Safe

Chapter 9: Approaching

The "final confrontation" was coming. Hermione knew it. It was Friday, and a darker atmosphere loomed over her and Draco. Thursday was a strained day. She and Draco hardly spoke, and she knew that Draco felt the change in mood. Draco seemed awfully protective yesterday, too. There were marches sounding right outside the door to the Room, and he pushed her behind him, holding his wand out. And later that day, she found out why. He broke down and told her about the dream he had Wednesday night. The one in which she died. He seemed to conceal some other part of the dream, but Hermione didn't press him. The whole thing wasn't her business.

She had comforted him, telling him they were going to survive. Both of them. Draco did not seem very reassured about that, and, surprising as it was, Hermione couldn't think of anything to say. It's hard to reverse someone's mind when their entire life was filled with mentions of the Dark Arts. Hermione knew, no matter how hard she tried, that she couldn't pry Draco from the Dark Arts all the way. But she could sure the hell try.

Late Thursday night, Hermione had seen Draco sitting up, staring intently at his Dark Mark. She did not bother him, but she did notice that he shot a glance over at her bed. He did not know that she was awake, and whatever he was thinking about most likely concerned her and the Mark. Hermione did not question why. It wasn't worth her thoughts, anyway; Draco Malfoy was too complicated.

Friday morning approached.

As they ate breakfast in complete silence, Hermione thought about the war. The people who died, the people who turned to the wrong side, the people who fled. Hermione was desperate to run at that point. Not with Harry and Ron to hunt the remaining Horcruxes, but to actually run. She hated admitting it, but Hermione was frightened. As a Gryffindor, she was supposed to be brave, wasn't she? Screw Gryffindor morals. She was human, and humans could be scared.

As she cleaned their plates from breakfast, Draco remained at the table, playing with his hands distractedly. Hermione turned around when she finished, and leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. She watched Draco fumble with his fingers and study them. She felt sympathy; Draco was starting to crumble from the inside out. He tried to stay strong, she knew, for her, and he was also the weak boy who fought against his family's ideals for the first time.

"Are you scared?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced up at her as though he hadn't noticed her before. His face relaxed quickly. "No," Draco said simply. He saw the non believing look on her face, and rephrased. "A little. You?"

Hermione sighed. "I shouldn't be, but I am. I don't want to leave this room, actually." She added the last part quietly to herself, unsure if Draco heard her. Turns out, he did.

"What would you do if your friends died in war?"

She was startled by the question, she had to admit to herself. That was a strange thing to ask, especially coming from Draco Malfoy, who never used to care for another person's opinion. He really has changed. "I'd most likely be dead if Harry lost the war, Draco. I'm a muggle-born, remember?" Draco nodded, knowing what she was referring to, and she continued. "If Ron died, I suppose I'd want to avenge him." He seemed quite surprised by the answer. "If Ginny died, I'd have to comfort Harry until he grew old without her."

Draco didn't skip a beat. "What about me?"

Hermione's voice caught in her throat. She was surprised when he asked about her friends, but now he wanted to know how she would think if he died? He planned to fight in the final confrontation, then? How would she defend herself if Draco ran out to fight? Would she ever see him again? Hermione bit her lip at the thought of never seeing Draco again. And her promise to herself; she had to save his life, like he saved hers. How could she do that if she stayed hidden away like a coward?