Author's Note: This is a prequel to my one-shot Devotional. It is going to be part of a series. You can read this before Devotional, but if you have read it already, don't worry. They are within the same storyline, but I want to keep them separate.
Oh, and just so you know this is only the FIRST of TWO prequels for this series. Do not be fooled, this IS the true beginning of it all. But the second part was just screaming to be written.
This is much longer than Devotional, and was written over several different nights, with several different music play lists setting the tone for each one. I think it flows rather nicely, though the rhythm does change after each quote. Enjoy!
Only Legends
"But friendship is precious,
not only in the shade,
but in the sunshine of life,
and thanks to a benevolent arrangement,
the greater part of life is sunshine."
-Thomas Jefferson
Most people agree: friendship is, in fact, life's greatest gift. If you have friends, there really is nothing more to want out of life. Who else can you share all of your thoughts with? Who else would be there to protect you, regardless of the cost? If you could find a friend who, in mere seconds, would give their life for your own, isn't it worth the effort? Wouldn't you, in turn, kill for that person?
Draco never really found a need to have friends.
Walking down the street one day, well past the war with the Dark Lord, Draco Malfoy happened to pass a man dressed only in worn layers of clothing, his hair matted, face and all visible skin covered in dirt. The hobo grabbed Draco by the collar of his shirt, and with his liquor breath, announced: "If I had friends, I would not be where I am today."
Draco pushed the man away, noting that his hands had gotten quite dirty even though he barely touched the man's coat. His faced became distorted with rage. "How dare you?"
"Everyone needs friends," the man started crying, falling to his knees. Before the deranged man could look up, Draco Malfoy was gone.
I must go on standing,
You can't break that which isn't yours,
I must go on standing,
I'm on my own,
It's not my choice.
-Regina Spektor, "Apres Moi"
As long as I've known the bumps and creaks of this house,
It's started making the type of sounds that only come from people's mouths,
Can't tell me it's still settling, built on and Indian burial ground, killing everything.
-Sage Francis, "Crumble"
Draco heard the distinctive creak of the stairs and knew it was time to get out of bed. The house-elves tried very hard to remain silent, but he was glad this morning they hadn't. It had been almost a year. Things had changed so rapidly, but some still remained untouched in numerous ways.
He swung his feet over the bed. Shower. Dress. Eat. It had become far too familiar to the man whose parents had done nothing but spoil him. Hell, he didn't have to think anymore unless he really wanted to. Everything had become routine. Eat your food, Draco. Find a date, Draco. Things will get better for you, Draco, eventually.
Eventually.
He hated that word. It brought so much false hope. Even worse, his mother dared to suggest therapy, such a Muggle thing. Why bother? He would respond.
Surely she had not heard his screams at night, nor had she been successful in finding him a wife. He shuddered visibly at the thought of being married to one of the woman he had been introduced to over the past few months.
Looking in the mirror, he could not help but see the stain on his left forearm and rubbed his head. Things needed to change. Draco needed a change.
Making his way out of the bathroom door, he thought he heard a scream coming from the mirror. Being stuck in his mind for so long had become far too dangerous.
He rolled the sleeves down on his shirt as he made his way through the gates which had kept him captive. A childhood of memories flooded his mind while he turned on the spot, only fleetingly seeing the household which he longed to be free from.
Today, he would take a step towards making that 'eventually' closer to his grasp.
It was nearing the end of the winter; Hermione could feel it straight down to her bones. Resigned to sweaters and mittens too long, she started planning her packing for the upcoming season. Though her flat was not grand, there were several closets, and one extra room begging to be cluttered.
"Hermione?" she heard a familiar voice speak and looked up from her musings. The people sitting around her, and the man standing at the edge of the table were all waiting expectantly.
She shook the ideas of fall from her head and put one hand to the bridge of her nose, rubbing it fervently. Hermione's face flushed an intense red. "I'm sorry, Harry," she replied honestly. "My mind is elsewhere today."
The Boy-Who-Lived nodded knowingly, and waved with his hand to the door. Silently, she gathered all her papers and removed herself from the meeting. The past few days had been hard. The trials, hearings, paperwork; the stress could just eat someone alive. It was the first time in her life that Hermione actually felt overwhelmed by the site of a book needing to be read. The hallway she walked down was nearly empty, so she took a moment to stop and lean against a wall, rubbing her head yet again and sighing.
"Nice to see that you are, in fact, human, Granger," she heard the familiar drawl of an obnoxious ferret speak. Why, oh why did he go unnoticed? She turned to look at him, just in time to see the all-knowing smirk which he was famous for. He sat against the wall, knees in the air, his arms draped over them.
Sighing once more, she opened her mouth to make some kind of witty retort, only to slide against the wall until she was sitting on the ground.
Draco furrowed his brow. This was definitely new. He didn't know what to say because never once, in almost eight years of knowing her, had he made her speechless.
They sat in an awkward silence for several moments before she regained her sanity. Or so it seemed at first. "Malfoy," she started, "I am not in the mood for you right now."
"I'm never in the mood for you, Granger," he replied. "It just seems that since that whole business with the Dark Lord being over we've been unable to keep away from each other." His tone turned mock-sweet. "I think it must be fate."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "Only if fate is looking for a swift kick in the arse."
"There's the Granger I know and love."
"Keep talking like that and it'll be you who will be receiving a swift kick in the arse."
Draco brought his hand to his heart, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Those words hurt my soul, Granger. When will you just admit your undying love for me? Think of the children!"
Her shoulders fell along with her smile. "When will you stop with this nonsense and leave me be, Malfoy? Can't you see I'm in distress right now? I think its time you take that ego of yours and skip along your merry way to dear Daddy's house."
This time, it really did hurt. Draco was not here merely to harass the Muggle-born; he was here to do the one thing he had been considering for weeks now.
"For your information," replied the blonde, anger filling his eyes in a way Hermione had not seen since their time at Hogwarts. "I am here to speak with the wonderful Scarhead. I need something to do and I figured he could help me find a job befitting of my skills."
Already, Hermione had sighed too much for one day, but released it anyway. "Malfoy, we have other things here at the Ministry that are more—"
"I'm not expecting payment—"
"I just don't think Harry will allow—"
"It's not as if I'm trying to infiltrate—"
"Why would you even suggest that?" she shouted, rubbing her temples to stave off the migraine waiting to emerge and make her rue waking up today. Hey, at least he had stopped talking.
