To Her

Changed

As promised, Harry arrived the next morning. Just as Hermione was finished stirring her coffee, the doorbell rang and Ron, who surprisingly look a break from eating his Muggle-made breakfast he learned to make, answered the door.

"Harry, blimey, it's good to see you." They gave each other a hug and It reminded Hermione that she couldn't remember the last time the three of them had spent time together.

"Ron, so glad to see you." Harry replied as he walked over to Hermione to give her a kiss on the cheek. "'Mione."

"Harry, happy to see you again." She smiled before she turned back to her bacon she'd been frying.

"What are you doing here, mate? You miss me that much?" Ron laughed as he guided Harry to the bar stools that sat at the kitchen island.

"A-actually," Harry stuttered while looking back at Hermione, "I came to talk to Hermione. About Malfoy."

While she'd usually roll her eyes at the name, she instead grew embarrassed, which Ron had noticed. "What's wrong with the bloke? Has he been treating you badly, Hermione?" Ron asked half concerned and half angrily.

"No, it's quite the opposite, actually. It's between me and Harry. Would you mind going into the other room while we talked?"

Ron looked at her confused before slowly taking his plate into the dining room. Not without giving her and Harry a small glare of course, as expected.

"Is he really alright, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly as soon as Ron left the room, scurrying over to where Ron previously sat.

Hesitant, Harry nodded, "Far from alright, though definitely stable, as I had said in my letter. We arrived at his muggle house a short while after I'd left you at the Ministry—"

"His muggle house?" Hermione asked, confused. She assumed all this time he'd been living in the Malfoy Manor with his mother.

"Yes, when he and his mother were given their sentences, the Ministry had moved them to a small Muggle house in a secured location within London. No magic. Just them, a few of their belongings, and a few of their house elves." That explained the telephone, she thought. Somewhat disappointing, however, she liked the idea of a Muggle item within a pureblood mansion.

"When we arrived, his mother answered the door confused as to why we were there. It seemed he had been in his bedroom since leaving work on Tuesday, and pretended to arrive home through the door afterwards so his mother wouldn't suspect anything. But really, he'd been at the house all along. When we opened his bedroom door, he was about to...well, he appeared to be distraught and on the verge of seriously harming himself. Lost in his own thoughts, he barely even noticed we were there. We had to talk to him down from his episode. He kept repeating himself, saying he didn't deserve the position he was given nor did he deserve another chance. We convinced him to take a walk with us to clear his mind, and that's when we signed him into St. Mungo's."

Hermione's chest had twisted into a knot, and she suddenly felt the urge to cry. The lump in her throat only grew bigger. "How long does he have to stay at St. Mungo's?"

"We estimated anywhere between couple weeks to possibly months. He was diagnosed with severe depression and the trauma from the War caused him extreme PTSD. He's paranoid and hesitant, beyond frightened of the world. He doubts anyone could ever accept him for what he'd done, though many other Death Eaters had done much worse than he did. He carries an overwhelming amount of guilt, all of which led him to how he is now."

"Are you sure of this?" She questioned. Stupid question, of course, but what else is she to say when faced with facts such as these?

He nodded, "In Auror training, we had lessons regarding the mental health of wizards and witches. How certain situations may affect them long term. His symptoms match those of depression and PTSD. They're no different from the symptoms muggles experience, except with the addition of extreme decline in their magical abilities and entire magical being. Of course, his probation and house arrest didn't help much either as they weren't allowed to use magic and being confined to one place is shown to worsen such symptoms"

The quietness enveloped them as Hermione processed everything that was said to her. She's beyond glad that Malfoy is finally getting the help he needs, she sensed he was not at his best even before he'd joined her sector. A moment appeared in her mind at that instant, the moment she'd first laid eyes on him in Kingsley's office. She already knew his sentence wasn't serving him well. A bloody dementor is what he looked like. He needs this, he needs the help he's receiving, she thought. She'd only hoped those at St. Mungo's were treating him well.

"Is he being treated fairly well?"

"I believe so. The healing aurors tended to him right away, despite who he is. Their job is to treat all wizards and witches, they took an oath to not discriminate based on blood status or whether someone was an ex-Death Eater or not."

