grumbles and squeezes the book so tightly his knuckles turn white. Talking of this hurts him. Bottling it up probably hurts him even more. 'And what keeps you awake? ' He raises his eyes at her and squints. 'Are you trying to get back at me for dragging you to Pomfrey’s? I’d do that again, just so you know.' Well, getting back is a strange term, but he’s not entirely wrong. She wants to help the person who helped her. 'Draco, you can be honest with me. It might get easier if you spell it out.’ All she gets is a scoff. Easily, his most common reaction to anything. 'What? ' If she has to fish it out of him one word at a time, so be it. 'Nothing… I just-' He sighs helplessly. 'What good might that do? Why would you need my troubles piled over yours? ' This torture is strikingly similar to their talk in Potions class today. What did he say? That her friends are too blind to notice her pain? What about him? Does he even have real friends? Do they stay in touch after… everything? 'Do you have a person you can talk to about this? One 'yes', and I’m out of your hair, ' she says, raising her hands defensively. His mouth flaps a couple times like a fish out of water. Eventually, he turns away, and she hears him gasp for air. 'Maybe I do, but… Ugh. I get it sometimes. That feeling that if I’m true and honest with people around me, with- with you, if I speak my heart complete, this curse upon me would be lifted, and I’d be worthy again to see promise and hope.' She scoots a bit closer. This is it. If she doesn’t screw up, he will finally open up about something truly meaningful. 'So what’s stopping you? ' 'The deceit of it. I’ve had my chances, yet all the choices I’ve made were wrong! ' He buries his fingers in his hair. 'I don’t get to have hope anymore.' 'Draco…' She reaches her hand towards his shoulder, but jerks it away when he continues. 'You cannot imagine how often I see nightmares where I murder him. And… The other kind, where I come and warn him. But then I wake up and the reality is that-' He inhales raggedly, almost like a hiccup. 'That I did nothing, that I am a coward who cannot kill for his family or risk everything for a cause. And it’s worse than any nightmare…' Most of the last words drown in his sobs and crampy exhales. Draco is crying. Not swallowing the tears down like he did before, no — this is a fit he cannot hold inside. She places a hand on his shoulder after all, and it makes him cry even harder. He needs a hug so much. And he hasn’t gotten a single one at least since the school year started. Would it hurt him more if she hugs him? While she’s trying to gather her courage and go for it, he abruptly gulps back the tears and squares his shoulders. Hermione’s hand slips down his arm. 'I’m not sure why I try to be up for every minute my body lets me, ' he croaks, his face a stone mask. 'Either because I’m scared of sleep which brings me those nightmares or because I’m trying to punish myself with as much reality as possible.' She clenches the cuff of his blazer, not sure that he won’t storm off otherwise. 'Why did you return to Hogwarts? Was that also in order to punish yourself? Or is your father involved? ' Draco snorts and sniffles simultaneously. 'He is. Although not in the way you suggest.' He swallows hard and loosens his tie. 'Both my parents wanted me to drop out and stay at the Manor. But I just can’t be there anymore and I can’t be… with them. It suffocates me, I need- I need space.' Hermione has no idea how these aristocratic shenanigans work. Whether the head of the Malfoys has to reside at the Manor or not. Draco clearly isn’t going to. 'Wait, what- What are you planning to do after graduation? Are you renouncing your rights as an heir or something? ’ He goggles at her and twists his mouth in a display of sarcasm. 'Renouncing? Not in a million years! I’m eager to inherit every Knut of that bloody fortune like never before! After all, it’s the only useful thing I can still get from Father dearest.' He gets off the sofa, pulling his cuff from her fingers, loosens his tie even more, and starts pacing in front of the fireplace. 'I don’t know anymore if money really holds the power it’s said to hold… But since it’s likely to become my only asset in life, I am going to pour all of it into one goal: a complete collapse of the bigoted foundations that our society is built on. I want that rift gone for good.' He gives her a fevered look and ruffles his hair. 'I want a stupid pure-blooded boy somewhere in the future to like a Muggleborn girl and not feel flawed because of that, not push her away, hurting them both to the point of no return. It’s not likely that I’d live to see it. But I’ll do my utmost to bring that moment closer. And blowing all of the cursed Malfoy gold on such a cause shall only be a cherry on top.' He’s so invested in that speech that he’s out of breath now. And Hermione is out of words. It’s the first time she’s seen him… hopeful? 'Have I ever told you about my plans for life? ' she asks quietly when he’s back on the sofa after an awkward pause, filled only with his ragged breaths. 'No. I suppose I’ve grasped that you don’t desire a position in Aurorat, though.' She snickers. 'You’ve grasped right. Well, my ultimate goal is not that different from yours. But since I don’t have all that money, I am actually aiming for the Minister’s Chair.' Draco blinks at her for a moment. 'Minister for Magic? ' She rolls her eyes and fails to suppress a sigh. 'You are allowed to laugh if you wish.' It’s fine. Everyone takes it for a joke the first two or three times. 'Laugh? ' Draco arches a brow at her. 'Why? I’m only worried you’ll have it really hard in our snake den of a Ministry. But when you pull through, you’ll be brilliant. Just what this bog needs.' Hermione clears a lump in her throat and jumps up from the sofa. This conversation is going in a strange direction she doesn’t really want to explore. Honestly, next thing she knows, Draco will promise to fund her election platform or whatever. Then all of her plans will become too real too soon. She isn’t quite used to this: her whole life is like stepping stones, and the next one is her N.E.W.T.s. She shouldn’t get ahead of herself. But she has to admit, being acknowledged feels inspiring and… strangely warm. 'Thanks, Draco.' She grabs her book and smiles at him, but feels her lips tremble slightly. 'I probably need to go take my new soporific, see if it does the job. Good night.' He nods and returns his undivided attention to the book in his hands. Yet, when she’s already on the stairs, his voice catches up to her: 'I mean it, Granger. Show them all.'