"I know you, Granger," he answered. They both sat adjacent to each other, one on each wall, until now, when Draco found it in himself to rise and plop himself right beside her. "Your prejudice towards me is inevitable. Even though, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have the pleasure of sitting here rubbing your head to scare off a stress headache I'm sure is slowing eating its way to the surface."
"This is not the time," she growled between clenched teeth. "Nor the place to be discussing your one single act of heroism during the war."
"I think it was pretty damn heroic of me, saving a—"
Hermione shot him a look that could sink a battleship. His mouth closed accordingly.
Three weeks later, Harry, Ron, Hermione and, somehow, Draco Malfoy were each sitting on barstools, recalling their school-age rivalry. Almost two dozen shot glasses sat empty on the surface in front of them, in addition to the two beers in front of Hermione, the four that Harry had downed, the six that Ron had chugged far too quickly, and the ten that Draco had put away all by himself, without so much as a hiccup. It was almost closing time, but none of them were near ready to leave. Their laughs filling the empty room with a warmth Draco could not remember ever feeling in his life.
Probably just the alcohol, he thought to himself casually. Though he should have been far past drunk, he was only buzzed and fully able to take a couple more shots.
"Four shots of your finest whiskey," he said to the barman, who had been eying them with curiosity the whole night.
Without words he placed four more glasses in front of the four, filling them lower than he had all night. Hopefully, these would be the last.
"Jameson," Draco said as he lowered his head and drank the warm, delicious aroma before raising the glass to the trio beside him. Ron responded by dropping his head, out cold before his forehead smacked the wooden bar top. Harry gave Draco a look before pushing the glass forward, signaling the end of his binge for the night. Hermione, however, nodded her thanks before raising her glass to meet his, even though the clinking of glasses made her head spin.
"To a life well lived," he said before they both through back their heads and swallowed.
Ten minutes later, they were stumbling down an alley, Harry holding up Ron and Draco carrying Hermione, who was squirming, giggling, crying, and just plain drunk.
Her back arched and she hung upside down before pointing to a building only a couple meters away. "There," she shouted, grabbing her hair and running her fingers through it in a most ungraceful way. "Onward, trusty steed, we have nearly reached our desti-desti—destination!" she shouted with the only dignity left in her for the night.
As they ambled through the front door and made their way upstairs, the last shot finally kicked in and Draco found himself wavering on his feet. Thankfully, they reached the door of Hermione's flat. To everyone's surprise, she reached between her cleavage and retrieved her keys. Draco moved so the bushy-haired drunk could open the door, still hanging inverted from his arms.
Harry pushed the door open with his shoulder and led Ron to one of two couches. He fell on his stomach and was asleep before Draco had maneuvered himself and Hermione through the door, almost tripping over her blasted orange cat in the process.
"Which way is her bed?" he asked Harry, who gestured to the door to the right of them with one hand as he sunk onto the other couch.
Suddenly, the bookworm leaned up and whispered into Draco's ear. "I have to use the loo," she told him almost silently, as if it were some kind of secret. He rushed over to Harry and deposited Hermione onto his lap quickly.
"No," he stated simply. Harry lifted the girl and made his way to the bathroom.
Door on the left, closest to the exit, Draco thought to himself, stealing the spot Harry had just moved from. It would probably be useful information come morning, when they all would fight over the toilet.
Harry kicked the door closed and several minutes later emerged with Hermione in his arms once more, smiling.
"That was quick, Potter," remarked Draco. He just couldn't stop himself sometimes. "Seventeen years to kill one man, but only two minutes to deflower a woman."
For the millionth time that night, Hermione giggled. "Oh, Draco, don't be so crude," she slurred. Harry ignored the conversation and made his way to her bedroom. She kept her gaze on Draco even as Harry opened the door, peeking her head passed the raven-haired man's arm, only one eye open. "The last thing I would do is sleep with either of these two."
Morning came far too quickly, and all were regretting their late night festivities. Hermione was the first to wake and rush to the bathroom, awakening the other three with her heaving. A cascade effect took hold of them, and Draco found himself pushing Harry and Ron out of his way, only finding himself face down on the ground, both men sitting on top of him. Slowly, he breathed inward, then outward, trying to imprison the bile for only a few more moments. To his dismay, Crookshanks found this the perfect time to approach the three and brush against any part he could reach. He took his free arm and made the fluff-ball slide into the opposite wall.
After they all had deposited the contents of their stomachs into the porcelain bowl, they gathered on the couches and remained silent. A short time later, Harry looked down at his watched.
"Bloody hell," he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Ron, we have a meeting right now."
They both said their goodbyes quick before exiting the flat. The two remaining heard a familiar pop just as the entrance door slammed behind Harry and Ron.
"Last night was fun," said Draco conversely.
Hermione nodded. Though her eyes were tired and her stomach and head sore, all she wanted was to go outside. There would only be a few more days this beautiful that she could enjoy; it was the start of her vacation. Finally.
Though Hermione was not usually the person to ask for time away from work, this was a well needed rest. It had been hectic, even though the war was over. There were still so many unanswered questions. So many families needed closure, and it was her department's job to find a remedy for them.
The Department of Intermediary Support had been formed as a temporary clan dedicated to finding those who were still missing after the war. Hermione was put in charge, but the numbers of missing heavily outweighed the number of staff she had available.
She stifled a laugh as she recalled how Draco Malfoy had been added to her team. He could not start until after her vacation, but he had still spent every day at the Ministry since he was selected.
Harry, why? She pondered, remembering the pestering which was Draco's only help so far. It made her work much quicker than usually, just so she could get home and be alone.
This is not what she needed for her first day off. Not him, not anyone. The feel of sand beneath her toes was all she craved. The warmth of the sun needed to replace the lack thereof that England offered. Just thinking of the ocean waves crashing calmed her nerves a bit and silenced the ringing in her ears.
"I have things to do," she told the blonde, standing. "I would invite you to stay, but my things are already packed and I would like to leave as soon as possible."
She nodded to him and made her way to the kitchen. To her dismay, he followed.
"Not today," she begged, looking through the cabinets for any form of nourishment her stomach could handle. She settled on toast.
