Disclaimer: Don't own anything. All rights to their rightful owners before the street lamps go on! Ha ha….
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Wizard and Muggle children and teens alike suffer from the same problems, even if they believe that their better half doesn't. Sometimes it takes a long time just to see it. The statistics fall on them both alike.
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Hermione didn't like storms, especially when they involved thunder. But to have the beautiful season of summer and its fantastic weather there had to be something balance it out and keep it just that.
But storms and night were not a good combination. And Mrs. Lakeyear's, an old woman in the neighbor whom she walked her dog; it was that time and he had to be walked. Even with a storm starting up she was out there. It made the ordeal much more difficult than usual, but she sustained. She returned the dog to the old woman, collected her due for the week and hurried on her way home with her windblown hood flowing behind her.
Under sidewalk grown trees on her way she stepped on something that rolled under her foot and made her stumble. She caught her footing and picked up the stick and realized that it wasn't a stick at all, but a wand. A nice one. She pocketed it and ran home, only to stop in her tracks and see that her backdoor window glass was broken and the door was ajar.
She took out her own wand. It would be self defense, no matter what anyone said. If someone poached on her home she thought that would give her privilege to sustain them until the right authority came to apprehend them.
She crept in and saw that the kitchen light was on as well as the ceiling fan. Someone moved toward the cabinets and though her wand was out and she could attack she froze.
"Malfoy!" she growled, "don't move!"
"I'm unarmed Granger." His tone was mutual and low.
The wand she found on the ground…
She walked in, careful of the scattered glass. She still held her wand up and ready. She was ready for anything. And with knowledge of him from years of schooling….
He was bleeding from wounds on his face, his arm and the wounds under tatters of a ruined shirt.
A whole roll of paper towels, bloody and wet filled the whole sink.
"What is going on?" she demanded. "How do you know where I live?"
He didn't answer. She went over, wand to his head and saw that he was trying to remove glass from his knuckles with dirty finger nails and it wasn't working.
"Lower your wand," he growled managing to pull a shard out and running the wound under the tap.
The water was going to overspill so she grabbed the garbage and emptied all the dirty paper towels so the water was able to go down again.
She said nothing about his blood, like he would say to hers.
"I will help you if you promise not to do anything."
He cast very narrow eyes in her direction- nothing came out of his mouth.
"Whether you want to admit it or not you need my help." She liked that she had the control. But scared because she didn't know what to expect, or even what happened.
"Boast now Granger!" he barked, "but you won't be." He pulled something out and hissed in pain. Fast water was tainted pink.
"You can't see with the water!" she snapped. She turned off the water and put his arm on the counter. "I have tweezers. Be right back." She went upstairs and saw Chrookshanks on her bed. He laid sprawled out.
Attack cat, huh?" she thought.
She took the tweezers and the first aid kit back downstairs and saw him staring the front side of the fridge-a picture of her from France where she stood in front of the Eiffel Tower.
He looked at her.
"Come sit down, don't know why." She huffed.
He took a seat with her at the table and she picked the shards out of his knuckles finding clearly the reason to who broke the door.
She cleaned it with cleaner and wrapped it with bandages. She thought she did a good job.
He looked at the bandage with unblinking eyes. She knew he wouldn't admit to a job well done from anyone.
"So talk!" she blazed eyes on him, strong eyes that held the words to restrain him if she had too. She had a wand and he did not, even if the underage limit was in place.
He smirked. "You're so poor."
She scoffed rising to her face. "I'm going to call the cops."
"And tell them what?" he laughed.
"Some psycho broke into my home and is still here." She one-upped him.
"You're lucky I'm here."
"No. you have no wand." She smirked, grip back on hers.
His demeanor dropped some, but remained strong. She saw that pain was the reason for it and it was slowly veining on his face. He was trying to hide it, but wasn't winning.
"What's going on?" she questioned her tone going down just a little. She felt the slow shivers of fear from something she couldn't explain. Besides the door nothing else was out of place. Lose money left on the counter was still there.
"I killed a man."
She stopped. Literally. She couldn't see, or breathe. She couldn't focus until she shook herself straight. Her wand was in his face this time and not at his head. Though her hand shook she still held it out.
