If Only in My Dreams (Dramione)

Chapter 9: The Library

Hermione blinked for a few moments as Draco's words sunk in.

Was he right? Was she really prejudiced against him?

Maybe. But she reminded herself that she had every reason to be. His actions spoke for themselves, didn't they? He had been nothing but horrible to her their entire lives. Why would she not be prejudiced against him?

She pondered how he had spoken of his own prejudices as if they were in the past. Was that true? Had Malfoy really changed his way of thinking?

She shook her head. It didn't seem possible. After all, he had still tricked her and brought her here against her will. He had threatened her in order to get Harry to comply with his wishes.

However, Hermione had to admit that, although Draco hadn't exactly been kind to her, he hadn't flung one slur about her being Muggle-born the entire time she had been with him. He had also seemed to have gone to some trouble to make sure she was comfortable in the house.

But what did that mean? It certainly didn't mean he was a good person. Just because he hadn't called her a Mudblood didn't mean that he still didn't think it. After all, he had still mocked her and, at times, been cruel.

She absentmindedly walked to the kitchen table and cleared their plates. Neither of them had eaten much.

Then her thoughts went back to the previous evening and how Draco had comforted her after her nightmare. She could have sworn she had seen genuine concern in his eyes as he had held her close. He had almost seemed like a different person then, not at all like the Draco Malfoy she knew. Kind, gentle, and caring.

Hermione's mind pondered all these things as she cleaned up the kitchen. At home, she often did her best thinking when she was cleaning. However, after a while, she still could make no sense of her thoughts.

She filled the sink with hot water and soap to clean the dishes and wished she had some music to drown out the loudness in her brain.

Out of nowhere, a radio appeared on the counter. Intrigued, she flipped it on and began hearing Muggle music she remembered from her childhood. It reminded her of cooking with her mother when she was young and made her smile.

And so, Hermione gave herself permission to not think for a while and instead sang along softly with the music.

***

Draco strode angrily into the library and stopped to rest both his hands on his desk, breathing hard. He could feel fury burning in his throat.

How dare she speak to him like that? Who did she think she was?

She thought she knew everything. Everything about him—who he was, what he believed, what he cared about.

He wanted to go back in there and yell at her. Shake her until she listened to him.

Tell her that he was a dead man walking, wanted by both sides. That Potter was his last hope. That he knew she wouldn't believe him if he asked her for help, so he had resorted to bringing her here by force. That he didn't want to hurt her. That he was sorry he had ever hurt her. That he wanted to be a better person but didn't know how.

But he knew it wouldn't change a thing. He could tell her all that and more, and she wouldn't believe a word of it.

Draco let out a strangled cry and swept the books off the desk, so they fell to the floor with a loud thud.

He closed his eyes, trying to slow his ragged breathing. After a few moments, he hung his head in resignation.

He was in too deep now and had to finish what he started.