"It's my day off too," he stated, as if she didn't already know. "My job is driving you mad, so I feel it is my duty to lay off the insults and join you on your trip."
She dropped her toast. As always, it landed butter-side down. She groaned and waved her wand, making the inedible breakfast vanish from site. "Malfoy, not today," she repeated, stressing her words. "I need to be alone."
"If all you needed was some sexual release, just ask."
Hermione rolled her eyes, giving up on breakfast and pushing past Draco to get to her bedroom. She could hear him continuing with his remarks, but chose to ignore them while she gathered her bags before turning to face him. Draco leaned on the doorframe, hands hidden in his pockets, thumbs impatiently tapping.
"Where are you going?" he asked. She was about to kill him. Really. Her vacation was already a bunch of bullocks, thanks to him. After the previous three weeks, she was poorly holding back the urge to strangle his ferret neck.
"The beach," she responded simply, putting her bags down once more when she realized the bathing suit she had bought especially for this vacation was still buried in the closet. She threw open the door, letting several pieces of clothing fall to the floor along with three lone shoes. Crookshanks, upon hearing the door, was somehow by her side, sniffing the newly circulating air.
Draco watched in amusement from the doorway as Hermione threw garment after garment onto the ground behind herself. The cat watched as each one flew over his owner's head. A small pile had gathered by now, and Draco was nearly imploding from the laughter he was containing. "You are by far the vaguest, and, I should add, messiest, female I have ever met," he told her.
She responded by throwing one of her old Gryffindor robes at his face. It crumpled to the floor and Draco kicked it to her growing mound of clothes. He glanced around the room while she kept herself occupied, noting it as the only room she had painted. Lipstick red walls, black trim. The matching bedspread on her rather large bed had been left unmade, a half-full glass of water adorning the black nightstand.
The bed looked so comfy. He realized it had been several nights since he had lain in his own cozy and comforting bed.
"I've decided I will be your house-sitter and personally organize all this mess myself while you are away, resting your tired feet on the sand," said Draco, surprising Hermione and himself. She stood straight up, eyes wide as she clutched a plain brown scarf.
Twenty minutes later, and Hermione was fully ready to go. Of course, the time had past with the two bickering as she shoved her bathing suit into an already overstuffed bag before then proceeding to open a can of food for Crookshanks. Draco insisted he would take good care of everything.
"I don't want—"
"It would be my pleasure—"
"But you hate cats—"
"I never used the word 'hate', I just prefer larger, more useful animals."
"Crookshanks saved my life, thank you very much. I find that useful."
"I saved your life," he found himself saying. His tone was rather quieter and much less condescending. It sounded rather... slippery. Like a snake, Hermione thought, but somehow charming at the same time. Flirtatious. "Does that make me useful?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did it all turn into something about him? "This is not the time to discuss that," she responded coldly, brushing off his momentarily coy tongue.
He threw his arms out in a frustrated manner. She was the only woman capable of getting on his nerves to such an extent. "It will never be the right time, will it, Granger?"
"Not. Today." Those brown eyes burned so full of rage, illuminating the great spectrum of their beauty. And rage, of course, he reminded himself.
"I bet you still haven't told Potter or Weasley."
"What happened is between you and me."
"I killed for you!" he shouted, satisfied to finally say it aloud.
"And I had to kill because of you!"
That was it. He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed her by the wrists and refused to let go. She went stiff at his touch. "Don't think I've forgotten the things I've done to survive, Granger. For my family to survive," he spat, glaring. Her surname from his mouth stung like a spider bite. "I stopped to save you, because, Lord knows, if you had died, we would all have been royally fucked. Is it so much to ask for some appreciation?"
With those finally words he released her from his grasp and stepped backwards. The whole time, his eyes never left hers. The perfect contrast of colors fighting one another.
The door slammed suddenly, waking Hermione from her shocked state. Draco was gone.
Holes littered the walls of Draco's room. The hollows burned his eyes. The bigger ones were the latest addition to his décor. Lining the walls, unplanned, glowing with destruction, seething with his anger. If these walls could talk, they wouldn't shut the bloody hell up, that much was definite. His eyes roamed to the first, just to the right of his door. The doorframe was also cracked up the side from the same occasion.
But that had been years ago, and had only led to the dozens now streaking the walls. Some had blood on them. Others, clean, fist shaped gaps in what was once a beautifully painted dark green wall. Even the door itself had a few marks on it; smeared blood that would match Draco's knuckles like a fingerprint if anyone cared to look.
It was a surprise Mother had not seen this yet. Of course, she was far too busy rebuilding their stature in society. He winced at the thought of another blind date with a girl whose only concern was his fortune. Hell, even if it was just for his hair he would be satisfied. Alas, it was always the gold.
Cringing, he thought of the work week he had just endured. Granger had returned, well tanned and surprisingly happy. Well, with everything but Draco. The thought didn't bother him; she was his boss and old school rival. But he felt as though his words to her, though harsh, should have triggered something in that mind of hers. She was the brightest witch of their age, after all.
Their discussions had been professional, as was their demeanor towards each other. Nevertheless, she was trying her hardest to avoid eye contact while also evading any 'hello' or 'good morning' as they crossed paths in the halls. Draco had never tried this hard to get a woman's attention he wasn't attracted to. Hell, he had never tried this hard for a woman he was attracted to.
Thinking this to himself as he walked out onto a patio-type thing (even though they were several floors underground) and basked in the 'sunlight'. This was one of his favorite places. Always, he sat on a cornerstone bench facing away from the sun but still able to look at the scenery. It constantly changed, and many employees that had been there since well before the war commented on how nice it was to have good weather again.
He pondered for several minutes before standing to go back to his office. Well, less of an office, more of a converted custodial closet. Regardless, there was good lighting, and good location. Equal distance to the bathroom, and the patio, as well as being adjacent, one hallway width apart, from Granger's wonderful office. Though, he still had yet to find the cockiness and finesse to go in and annoy her.
He glanced at her closed door as he turned the knob on his own, opening it to find a well-crafted telegram emblazoned with the stamp that showed it was from none other than 'Hermione Granger, Head of the Department of Intermediary Support'. The origami swan lifted its head as Draco approached it before unfolding itself neatly. It read:
"Mr. Malfoy,
I am so sorry for my behavior the last time we spoke unofficially. I would like to show my utmost appreciation for your act of bravery during the war and buy you a drink or two on me. If you would like we can even have dinner. This is not a date, Draco Malfoy, so don't you dare go around saying it is. Honestly, I know you immediately thought you could make some inappropriate comments at the next meeting.
