The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 30: Guilt, Grief and Forgiveness

The lights from the midway cast the room in an orange glow as they rested in each other's arms, his head on her stomach, staring out the window. She ran her fingers through his damp hair and over the tattoos on his back, enjoying the silence of the room. They'd missed dinner. Draco eventually rolled onto his side, moving to pull her into his arms.

"Worn out?" He asked, kissing the crown of her head.

"For now," she said. "But I like laying here with you. Just being quiet with you." She paused, picking her words with care. "I never get to stay with you at...home."

He nodded, his gaze drifting somewhere over her shoulder, giving no response.

"Shall we draw a bath?"

They soaked in the clawfoot tub together, washing each others limbs and backs, Draco massaging a spicy, musky soap into her skin and a bright, minty smelling shampoo into her hair. She soaked in the warm, bubbly water after he'd gotten out and he took the opportunity to order room service, slipping into some satin pajama bottoms for their night in.

Sleepy and sated, Hermione wandered back into the suite wrapped in a towel and he smiled, handing her another white box with silver ribbon.

"Draco...this is getting silly," she said, but he could see that she was giggling and eagerly tearing at the box.

It was a warm pair of pajamas, trousers and top, buttery soft, grey jersey, modest and comfortable; nothing at all like the revealing outfits she wore at the mansion. At the bottom of the box was a pair of thick, white wool socks that made her laugh out loud.

"You are the world to me, witch," he said. "But your feet are like ice."

Hermione laughed and changed into the cozy outfit, sitting down with him to eat.

"What did you love about school?" He asked, pushing the food around on his plate after he'd finished eating. "I don't mean the people, your friends...or the fact that you're an insufferable swot who loves learning, but Hogwarts itself. What was it that had such a hold on you?"

She looked up expecting to see a sarcastic sneer on his face, poised to tear her down for her love of an antiquated system. Instead he was focused, eager...searching her face for an answer. He actually wanted to know.

"As a muggleborn, I felt out of place the minute I set foot on the castle grounds," she said, sipping her wine. "But being assigned a house...a team, a group of people who would work together for some sort of success, it helped me to feel like I belonged."

He nodded, finishing his wine. It would be hard for almost anyone to believe but he understood her loneliness at school even though his was different. All his life he was raised to believe that he was uniquely wonderful, a towheaded prince among men. And as such his father had warned him to trust no one; that everyone around him would only want to be close to him for his name, his fortune, his power in the wizarding community. A kind word was not to be trusted.

His own father found it impossible to fathom that anyone would want to be Draco's friend.

It was Crabbe who'd taught him otherwise. Goofy Crabbe, who followed him around like a puppy dog doing whatever ridiculous, humiliating thing a twelve year old could devise; he was the one who truly liked Draco and made him feel needed, appreciated. He sat up with Draco when he was sick with the flu one winter, making him tea and reading comic books. He was so...simple. He didn't care about money or power, but he knew a lot about being lonely and excluded and he didn't wish it on anyone...so he befriended Malfoy immediately. Draco was still haunted by his death. Had it not been for Crabbe's loyalty he might still be alive.