Another weight was lifted off of her chest. Merlin, how much weight had she been carrying since this incident occurred?

She nodded. It seemed that was all she could do whenever faced with bad news regarding Malfoy now. Though he was in good care by the sounds of it, at the back of her mind she still worried. That was in her nature, of course. To worry about those she...cared about.

She and Malfoy barely knew each other, in the personal, close-relationship sense of course. However, she still felt they shared some enjoyable moments that made her care for his well-being. "Is there anything I could do?"

"I'm afraid not. He requires healing from the aurors who specialize in magical minds and what he requires most of all is time. His mental health is at an all time low, quite possibly the worst we've dealt with thus far following the War. In his mind, he doesn't have a purpose to fulfill, a reason for living. The only reason way he stayed this long is because of his mother, Narcissa. I suppose now that he sees there's no more danger imposing her, he feels it's his time to go. The War didn't only break him, 'Mione, it shattered him into a million pieces. We can only hope he finds it within himself during his time at St Mungo's to pick up all those pieces."

Everything Harry had just said broke Hermione into pieces. This is what's become of the boy they'd loathed for 7-8 years. Misunderstood was all he was; misunderstood and misguided. Mistreated, abused, forced to conform. Years upon years of this suffering has turned him into this. Hermione only wished she could do something, anything. Despite their differences, no one should feel like they don't have a reason to live.

"Are you lot done? I'd like to go on about my day without conversations of Death Eaters." Ron waltzed into the room with an empty plate.

Hermione snapped, "Ronald Weasley! I wish you would have some sense of maturity or sensitivity. There's no more Death Eaters, they're all locked up in Azkaban. The rest have tried with their entire being to disassociate themselves from that name and are now battling their own minds." She looked at him furiously. How dare he call Malfoy a Death Eater, as if he was still a malicious murderer without remorse.

Harry and Ron both grew quiet. Everything she said was the truth, after all. She excused herself and headed to her bedroom where she took a long, hot shower.

"Oi, what's gotten into her?" Ron stood confused before he began washing his plate and the others beside the sink.

"I reckon she's worried. She'd been working with Malfoy rather closely, I suppose they'd grown a sort of acquaintance by the way she'd reacted yesterday." Harry explained, stealing some bacon off of Hermione's uneaten plate.

"Worried? Acquaintance with who, Malfoy? Seems a bit of a reach, wouldn't you say?" Ron stopped scrubbing and looked back at Harry. Drying his hands, he turned to face the dark-haired wizard with crossed arms.

"She was right ready to disapparate with me when she'd realized he hadn't been to work all week." Harry shrugged, seeming to be oblivious to it all.

Ron's mind began to spin with thoughts of worry as well now, not feelings of worry for Malfoy but for the feelings Hermione held toward himself and their relationship. Approaching the topic as nonchalantly as he could, he went on, "What's happened with the ol' ferret anyhow?"

Harry was hesitant, looking back at the stairs as if Hermione would walk down them any second, "He's not in the right mind. He tried to kill himself yesterday."

Ron shrugged without a care in the world for his old nemesis, "Serves him right. With all the bullshit he's pulled? I would do it myself if I could."

Harry looked at his long-time best friend, not able to wrap his head around the vile words he just spoke, "It's a serious issue. Nothing to make a bloody joke out of. This is my job, I can't hold school-like grudges anymore. The War is over, Ron. Under oath I have to save these people, even if one of them is Malfoy." He stood up from his stool.

Ron raised his eyebrows, as if he didn't believe that Malfoy had a serious issue of any kind. "I understand that, Harry. And it's not a school-like grudge either. I just don't believe I should give pity to those who've tried to have me killed." He turned back to the dishes.

"You shouldn't wish death upon them either, with that mindset you are no different than they once were." Shaking his head, Harry turned to leave. He was never keen on helping the former Death Eaters who've also tried to kill him. But it was still his job nonetheless and he believed in second chances, unlike Ron apparently. He's seen all of them first-hand, responded to every call the Ministry had given him.