In regards to work, there will be a brief meeting at 4 'o clock in Harry's office. You are expected to be there.
Sincerely,
Hermione J. Granger,
Order of Merlin, First Class,
Chief Witch of the Wizengamot,
and Head of the Department of Intermediary Support"
The note shriveled into a smoldering pile of ashes before disappearing completely. Draco laughed and rolled his eyes. So akin to Granger. Oh, and the fact that she now had a title practically. To think, Draco Malfoy was out-titled by a Muggleborn!
He sat down behind his desk, the words of her letter still burning in his mind. A date with Granger?
No, not a date. She made it quite clear that it was not a date, but a 'show of appreciation'. Finally, she had come around to thanking him. Of course, it should have come much earlier in their... friendship. But, as he pondered this further, he came to realize that she had acted much braver during the war than he. Draco acted out of mere cowardice, while Hermione out of sacrifice.
Sighing, he threw his feet upon his desk and stared up at the ceiling. So much for 'having something to do' with his time.
Four o'clock arrived with nothing special happening. Ron, Hermione, and Draco all arrived at Harry's office at the same time, opening the door and filing in one by one. Draco saw the Minister for Magic and threw Potter a questioning glance before taking a seat next to the others.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was the first to speak, turning his eyes on Draco. "How have you been, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked politely, using Harry's desk as a chair, lacing his fingers together in his lap.
"I've been good, Minister," responded Draco with a nod. "It's nice to be doing something of worth. And yourself?"
The Minister, with a wave of his hand and a smile, dismissed the question. "We are not here to talk about me," said the man. His style had not changed much, still wearing his bright dress robes. Everyone loved to mention the fact that their new Minister had such an eccentric sense of style. "We have gathered here this afternoon to discuss you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco looked at Harry who was sitting behind his desk, face unreadable, then glanced towards Granger, who smiled and nodded before standing to retrieve a small, hand-bound booklet from within her briefcase. She handed it to the Minister and took to standing next to him. Draco's heart started beating rather hard beneath his chest.
He, too, stood, along with Harry and Ron. "What exactly..."
"Please stand, Mr. Malfoy," said Kingsley. Panic filled Draco's body, were they going to arrest him? That booklet surely held within it many charges against him. The deaths he caused and the lives he ruined. Regardless, he stood and faced the four of them, awaiting the accusations and the handcuffs. Awaiting his judgment. His nightmares had been filled with what Azkaban must be like, and now he would know.
"I, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, present you, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, with an Order of Merlin, First Class, for your efforts during and after the War against Lord Voldemort." He held out the booklet to Draco, whose mouth dropped open in astonishment as he held his hand out. "Within this booklet lays the account which Ms. Granger gave of your heroism, and information regarding your retirement plan that will remain in your name even if you choose to no longer remain a Ministry employee. I would just like to add that we all lost many things during the war, and I'm sorry to say that we were blind to realize that there was good on the other side. We all did what we had to in order to survive, to save our families, and you, Draco Malfoy, did what you could. Personally, I respect you greatly for what you have done."
It had not taken Hermione a great deal of time to realize that Malfoy did indeed deserve thanks. What did take a good amount of time was planning how to do so. First, she thought of inviting him out for drinks and voicing her appreciation to him. But that was not enough. For Merlin's sake, Draco Malfoy had saved her life!
The man deserved more than a few drinks and possibly dinner. Once she returned from the beach, from her vacation, it had finally dawned on her. Hermione had been sitting in her office, once again trying to avoid bumping into him. She was not sure what she could do or say to make up for how she had spoken to him before her departure. Yes, he had been cruel to her during school, but that was merely his age and prejudices at the time. And they were obviously old enough to be above that now, if the one drunken night was any sign. There would always be a tension between them, but maybe, just maybe, she could help put a damper on it.
When she first heard that Harry had appointed Malfoy to her department, she was livid. Harry and Ron both had backed away once her eyes filled with rage and she swore aloud (something she never did), threatening to hex and curse them with spells they had never heard of before. Harry told her that it was his only option, and he felt it would be good for Malfoy to see the extent of the war outside of Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts.
The first week had gone by so slowly that Hermione almost stormed out. Oh, how she wanted to wring his pale neck! He knew the exact words to say in order to put her on the edge of imploding. It took two more weeks, but she had gotten used to it. Their bickering had turned into a more playful banter, and he had not mentioned saving her during the war again until right before she left for her vacation the morning after Harry invited Malfoy to come have drinks with them.
Ron was the one most against it, of course, but had obliged to come along after Harry promised it was him just extending a hand to a person without friends. After hearing this, Ron's complaints subsided and both Hermione and Harry knew he was feeling very smug about their 'sympathy' outing.
In all truthfulness, Harry had seemingly, at least to Hermione's knowing, become friends with his previous rival. Harry had spent much time leading her department while she was away, and had come back to talk to Harry about what had happened.
After telling the whole story, Harry said he already knew, that Malfoy had told him when he came and asked for a job. He was also the one who helped Hermione appeal to the Minister about awarding Malfoy an Order of Merlin, First Class.
It had been hard recounting on paper that night, because it brought up memories she had tried so hard to forget. Upon further thought, that was probably why she had been so reluctant to actually accept that Draco Malfoy, of all people, had saved her life. With this realizing came another, that she was now in debt to him. It was a magical bond that would hold them together forever. If her chance ever came, she would be certain to save his life as well.
The night sky had been filled with screams and curses, light of all colors shooting across the lawn separating Hogwarts from the Forbidden Forest.
That had been the scene only a few minutes before. For now, they were safe. They had one hour before the battle would commence again, before Lord Voldemort himself joined the ranks of his followers to get to Harry. Everyone had set off in different directions to collect the casualties while Harry organized a plan. Everyone was exhausted, wounded in some way. All were mourning the loss of someone fallen.
As Hermione rounded the corner of a far wall, she found herself face to face with not just one, but three Death Eaters sneaking their way around the castle to gain entrance.
"I don't think Voldemort would be very happy to know you have not obeyed his orders to let us respect our fallen," she spoke, her voice full of both rage and fear as she held her wand at the ready.
