The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 33: Sky Full of Stars

Draco felt like a carefree child as they made their way down to the kitchens, giggling and padding in sock feet through the dark, half built hallways. They turned the corner at the base of the spiral staircase and Hermione came face to face with a statue of a Thestral that Draco had commissioned. She screamed in surprise and stumbled backwards into his arms, the two of them nearly collapsing in laughter, holding each other until they caught their breath.

When he was a child he'd gotten a terrible case of the Shatter Lung Flu. It had kept him in bed for nearly two weeks, unable to do anything but sleep. Sleep and cough and stare at the ceiling, wondering what sort of universe would put a nine year old through such agony. Every chest wracking fit felt like his body were being run through with swords. On the rare occasions when he could snatch a moment or two of rest in the darkest hours of night he was inevitably woken, soaked in sweat, calling for his mother even though he knew it was weak, babyish, something his father certainly wouldn't approve of. Alone, quarantined in his room he was forced to open Christmas gifts while confined to his bed, unable to join the annual Boxing Day party down on the first floor. Not only was he in pain, not only was he weak: he was lonely. He never imagined he could be so lonely, was barely old enough to understand the meaning of the word. Then, on the eleventh day the healer came to visit, running her wand over his tiny, frail body.

"You'll be feeling better soon, perhaps even by tomorrow," she'd said, nodding with confidence and giving him a chocolate frog for his exemplary behavior.

He'd woken up the next morning, actually sore from having slept so deeply for so long, his body not even moving as it repaired itself. As long as he lived Draco would never forget the euphoria of that relief, the weight that was lifted from his soul, the joy that filled him at knowing he was getting better, knowing that soon he would be whole again. The worst was over. Everything would be better.

And now, as Hermione held tight to his hand, whispering excitedly about ideas for extracurricular clubs and second year study groups, he could feel it again. He could feel that he was no longer a Death Eater, a shamed pureblood. He was no longer a pimp, a bully, the physical manifestation of disgraced house Slytherin. He was no longer the enemy. Now, in this hallway, he was loved, and even more shocking, he completely, whole heartedly loved her back, and it was the greatest feeling in the world.

"Have you given any thought to what you might like to teach?" He asked as they both went through the sparsely stocked cupboards and iceboxes looking for leftovers from the meal they'd missed.

"Oh," she said, picking a roasted potato out of a bowl. "I hadn't. I mean, I...Draco I'm more of a research...I just...am I even qualified to teach? I've never..."

She looked up and he was staring at her in utter disbelief, one eyebrow raised nearly to his hairline.

"Qualified to teach? Hermione...is this a joke? Have you forgotten your unchallenged title?"

"What?" Her cheeks were bright red with embarrassed humility. "What title?"

"The brightest witch of your fucking age, Granger. I don't care what official scrolls or tests or qualifications you have. If there's anyone in the world more suited to teach nervous, homesick, first year wizards about the history of magic I'm not sure who they would be."

"I...I just didn't think you would..."

"What?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, pinning her with his gaze as he leant against the counter. "Let you live in the place I built for you? The school you inspired? Did you think I would give you one last slap on the ass and leave you behind, witch?"

It sounded ridiculous when he put it that way.

"Of course not I just..." she shrugged lifted her wand, summoning a small tub of chocolate ice cream, the air from the icebox soothing the heat on her face.