"You're lying!" she screamed; she demanded.
"No." His forehead dived onto his arm. "I have a huge headache, lower your wand. I didn't even tell you the best part."
"There is no best part. You're a maniac!" she shrilled. "Sit up!"
"Granger, I listened to you already. I have a huge headache. I need to sleep."
"You die in my kitchen and I'll…." She didn't know what she'd do.
"I'm not. Where's the guestroom?"
"None." She snapped appalled. "I'm not allowing you to stay here. You need to leave. Whatever crazy thing you've done, don't bring it here."
He sat up and leaned back. "The locks on the two front windows are unlocked. The window to your room is opened semi. You have your stupid cat and a dark spell book under your bed. I didn't know this until I heard it from someone else.
"Who?" she demanded.
"Dead man now. You are the only one who knows until tomorrow." He stood up weakly holding his stomach. "In the morning write our favorite Professor and tell him where I am. I'm sleeping on your couch. Don't hex me, otherwise you won't find out what happened." He walked into the living room and from the kitchen she saw him lay on the couch. That was it. He was tired and hurt sleeping somewhere where he never was before. He just lay on the couch and slept.
Or died. She checked, and was sure he was sleeping. A little enlightened she cleaned up the kitchen as best as she could. She scrubbed the counters and table and made sure to lock the door, even with the hole in the glass. She locked every single window in the house and went downstairs into the living room and sat on the small couch.
He lay on the long couch on his stomach asleep; his cheek pressed into the cushion. His bad hand hung off the couch.
She got up and draped the couch blanket on him and then sat back down. The storm hadn't bothered her since coming home, but not that the thud of her heart had calmed down she could hear the howl and heavy rain.
But she couldn't forget the Slytherin on the couch who slept as if his world was at ease and spinning on its axel. He claimed he killed a man but the way he slept, it felt like there was nothing wrong.
And breaking in? And even knowing her address? And just all the 'ands'.
Plus, he wanted her to contact Professor Snape. She knew he wasn't the 'cleanest' person, but could he have possibly staged this? And if so what was the reason behind it all?
All the details kept her; besides the person on the couch who didn't wake once. Even with the thunder and lightning and heavy rain hitting the windows he slept quietly.
At some point she turned on the television and dozed, but was up ten minutes to six. She watched him. He still slept only now he was curled into the couch with the blanket wrapped tightly around himself.
She wrote the letter, not identifying herself by name, but by location and his presence. By location alone she'd guess she knew who it was, or have a general idea if he did not know already.
She sent the letter with her parent's owl and unlocked the backdoor for him to come through. She had neighbors; nosy neighbors at that.
She was afraid of Professor Snape too, but if Malfoy needed him…. After all she knew that he was his Godfather.
She went back into the living room and sat down for a few minutes not sure what to do, or how long to wait.
He slowly stirred and sat up. He was disheveled and looked really tired. The "trying" he was doing the night before was gone. The pain was clear as day in both his features and in his eyes.
He cast his eyes to her, his bad hand rested in his lap.
"Its morning so talk now."
"I killed a man. He wanted to break in; planned the whole thing and even came in when you were not home."
"So why did you, or how do you come in?" she questioned, "How do you know where I live?"
"I listened."
"So why every-"
"I'll let you fill this in." He stood up and went into the kitchen. She followed.
"I'm just using the bathroom."
She bit the inside of her cheek. He went into the bathroom. She pulled herself onto the counter and pulled the bread to her. She took a piece out but could not eat it.
The backdoor opened and it had her on her feet with her wand out; a repetitiveness that thumped her heart in her chest. She saw that it was Professor Snape and she still couldn't drop her arm. It was like it was stuck.
Her owl flew in and the door closed.
"Lower your wand." He commanded and she was able to do so.
"Where is he?"
"The bathroom." And like a command he appeared.
"What have you said."
"Nothing." He gave her a look she could not read.
Snape said, "We were never here." And just like that they were gone and she was left with so much that was not answered. There were so many questions floating around her head.
She looked to the hole in the door. It had to be fixed before her parents came back. There'd be plenty of questioned asked that she could not answer, and even if she could she couldn't because she didn't know herself.
The most important question: was she safe?