The three laughed, their own wands raised as well. "I think he'll be rather fond of us when we bring back your body," spoke the man in the middle, whose name Hermione did not know. Her heart skipped a beat.
Before she could react, all three had begun to strike; just as quickly, she was knocked to the ground, blocked by someone heavy, their body blocking hers. Covering her head, she could barely see the three beams of green, but lifted her head as she heard the thuds signifying her attackers' falls.
Her rescuer stood and extended a hand to her. She looked up at the pale hand to find that she had been saved by none other than Draco Malfoy himself. "We don't have bloody time for this, Granger," he said quickly, grabbing her hand and lifting her off the ground.
Her mouth gaped open and then closed. He turned to leave, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Merlin, I would think a bright witch like you would know better than to wander around alone at a time like this."
Before she could speak, he was gone.
They agreed to meet at Hermione's flat. He's a half-hour early, she thought as the doorbell rang, glancing upward at the clock. She buzzed him in and left the door unlocked so he could enter while she finished getting ready. While dressing in her room, she heard the door open.
"Please do take your time getting ready," she heard him say through the door. "It would be most pleasant to be in public with someone who looks slightly acceptable."
"Don't even start the night like that, Malfoy," she shouted back, slipping the baby-doll style dark blue dress over her head. She straightened it out in her full-length mirror.
"Start the night like what?" he replied sarcastically. "You can't expect me to go on a date with you looking like you normally do."
She opened the door and strode out of the room, finding him lounging on her couch, feet upon her coffee table. "I told you, Malfoy, this is not a date," said Hermione as she opened the hallway closet, letting several pairs of shoes fall at her feet. She started sorting through them before continuing. "I'm showing you my thanks."
"Well, thank you for actually dressing nicely," said the blonde, amusedly. "Although, if it's not a date, why bother?"
After finding the right pair of matching sandals, she sat down beside him to put them on. "No, not those," he said, standing up and walking over to the closet. He bent down and quickly retrieved another pair of shoes. Heels. She hated those shoes with a passion.
"Blisters aren't my thing," she told him, continuing to buckle her rather comfy, and flat, sandals. Just as swiftly as he had found the shoes, he was beside her on the couch, grabbing her feet and flinging the offending sandals to the floor. She tried pulling away but found his grip too firm and just gave in.
"Simple Cushioning Charm, Granger," he said while flicking his wand with one hand and pushing the shoe on with the other, "And you'll feel like you're walking on air all night. Such a smart witch, but no common sense."
As he finished with her other foot, he had let his hand linger on her bare leg for a moment far too long. Realizing this blunder, he immediately removed his arms and she swung her feet to the floor.
"Where exactly did you suggest earlier?" she asked conversely, desperately staving off the blush lighting up her cheeks, while standing rather hastily. She barely felt the weight or awkwardness of the heels as she headed towards the door with Malfoy following.
"Just a nice little place in London called 'The Rose'," he responded as she took her coat from a hook close to the door. "Let me help you with that," he heard himself saying without first thinking.
Hermione gave him a questioning look before replying, "No, thank you," and put it on herself before he could even bother reaching for the light coat. Suddenly she was feeling quite weary of the night ahead. She had bought the dress on her vacation, with no intention of actually wearing it out at night. Especially with her escort being Draco Malfoy. Why she had chosen tonight to wear it was very beyond her. She had even taken the time to comb down her hair and put it up as nicely as she was able.
They exited her flat, and made their way out of the complex into the cool summery night air. "Wait, did you say 'The Rose'?" she asked with a pointed look. "I can't afford that place, it's far too expensi—"
"Didn't I mention that I'm paying?"
The two sat awkwardly in a corner booth of the dimly lit restaurant. The walls were painted rich shades of dark blue and violet. Her dress matched the whole room. There was a small votive candle lit on the table separating them.
"This place is far too... intimate for this occasion," said Hermione suddenly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
Draco smirked. Or was it a smile? "Well we are celebrating, aren't we?"
"Celebrating what?" she asked. No, it was a smirk.
"My Order of Merlin, of course," he said simply.
"Look, Malfoy," she started. "I mean, Draco," she corrected, closing her eyes as she spoke his first name. "I never really thought about what you did for me that night."
"Obviously," he drawled, crossing his arms and leaning back into his seat.
"It wasn't because of you, though," continued the brunette. Were it not for the dim-lighting, she was certain he would comment on her rosy cheeks. "I have been trying to hard to forget that night, so I had not really gone back to reflect upon it. That is, until you came back..."
"So glad I could remind you of such pleasant memories. Waiter!" A man clad in a black suit came over to them. "Can we have a bottle of your finest wine and two glasses?"
The man nodded before departing. "As I was saying," said Hermione, getting rather annoyed at his nonchalant manner. "When you came back, my mind was flooded with thoughts of that night, terrible memories of people falling all around me and I started having these horrible nightmares—"
"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"
Hermione couldn't help but look astonished. "How do you...?"
He merely shrugged. "Please, do continue," he said softly. "Though I may have such a calm demeanor about this, I do want to hear your story, however mind-numbing it may be."
She pursed her lips. "I knew this would be a mistake," she said, trying to keep her voice quiet. "You were just trying to toy with my head, making me feel guilty when Harry, Ron and me had saved your arse on numerous occasions. I did all that was in my power to get you rewarded for your bravery. How dare you insult me while I sit here and tell you about something I haven't even spoken about to Harry or Ron? What about me? The things I did, my family that I sacrificed for a world your family sought to destroy. I'm pouring my heart out to you, and the only things you can reply with are sarcastic comments and try to incite another row between us?"
"Granger," said Draco calmly, placing his hand gently upon hers. "I do not mean to insult, trust me. It's just the way I am. Do go on, please. And, for Merlin's sake, keep your voice down, the last thing I need is to have the rest of this place gawking at us. Once we have drunk our fill, shout all you want. Please wait until after our meal, though."
Hermione laughed at this, pulling her hand off the table. "You are ridiculous, Draco Malfoy. The only man I have ever met who can insult me then try to convince me that I'm causing a scene," she rolled her eyes before laughing again.
"You have a beautiful laugh," Draco heard himself say. What? He thought to himself. Was he attempting to compliment her? Really?
The wine hadn't even arrived yet. Something must really have been off in his mind.