Ron hesitated and looked at Harry once more, "How...how exactly did Hermione react?"

Harry wasn't one to speak words that would hurt those he loved. Something came over him, however, "Like she wanted to save him herself." He spat with instant regret, without even turning to face his old friend. He left without another word.

Hermione sat in the shower for an hour before she mustered up the energy to get out.

Does Ron really believe they're the same as they were before? The only former Death Eater she interacted with was Malfoy, so it was a small piece of reference. But he seemed to be the worst of them that were in their year back then. And Malfoy has changed.

That she fully believed now. She no longer held doubts about him, nor did she believe he wanted to infiltrate the Ministry. Indeed, the War was over, and so her prejudices and judgements should die with it. With knowing what he'd gone through, it showed Hermione that he was human after all. A magical one, but a human with emotions and feelings and complex thoughts. She supposed she'd known this all along, but rivalries and the War can warp these opinions. With those no longer in the picture, the way she saw them now had changed.

Ron came into her room as she was getting dressed.

Hermione was still mad at him, as she always is. Walking past him toward her wardrobe with only a robe and a towel on her head, she spoke, "You're wrong, you know."

"About what, Death Eaters?" He sat on the bed as she walked past him again to the bathroom after having picked out her clothes.

"You speak of them as if they're still all around us, torturing us and taking over the Wizarding World." Her voice from the bathroom echoed.

"They might not be in power anymore but they still exist. Their beliefs haven't changed because their leader was defeated." He watched her walk back to grab a pair of underwear that she'd forgotten before she made her first trip back to the bathroom.

"They are all in Azkaban, Ron. The ones who were Death Eaters but choose not to associate themselves with that lifestyle anymore, they're on probation and house arrest because it was clear they were coerced into following Voldemort." She walked out fully dressed, "Forced to follow him, Ron. Raised by or married to Death Eaters and forced to. They didn't choose to follow him."

"And so Malfoy was forced to do everything he's done then? Without a choice to, I don't know, not kill Dumbledore or let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts?"

"I believe so. Do you not know Lucius Malfoy? He raised Draco like that. He forced Draco to believe—"

"Draco? You're calling him Draco now?"

"No, Ron, it just slipped out. Merlin, you're impossible!" She grew frustrated. It was like talking to a brick wall. "Who are you to judge when you haven't had any interactions with any of them anyway. You've been gone since the War was won."

"I wouldn't want to, Hermione. I've had more than enough dealings with them."

"They've changed, Ron! Malfoy's changed and he seemed to be the worst of them. You'd know it if you talked to him."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I cannot and will not see them as anything but. They killed Tonks and Lupin, Mad-Eye, for Merlin's sake, Hermione, they killed my brother!"

They were face to face now, the tension in the room would choke anyone who walked in due to its thickness.

Hermione stayed silent, not knowing any other way to convince him—to open his eyes and see. Although she could honestly say she understands where he's coming from, she just wishes he'd be more open-minded. She can't blame him, however.

She quickly changed out of the clothes she'd just put on and into pyjamas, deciding not to leave her house today.

"I am sorry about George. I'll never understand what that feels like. I never said whatever they did wasn't wrong. What I meant was those who didn't have a choice should deserve a second chance." She calmly said while getting back into bed despite it still being the late morning.

Ron stayed silent for a while before speaking quietly, "I promised mum I'd be at the Burrow by lunch. You can come over later if you'd like."

She could hear him stop at the doorframe of her bedroom. "Y...you don't... have feelings for him, do you?"

Hermione froze at the confrontation, "Of course not." She felt a pit in her stomach form.

Hermione felt overwhelmed. Ron's been back for only a day and she already feels as though they're not who they once were together. When it's going good, it's great. The second it goes bad, everything turns horrible. It reminded her she'd always felt this way, even in their youth. They were best friends, so they confided in each other like best friends, which is an amazing relationship to have. But they also fought like best friends as well, and Hermione didn't see if those fights can be outweighed by the great moments they did share anymore.

She began to cry. Feelings of frustration, anger, worry, and utter sadness leaked out of her. Mental  exhaustion consumed her, and before she knew it she was having a day-long nap, just as Taura had on Tuesday.

