Defending the Dark (Dramione)

Chapter 5: A Mother's Love

A/N: Just a moment to say thank you to all the readers, followers, voters, and commenters of this story! Without you guys, this story would just be bouncing around in my head or sitting on my computer. You all motivate me to keep writing, and I'm so grateful to be able to share my stories with you!

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Hermione was in her office filling out paperwork for the case she'd closed that morning. She rubbed her eyes wearily. As stressful as her morning in court had been, it was nothing compared to the afternoon she had.

What was she thinking? That she could actually represent Draco Malfoy? And defend him, no less? It was ridiculous.

She could just imagine Harry's and Ron's reactions.

Ron already hated the fact that Hermione now defended Death Eaters for a living. Usually when Hermione's work came up in a conversation, she and Ron had fierce fights. It was one of the reasons their romantic relationship fizzled out shortly after it began, and their friendship, although still intact, was a bit rocky.

Although Harry was usually more understanding about her job, Hermione knew even he would have a hard time swallowing the thought of her defending their old enemy.

Sure, she'd represented more despicable clients before—although she did think Malfoy was pretty despicable—but that wasn't the problem.

The problem was that she and Draco Malfoy couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other for more than thirty seconds.

He hates me just as much as I hate him.

The venom of her thought surprised her a little. Did she really hate him? For many years, she'd never allowed herself to. But now?

She recalled their last encounter at school. It had been several hours before Dumbledore was killed. Hermione was feverishly searching through old copies of The Daily Prophet in the Hogwarts library, looking for any snippets of information she could find to solve who the "Prince" was in Harry's Potions book that had caused so much trouble.

The spot where she was working was highly secluded—not many students had reason to be looking through decades-old copies of the Prophet. She returned another stack to its rightful spot, sighing because they had given her no leads.

She moved into the next aisle but stopped and gasped loudly upon seeing a lone figure sitting on the ground against the wall, head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees.

Immediately, the boy's head shot up, his bloodshot gaze meeting her own.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, recognizing his pale face and blond head even in the shadows. "You scared me."

"Good," he jeered. "I should."

Ignoring his usual bad manners, she carefully analyzed his face. His cheeks were sallow, and his eyes looked haunted and tired with dark smudges beneath them.

"Are you all right?" she asked carefully. Although he'd only recently been released from the hospital ward after his duel with Harry, she had a feeling that wasn't the reason he looked so terrible.

Draco swore loudly and glared at her, rising to his feet. "I'm not one of your pathetic sob cases, Granger! Can't you ever mind your own business?!"

"It's just . . ." She swallowed, then thought better of pressing him about what was troubling him. "I'm glad you're okay after what happened with Harry. He shouldn't have—"

"Please! As if you care . . ." His voice was laced with bitterness. "You hate me."

"I don't hate you, Malfoy."