First, he returned to London to find a job at the Ministry, specifically requesting a job in her department. He then befriended her, and Harry Potter (Ron Weasley, not so much), and had gotten completely and utterly wasted with them. Now, here he was eating dinner with a woman only a year ago he would never have given a second glance. Yes, something was absolutely wrong with this state of affairs.
Hermione was just as shocked as he by the previous comment, and responded by shutting her mouth. Thankfully, the waiter returned with two bottles and held them up. "Red or white?" he asked simply.
"Which one will get me drunk?" Hermione asked in return. Draco raised an eyebrow at this.
The waiter smiled and nodded, placing the one held in his right hand on the table. "The white one," he told them. "May I suggest the perfect entrée to go along with your wine?"
"No, I insist that I pay for these drinks," said Hermione, handing the bartender her gold. They had long left 'The Rose' and had retreated to a more familiar place, 'The Leaky Cauldron'.
Draco shrugged before standing and helping her put on her coat. They had spent the past few hours drinking and, surprisingly, laughing. He told stories of his childhood, mainly the many times he had injured his head. To Hermione, it explained a great deal.
As they exited the bar, which had been very far passed closing time, Draco unabashedly grabbed her hand within his own, interlacing their fingers. Be it in a drunken stupor or not, he felt the night had gone rather well once they had gotten past their earlier disagreement.
Why he was doing that exactly, though, he had no idea. They were both rather drunk, and both rather tired. Mainly, he told himself, he was making sure she did not stumble. Rather quickly they reached the front door of her apartment complex, releasing his hand as she searched her small purse for her keys.
"How much can that thing possibly hold?" he asked incredulously as she opened it up and peaked inside, still searching.
"It's charmed," she responded as-matter-of-factly. Finally, she retrieved her small set of keys. "Thank you for tonight," she said, looking up at him. "I enjoyed it far more than I would have guessed."
He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door, looking down at her with a coy smile. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" Was he flirting?
She laughed at this. "Like I said, this was not a date, Malfoy."
"Regardless," he said quietly. "I think that I deserve a kiss for putting up with you for the night."
Shaking her head, she turned to unlock the door. "Goodnight, Draco," she said as the door clicked open. Just as she was about to close the door, with one last fleeting glance at Draco, he stuck his foot out. Looking down at his foot first, then up at him, she suddenly scowled. "I mean it, goodnight."
Without much more thought, because Merlin knows he should have thought before acting on an impulse, Draco pushed open the door and pulled her to him, both hands on either side of her face. As their lips touched, he could not help but entertain the idea that maybe she would actually invite him in.
Her lips felt so soft upon his. One, two, three gentle kisses later he released his grip and looked down into the amber orbs he had gotten lost in several times that night.
"I..." she started breathlessly, bringing her hand to her lips, which had gone very pink. "Goodnight, Draco," she said quickly before pushing him backwards out the door and slamming it in his face.
Had he just kissed Hermione Granger? Really?
Truly, something must have been off in his brain recently.
The summer months passed by rather quickly, and autumn had fallen upon England. Neither Hermione nor Draco had mentioned their drunken night to anyone but each other. Of course, it had only come up on conversation other nights they drank together. Ron had suddenly found love in Lavender Brown once more, and Harry was off with Ginny yet again, which left the two of them to go to the bar with only each other on Friday nights.
Not that either minded the company of the other anymore. In fact, they had become disturbingly close over the months. Draco had suddenly even made it a habit to sleep on the couch in her flat, and every morning would wake, feed Crookshanks (who had become quite fond of the blonde as well) and made breakfast for the Hermione and himself. He also found himself rearranging her entire apartment when he felt it was getting too unclean.
Their friendship was still rather new and odd to the both of them, but everyone else had come to accept it, and even seemed to approve it. He had never been able to talk so openly about his life with someone, and it was a great relief to him.
Draco had come to realize he actually cared for Hermione a great deal. Even stranger still was the fact that he was certain she cared for him as well.
"Good morning," said the brunette as she entered the kitchen, still looking rather asleep and still wearing her usually nightwear. They had both become used to this routine. She folded her arms across her chest as she sat down across from him, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm up. "Getting rather chilly," she stated.
He took a bite of toast and nodded. "I could get your fireplace running, if you'd like," he suggested, still chewing.
"I'm sorry; I couldn't understand you through your inappropriate and disgusting manners."
He swallowed before responding. "Fine, do it yourself, ungrateful little bint."
Taking a piece of toast from his plate, he saw a smile grace her face before taking a bite. It was then he noticed the sheer material of her shirt, and the hard peaks poking their way out due to the cold. "Happy to see me?" he asked, gesturing at her chest. She looked down and immediately blushed, covering herself with one arm.
"As I said, it's cold."
Later on in the day, for it was the weekend, Draco took it upon himself to clean the woodstove. Not that it took much effort, being a wizard and all. Soon the fire was crackling and he sat down on the couch, putting his aching feet up on the coffee table. It felt rather foreign to him, but at the same time familiar doing odd jobs around the house for Hermione. On the days he did sleep at the Manor, he was uncomfortably alone and thought himself rather useless, with the house-elves taking care of everything. And, he did realize he comforted her in some way by being there at her flat on certain nights. He somehow always ended up there on nights she would wake screaming and in tears.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" came a screeched from the doorway that made him jump. "Feet off the table!"
"You're welcome," he said simply, sinking back into the couch once more and closing his eyes, still not moving his feet. Hermione walked over, pushing his legs down with her arms and placing herself beside him. She sighed and sunk backwards like he had.
"We really should trade in our shot classes for mugs of hot chocolate," she said.
"And deal with you sober?" he retorted. "I think not."
She playfully punched his shoulder. "Ha ha, Malfoy, you are oh so funny."
"What did I say about hitting me?" he said, opening one eye and glancing at her.
"Don't you dare, I am in no mood."
Before she could move, he had tackled her and was grabbing at her sides. She tried pushing him away, but her laughter took over her whole body and soon enough she was breathless from the tickling. "Please... Stop..." she panted.
Just as sudden as he had lunged, he stopped. Still, his weight was upon her and he could not help but look down at her face and push a strand of hair away from her eyes. She was breathing heavy, her heart pounding beneath him, and he could feel his own rapidly catching up.