•••

"Hermione." A mesmerizing voice rang through her ears as she faded in and out of sleep.

"Hermione, wake up. Let's make dinner."

The voice sounded like silk and soft piano music to her ears. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw a familiar platinum blonde. She stretched and smiled. "What are you going to make me?" She said groggily.

"Correction, Granger, I said let's make dinner, as in let us make dinner. Which insinuates that we both would be making it." He sat beside her and leaned over her with a cocky smirk as she lied comfortably in bed.

She giggled, "As in I'll be making it all while you put together a simple salad."

"Precisely. Come on, love. It's time to get up." He kissed her forehead. She memorized how her lips felt, soft and gentle. Warm.

"Help me." She put her hands around his neck and she rolled her head back into her pillow.

Help me.

HELP ME.

HERMIONE HELP ME.

Malfoy was screaming at her, he transformed into a extremely unhealthy, disheveled, starving ghost. He was sobbing, crying for help. They were in a dark room.

I can't take this anymore, Hermione. I need to go. I need to go.

"No, NO! Malfoy, stay! DON'T GO!" She yelled back. He couldn't hear her.

He began to fade away into the darkness.

I'm sorry.

"NO—"

Hermione sat up from her pool of sweat she was laying in, her heart beating a thousand beats per minute. She couldn't breathe. Her room was dark, where was Malfoy? Was he okay? She felt uncoordinated and confused about her surroundings. She instantly grabbed her wand and cast a Lumos Maxima charm.

Her bedroom. She was in her bedroom. Malfoy wasn't there, he was still at St. Mungo's. He's okay; safe and recovering, she reassured herself.

She went into her bathroom and wet her face. What was that dream? Or nightmare. Whatever it was. Malfoy kissed her forehead. Well, not really. But it felt real.

She got up from bed and realized it was mid afternoon. Her TV program should be airing soon, so she made her way down to her living room. She groggily made her way over to her kitchen and nearly tripped over something as she was wiping her eyes. The box of letters.

She'd nearly forgotten about them since she started working with Malfoy. Surely these would get everything off of her mind.

Crouching over it, she peered inside. Blaise Zabini, the bloke hadn't even attempted to talk to her since he'd been working at the Ministry. Perhaps he was shy and embarrassed, but Hermione would never know. She decided to drag the box over to her couch and laid them all in chronological order as she had them before, by month and year.

Maybe she should only read one from each year or one every few months to figure it out once and for all. She grew impatient with the mystery behind the writer.

What was the last one opened? March, 1997. She searched for one in June.

June 1997,
To Her

Everything that I've gone through has led up to this very moment. The pressure of this is too overwhelming. I feel like I've been suffocating since the task was given.

Mum will die if I don't do it. My father as well. I'm only a boy, for Merlin's sake. I've been forced to mature more quickly than my peers, I've lost my childhood to this. That's all I can think of now. How differently my childhood would have been if I was born into a different family, with a different father.

Nothing has else worked and it's come down to this. The astronomy tower, the vanishing cabinet, and the end of everything I've grown to love and cherish. It'll all be gone in a split second and it's beyond my control.

It's almost like in quidditch, I suppose. Ten seconds left in a game and I see Potter's an inch away from catching the golden snitch, which is the most undesired outcome. There's nothing else I can do, despite having tried to create strategies and game plays for the beaters and the chasers to score more goals.

I've tried everything. The undesired outcome is what must happen. I will try. But how could I ever go through with it? Hogwarts has been my home as much as it has been everyone else's. I have to try, for mum.

I feel like all I've done is disappoint you. Despite never talking to you in a polite way. I can't seem to stop apologizing to you, even though I'm aware you'd never forgive me. Please go somewhere safe after all is done, I beg of you.

Sincerely,

No, it can't be.

The slant to the words, the loops of the letters. His father's alive, his mum's in danger. The task he'd been given at the end of June, 1997.

She quickly opened a random one from the year 1998.

