Chapter 1: A line allows progress, a circle does not.
I found myself lying in a big extremely comfortable bed.
It smelled clean and vaguely like cats. The sheets were very soft. I was in no hurry to get up or even open my eyes, despite that I had no idea where I was. I couldn't recall anything that happened last night either.
But I had a shrewd idea what did. Went to the Leaky Cauldron. Indulged in alcohol. Met a girl. Went home with her. Again.
It was getting so bloody predictable. Not that I feel inclined to break out of that pattern. What did it matter, really?
The Death Eaters will catch up with me anyway. If I'm lucky they'll just kill me. But I doubt they'll have such mercy. If they would, I wonder if I would make any attempt to run from them. Not that I'm trying so hard now. I'll admit that I'm absolutely terrified of what they could do to me, but just staying in hiding is so much worse than the sad excuse of a life I have now.
And once I was so naïve to think that once the Dark Lord was gone everything would be better. Silly me.
For the sake of distraction, I finally opened my eyes. Then a headache hit me, along with a wave of nausea. It felt worse than ever. Damn side-effects. Squinting at the light, I observed the room I was in.
The room seemed practical and slightly neglected. I kind of liked it.
It was purple. At the other end of the room the wall was completely obscured by bookshelves, filled with books from beginning to end. On my right was a white desk with a matching chair in front of a window. The desk was very tidy. It had some scrolls of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink on the left side and several framed photographs were near the back. The weird thing about the photographs was that they didn't seem to move.
Next to the window were some more bookshelves, mostly filled with books. There was also a weird metal boxy thing on one of them and some plastic cases next to that.
On my left was a white closet and a door left to that. A black robe and some Muggle clothes hung on the back of the door.
Next to the bed was a white nightstand with a reading light on it, two books, a weird clock (8.55 a.m.), a glass of water and a wand I recognized as my own.
Above the bed were two more bookshelves, filled with books and trinkets. Under those bookshelves were some photographs. A few of them were moving, just like it should be.
I carelessly took the glass and drained it in one gulp. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was before.
I put it back and crawled under the covers. I hate mornings. But to be fair, this one wasn't so bad so far. I had woken in a decent room, no naked girl that only looked good when I was drunk was clinging to me, it was nice and quiet… Actually, the only bad thing was that I had woken.
I had lost all track of time when I heard a gentle knock on the door. I was too lazy to reply. I heard the door open.
"Malfoy?" I heard a familiar voice say tentatively, "Are you awake yet?"
"Nearly," I grunted from under the covers.
"Okay… Well, I figured you had a hangover, so I made you a potion against that," I heard gentle footsteps coming toward me and another glass being put down op the nightstand. "You can go down to the kitchen whenever you're hungry." More footsteps, growing fainter, door closing.
I waited a few minutes to crawl back from under the covers. Gratefully, I seized the new glass and took a sip. Disgusting. I mentally shrugged and drained it. I slowly felt all the side-effects fading.
It was really sweet of her to make me that. Whoever it was.
Lazily, I got up. I really liked the idea of food right now. But I better get dressed fi--. Oh. I'm dressed already. Or still.
Weird.
I pocketed my wand and went downstairs. The house was like nothing I've ever seen. There was almost no sign of magical people living here. Yet it seemed a lot more welcoming than any other unfamiliar house I've woken up in after one of those nights. It was comfortably quiet, like I was the only one here.
I found the kitchen quick enough. It was so obviously Muggle, but that didn't bother me right now. The walls were black and white checkered, with sleek black cupboards and a spacious silver work top, a sink and something that resembled a cooker built in. There was also a black matching dining table. Just then I noticed a brunette figure sitting at that dining table, a metal stick thing in her hand and bent over a piece of parchment. A patient white owl was perched on top of an empty chair. I immediately recognized them.
This is not happening. It can't. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. Still there. What? Why?
"What are you doing here?" I snapped.
Granger looked up. She seemed slightly surprised. "I live here, remember?"
"What?" It didn't actually seem that improbable, but… I was here. Very unpleasant thoughts about what could've happened the night before swirled around in my head. How could I possibly have ended up here? With Granger?
"You don't remember anything that happened last night, do you?" she sighed.
I was starting to feel nauseous again. "Please tell me we didn't--" I really didn't want to finish that.
An look of horror appeared on her face, "God, no!"
What a relief. But that still raises the question: What the hell am I doing here? And: Why am I not walking away? And: Why is Granger being nice to me? She knew I used to be a Death Eater. Nothing could stop her from turning me over to the Aurors, or worse, Potter. And she had never liked me.
"Okay, then I'll just go now. I've been in your presence too long already. Bye," I said in my would be arrogant voice. I was already walking to the door and thinking about having a nice Firewhisky to forget about all of this, when she said coolly "Fine. Walk right into the arms of the Death Eaters. I'm sure they've been waiting for you all night."
I froze. "What?"
"They know you're here." There was a hint of fear in her voice. "If my house wasn't under the Fidelius Charm, you'd be dead hours ago." And my confusion grew. What the hell happened last night? As if she could read my mind, she said "Want to know what happened last night? Sit down."
I surrendered. I was actually quite comfortable in this house and it wouldn't seem like a bad idea to hear what she had to say about last night, especially if it involved the Death Eaters. I sat down at the dining table as far as possible from her and listened.
Author's Notes: If you're wondering about the title, it barely has anything to do with the story. But I couldn't think of anything and I'm in a Bright Eyes mood. Which is also the case of this chapter's title and the next.
Feel free to review and point out everything that's wrong with this story.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns Hermione and Draco, unfortunately, the spells, Death Eaters.. Is this really necessary?