"Though your laugh might terrify children, I find it rather beautiful," he spoke quietly. Hermione searched his face up and down, a startled expression coming over her face. He moved his legs, positioning himself between hers. "Even a siren could not enchant me the way your laughter does."
She did not speak, not that she really could. Her own thoughts were racing as she looked into his grey eyes, wondering what his thoughts were.
Everything had happened so quickly when he returned, or so it had seemed. A weight upon his shoulders was visibly lifted. Since their kiss, they had avoided any physical contact quite well. But now, it seemed as if tension had filled the air, a tension that had been ignored for far too long.
Suddenly, she found herself with a beaming smile while looking up at him. The hatred that had filled her so long ago melted away. No longer was there an unspoken grudge, he no longer had to earn forgiveness. It had happened somewhere between the first day and this moment.
"I can't believe I never saw your beauty before," he spoke once more before leaning down. He could feel her breath on his face and smell her scent. Vanilla, sugary sweet vanilla.
She, too, could feel his warm breath. And suddenly the room had gotten far too warm.
"I'm sorry," said Draco. "I'm sorry for everything." Before she could reply his warm lips were upon hers.
The screams he woke to that night shook the complex to its core. He had never heard such terror, and leapt up from the couch, rushing into her room. Hermione was thrashing on her spot in the bed, the covers flying wildly, her hair sticking to the sweat on her face as she let out another lurching cry.
"No!" she screamed. "Please! No! Stop!"
While at first he had been standing in the doorway in shock, he now was by her side, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her awake.
Her back arched and she gasped, clutching the sheet on either side. Her eyes flew open in panic, tears still streaming down her face. Hermione sprung upright, clinging to Draco tightly, head buried into his chest as she let the sobs wrack her body.
He rubbed her back lightly, tracing circles with one hand, the other slowly caressing her soaking curls. "Please," she begged quietly. "Please don't ever make me go back. Please."
There was a desperation he had never heard from her in all his life. Draco Malfoy had seen a great deal of terror in his lifetime, a great deal of pain and suffering, but none had touched him so deeply. He knew when and where this had happened: within his own home. This was a reason why he had not returned home the night before. Somewhat. It was also partly because he had hoped she would let them continue their previous activities within her bedroom.
"I would never force you to return to the Manor," he said softly. And it was true, he never would. As he rocked her back and forth, her sobs slowing and breathing normalizing, a sudden feeling, a new, foreign feeling, filled his chest. It was warmth, comfort. Safety. Love.
How he wished that he could return to that night at Malfoy Manor and change his aunt's actions, his own actions. Everything could be so different.
Draco Malfoy wanted a great change in his life; he had wanted an even greater change in himself. He was stunned that Hermione Granger had been the one to bring about this grand transformation. From boy to man.
Growth is the only evidence of life.
-John Henry Newman
Between that night and the end of November, Hermione and Draco had formed an even deeper bond. Though they had not repeated their affections once more, Draco could not deny that he wanted to. The way her voice made his day flow by gracefully, and her eyes, smiling at him when they passed in the hallways at work, merely nodding greetings. In his eyes she had found a great solace and a life she had never seen before. Those once dull grey eyes were now filled with passion. For his work, for her well-being, for just about everything, even cleaning her apartment and caring for Crookshanks.
Hermione's night terrors had stopped after that night. It had been the worst and the last. This came as a great relief to her and all those around her. Instead of the distant Hermione they had witnessed since the War, her eyes too were filled with a life none had seen since her days at Hogwarts; a fire that seemed to have long gone out was now raging once more.
She would laugh so hard tears would stream from her eyes until she could barely breathe.
It was a great change. You could even say it was a schism between the old world and new. Death Eaters that had renounced Lord Voldemort were now open, abandoning the safety of the lavish mansions they lived in to rejoin society.
That had been Draco's doing, of course. He had simply invited all of his old school friends to a gathering at his house, to talk of old times and catch up. Then Harry showed up, scaring the life out of half of them. Goyle had actually tried to flee out a window, only to discover he was much too large to do so.
Harry then offered them all positions at the Ministry, this idea having been approved by the Minister. They all accepted and started the following week.
Awake, alone, in a woman's room I hardly know,
Awake, alone, pretend that I am finally home.
The room is littered with the books and notebooks,
I imagine what they say
Like 'shoo fly, don't bother me'
And I can hardly get myself out of a bed
For fear of never lying in this bed again,
Oh Christ, I'm not that desperate
Oh no, oh god, I am.
How'd I end up here to begin with, I don't know
Why do I start what I can't finish?
Oh please don't barrage me with the questions
To all those ugly answers,
My ego's left my stomach,
It keeps shitting what I feed it
But maybe I don't wanna finish anything, anymore
Maybe I can wait in bed 'til she comes home
And whispers, 'you're at my window
I've come to wrap you up tight
'Til it's time to bite down.'
-Cursive "The Recluse"
The first two weeks of winter hit hard. The cold had resigned Draco to bed for the day, knowing work could wait. He grabbed the pillow and pulled it closer to his head. Hermione's bed was so warm and smelled so much like her. He reveled in the scent for a moment, hoping never to forget it, to never have to leave this bed permanently. It was theirs now, to share.
Her home had so quickly become his and all of his boxes littered the floor now, waiting to be unpacked.
He sighed and turned over, face still buried in Hermione's pillow. Mother was so angry with him when she found out he had been hiding his girlfriend from her. Of course, he had every right to. Her prejudices were still unchanged as far as he knew. Draco did not say her name, where he would be living now, or if they planned on marriage.
It was far past her turn to know such things about his life. One must understand, Draco loved his mother dearly, but if he were to be with a Muggle-born, he knew she would not stand for it. All her work would culminate to nothing.
He decided to move onto other, more pleasant, thoughts:
Christmas was only a mere week away, and his stomach jumped at the thought of the present he had planned for her.
Draco's mind would not let him remain on the happy things though:
Word from an old acquaintance might put a damper on everything he had in store for her, but he would let that come to pass soon enough. There was still work to be done with his past, yes. Things no one but he and this old friend could discuss and resolve. Closure, some would say.
Draco wanted to forget that world, the things he had done. The only thing he long for anymore was to feel Hermione lay down beside him, wrap his arms around her, and never let go. To bury his face into her chestnut locks, kiss her forehead, and promise her the world.