January 1998
To Her

I walked among the school as my peers look at me in disgust. As they should. As they get tortured and beaten by Death Eaters who've taken over the school and our studies, I remain untouched though often mocked and bullied by both sides.

My failure to complete the task had brought my family dishonour and the Dark Lord was utterly disappointed. While he gives me small tasks in attempt to gain his trust and praise back, I can't seem to do anything right. I'm forced to punish my fellow classmates and even my bloody professors whom I've idolized since I was 11.

I hate myself. I hate what's become of this school and the Wizarding World. It's my fault. Seems selfish of me, to hate myself and hate my life when I'm barely being as affected as my classmates and professors are. I chose this, I suppose. I don't deserve anything better.

Now I must do what I can to survive, to ensure mum stays alive as well. At this point, I do not see my father as I once did as a young boy. He's broken beyond repair, his mind is burnt from the countless of Cruciatus Curses and other hexes the Dark Lord had given him in retribution for my failure.

I'm unaware of where you are, or what you're doing. I hope you're safe and well, to say the least. No one is really safe anymore nor are they well. I hope you can find joy in little things. I know you and your brain will end this. Keep going, Hermione, whatever it is you, Potter, and Weasley are up to. Don't give up and please, don't come back.

Sincerely,

Hermione's heart was beating loudly and quickly once again. She felt hot and sweaty, unable to think clearly anymore.

She opened another.

April 1998
To Her,

I can't bring myself to write anymore. All I see is your blood trickling down your arm, and your body motionless as you lay in the middle of my drawing room. I should've done something, I should've hexed that fucking bitch, I should have gave my life for yours. I would have gladly done so. I don't know why I didn't and I can't apologize enough. It's all my fault.

I gave up my wand to Potter, it'll never be enough to make up for everything, but I know you'll use it well. Keep going, Hermione.

Sincerely,

She opened the very last one, needing to read the end of these. Needing to be absolutely sure she'd seen this penmanship else where.

May 1998
To Her,

He'd finally been defeated and I feel as though I can finally breathe. The light at the end of the tunnel shown bright, and all the darkness that coursed through my veins disintegrated and flew away with the wind. I feel like I've been a piece in a Wizard's Chess game; still, unable to choose my own moves, and facing the consequences of the choices of others. But today, I am a person.

Freedom, however, is not given. How would muggles say that? It's not in the cards. We won't be free to roam about the Wizarding World as we once were, but I wouldn't call that freedom either. My mother and I were never really free, we'd both been pawns. But now, not having to answer to the Dark Lord, or my father, I consider that enough freedom.

Mum and I are currently confined to the Malfoy Manor as we go through our trial. I am to pack some belongings and we'll be sent either to Azkaban or else where to carry out our sentences.  Though, I deserve Azkaban more than anything, I was as involved as my father was.

Despite what my sentencing will be, none of this would have happened if it weren't for you, Potter, and Weasley. You all saved the Wizarding World and so many lives, including mine. Thank you.

I'm unsure if I can ever really be accepted by anyone anymore. The things I've done to people, the tasks I carried out for the Dark Lord. No one will see me as anything but a Death Eater. I've accepted it, I suppose. I don't think I'd forgive me either.

You get to live your life without fear and thrive in the world you saved. I've never been happier for anyone as I am for you. You deserve this; a life without darkness, without torturing, without weak people like me who blindly follow evil. You deserve happiness, to carry out your passion, to have a family and children. Keep going, Hermione. The world is yours.

Sincerely,
Draco

She was crying by the end of it. It was him, all along. Every thought, every guess, was wrong. It was Malfoy who had written to her for all those years. Sharing details of his personal life, expressing his feelings of fear or admiration. It all came from her school-nemesis and colleague.

She didn't know how to feel, what to think. Malfoy liked her, and she had no idea. He watched her every single day and she never noticed. He noticed her laugh and the way she carried herself, and even admired her for it. She felt seen, heard, appreciated.

She wanted to see him, needed to. Quickly walking over to her dresser, she wrote a letter to Harry.

Harry,

Something came up and I was wondering if Malfoy is allowed any visitors. Please get back to me as soon as you can.

Yours,
Hermione