Merlin, how did it get this far? How could Pureblood Draco Malfoy long to be with 'Mudblood' Granger?
Hermione was beautiful, intelligent and confident. Everything he had never found in a girl before.
But her blood... the thought still disgusted Draco slightly, even though he would refuse to admit it. He was raised that way, it was bred into him. His blood had always been held in such high regard and hers... hers was dirty, to put it simply.
He found his mind coming to this conclusion too often lately. Certain it was just cold-feet about moving in, he had ignored it. Now, however, it seemed too vital. Too crucial.
What if, by some slim chance of fate, they did have children some day? They could end up being... squibs.
Honestly, was Draco Malfoy really thinking of having children with this woman?
Never.
Things would never get that far. Someday, not far in the future, he was sure Hermione would approach him, with her curls hanging loose, that smile long gone from her face, and announce the end to this. She was much too strong to cling to another human being.
Draco, in contrast... she was all he had when it came to hope for humanity. The world had turned on him so many times, and she was the only one with the compassion to see through the past and take him in, arms open wide. The only constant he ever had to fall back on in his lifetime.
The transformation of Draco Malfoy had come at such a great cost to all he had ever known. Hatred, contempt. He felt deep within his chest that things would come to pass. This shift would come to a great halt.
Christmas came to pass, and things between Draco and Hermione had gotten rather heated. The romantic evening he had planned, the flower petals, candles, enchanted moonlight and stars, all went to waste.
"I did not mean to offend!"
"How dare you think that after a mere few months I would give myself to you like that?" her eyes were filled with rage at his actions. They had been slamming doors all day, storming in between rooms. The air in the flat was stifling and hazy with anger.
For once, Draco found it in himself to pull a very Hermione-like gesture, placing his hands upon his hips, lips pursed. "Maybe you should have told me before, Granger."
"I'm a virgin!" she shouted loudly. They had made their way into the kitchen this time. "There, I said it. Are you happy?"
His arms fell to his sides. "Well, if you put it that way... yes?" he replied sheepishly. Draco Malfoy sheepish?
God help us all, the world had truly gone mad.
"I can't believe you!" Off she stomped, into the bedroom, doorframe rattling in her wake as she slammed the door.
He sighed, walking slowly towards the door, letting his body sink down upon the floor. Why oh why didn't he bother to ask?
Obviously, he had assumed her and Weasley had once... even though the thought made him cringe. Regardless, he had assumed, and yes, he did feel like an ass.
So much for a good Christmas.
The days came to pass as the previous had. Hermione was unaware of the things Draco had been planning for over a month now, not that he could speak of them, even to her. It was a rather private matter, rather sinister, but still private.
Nevertheless, he was trying his hardest to mend things, to make sure he would leave on good terms with her. He couldn't even fathom a guess as to how long he could be gone. Weeks, months... years? Would he lose her in the process of gaining himself back?
It was far too much to handle right now. What would she do when he left? Move on with her life? Marry and have children with another more gentle and caring man?
"Hermione, please, my beautiful Muggle-born," he spoke sweetly through the bathroom door. "Let me see that gorgeous dress."
"You would think it's gorgeous," she retorted. "You chose it." She spoke those words with an icy tongue.
"Well, you must admit, my taste is far better than yours."
The door flew open. And though her eyes were filled with anger and her hair was in characteristically messy bun, the dress did indeed fit her perfectly. Her still tan skin complimented its olive green, and her hazel colored eyes and chestnut locks only helped her radiance shine through. If today is the day, thought Draco as he drank in the sight of her. I would be content to have this be my last glimpse at her.
He pulled her close to him, pressed himself up against her and nuzzled into her neck. Softly, he caressed his cheek against the bare skin just below her ear. Hermione took a deep breath, and let herself fall into his embrace.
"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;
for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;
we must die to one life before we can enter another."
-Anatole France
Vases had been thrown and broken; candles had all been swept from their resting places. The walls were covered in holes, marks from the aforementioned vases. Broken glass lay upon the ground everywhere, shattered beneath the feet of a livid Hermione Granger and an even more upset Draco Malfoy.
Crookshanks had escaped into the untouched spare room, cowering from the chaos instead of doing the cat-like thing and getting in the middle of it all. The date was January 13th.
"I love you!" said the brunette, picking up another piece of glassware and smashing it upon the floor with one swift and powerful thrust of her arm. "And you are too much of an egotistical prat to even see it! You can't even say it back!"
Draco had his wand out, deflecting any and everything she had thrown at him. "Love is only imaginary, Granger," he retorted lazily with a roll of his eyes, customary smirk crossing his features. "There is only passion. Get past your story book ideas of romance and chivalry. They are both dead and gone in this day and age. When will you grow up and realize that?"
"You're telling me to grow up, you sex-crazed, ungrateful, loathsome, pathetic waste of a human!"
"You, Hermione Granger," he spoke with a tongue he had not let lash out in months. Words he refused to speak in a tone far too menacing for this 'changed man'. "Are the most prude woman I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!"
He quickly but gracefully opened the door which would mark his exit. With one last snarling glance, he slammed it. His heart was pounding within his chest, his own words ringing in his ears. An anger and hatred he had held dormant was suddenly alive and well within his heart.
Draco made his way hastily across the street, heading down a familiar alley towards an even more familiar bar where he could blow off some steam before going back and apologizing. It he even wanted to at that point. He might just end up getting outright stupid drunk and making his way to some other woman's house in her wake.
All of his anger melted away when the mark on his forearm started burning, a sensation gone so long ago. As if before his eyes, the streets of London melted away and he was standing in a large church courtyard, surrounded by people speaking unfamiliar tongues with almost alien faces that contorted with each glance. Colors had shifted positions and the sky was purple, the grass turned yellow and his skin was blood red.
The time had come.
"The truth that many people never understand,
until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering
the more you suffer because smaller and more insignificant things
begin to torture you in proportion to your fear of being hurt"
-Thomas Merton
Author's Note: Dundundun. Yes, hate me all you want. I was never one for cliffhangers, but since I figured a second prequel was in the works anyway, why not?
I really hope you enjoyed, and please leave your reviews, good or bad.
Thanks for the support,
Love,
LeeLee the Lunatic.
P.S. Sorry about the lack of breaks when this was first posted. Need to remember that from now on.