Written for Hogwarts - Ancient Runes, Assignment 4: Write about someone giving a gift. Alternatively, write about Draco Malfoy.
Dramione's a ship I'd love to write for ages and ages, but somehow I feel like they're better fit for a multi-chapter, to keep them more in character and to have development. I really hope I did their characters justice in here. Unfortunately, that meant cutting out a lot of the fluff... ;) But I did have a lot of fun writing this!
xo Summer
There were three gifts that Draco Malfoy had ever given Hermione Granger. They were not tangible. They were not expected. They were not even quite sentimental. They risked his pride and saved his dignity.
But they were gifts that meant more than pretty wrapping paper and shiny ribbons. They were the type of gifts that are rarely given, and when they are, they are given with care. They were the type of gifts that are remembered most.
GIFT #1
Gift #1 Hermione stumbled upon purely by accident a fateful day in her sixth-year. How was she to know that Draco would often create the music room after a particularly trying night in the Room of Hidden Things? How was she to know that Malfoy, whom she regarded only as a conniving brat who, by a most unfortunate turn of nature, had turned out to be both a coward and a ringleader of a band of goons, liked to relax with the sound of music?
Not a soul in Hogwarts, least of all the girl he enjoyed tormenting so, could possibly know that Draco harbored a certain fondness for the cello. Therefore, Hermione would later claim no fault for finding the Room of Requirement as a music room with Draco Malfoy seated at the center.
She gasped loudly at the sight of him as she entered the room and clamped her hand over her mouth. He hadn't (yet) heard her, and this was because the ornate cello in the back of the room was playing a Frescobaldi-Cassado piece by itself, the raw, passionate notes echoing in the round room.
Hermione frantically began to inch backwards, her hand already reaching for the door knob. She squinted at the head of platinum blond hair as she did so, wondering if this was really Draco Malfoy, the same boy who, two hours ago, had charmed a first-year's shoes to turn to mud.
That Draco Malfoy she had known for six years. That Draco Malfoy was the Draco Malfoy, but it appeared that neither was the boy sitting five feet in front of her, facing the cello. His head was tilted in such a way that clearly showed he was absorbing the music with a depth Hermione couldn't begin to fathom.
The scene was almost... beautiful, and she stilled and found herself breathing in the notes. Her heart moved with the music and she temporarily forgot about Draco and forgot about Ron and forgot about Harry and knew that the Room had fulfilled her wishes - it had, after all, given her a place to relax.
She must have stood there for three or four minutes until her fingers touched the wooden door and Hermione blinked herself back into the moment.
Almost as if the room sensed her alertness, there was a sudden lull in the music, and Hermione's fingers chose that very moment to rake loudly against the door and noisily latch onto the brass knob.
Malfoy jerked upwards, but Hermione didn't dare wait to see what happened next. She spun around and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. The music was cut off with the bang of the door, and the corridor filled with silence and the sound of her feet against the stone.
She jogged her way back to the Gryffindor Tower, slipping behind the Fat Lady - "Tsk, tsk, almost late for curfew!" - and up the girls' staircase.
Hermione sat heavily on the bed and replayed the uplifting yet bittersweet tune in her head. It had really been quite beautiful, and though she knew close to nothing about music, she felt an irresistible longing to return to the music room and simply listen for hours.
Later that night, the tune visited Hermione in her dreams. And for the first time since the Department of Mysteries, they were peaceful.
GIFT #2
Gift #2 came over a year later, and it wasn't really a gift.
It was an act of cowardice from Draco; perhaps also an act of bravery in the most optimistic sense. Neither Hermione nor Draco knew it, but Gift #2 saved her life.
"THEY GOT AWAY!" screamed Bellatrix, as though the rest of them could not see that Dobby - Dobby the ex-Malfoy house-elf - had Apparated the prisoners away. "WE HAD THEM, AND THEY-"
She stopped mid-howl and turned her black eyes on her nephew, who stood wandless by the shattered chandelier. "Draco," she hissed. Her sharp eyes absorbed the sight of him cowering and grasping empty air where three wands had once been. "How useless you were, how so very useless."
"Don't talk about him like that!" Narcissa snapped, moving to shield her son.
Draco shifted away from his mother's protective arm, but otherwise stayed silent as he stared at the spot Hermione Granger had lay writhing under his aunt's wand. His face remained impassive and stoic.
"Cissy, he let the Potter boy take the wands!" Bellatrix's wild curls shook violently as she jabbed her finger at him. She spat, "He had only one job-"
"Bellatrix," said Lucius Malfoy coldly. "You are-"
She didn't spare him the time to speak. "The Dark Lord is coming this very instant, and we have nothing to show him except a broken chandelier. I, for one, will not take the blame." She laughed, and it was painful yet heartless. "This is, after all, Malfoy Manor."
And, as if he sensed the forebodance of that statement, the Dark Lord himself entered the manor.
Draco involuntarily shivered at his presence and took a step backward as the Dark Lord surveyed the scene with his thin, red eyes. Bellatrix gasped and fell to her knees, shaking her head and moaning softly. The Malfoy family lowered to the floor and bowed their heads respectfully.
"So," said Lord Voldemort softly in his high, cruel voice, "I hope Harry Potter is somewhere chained in your dungeons and has been so thoroughly detained that he is unconscious. That is, I presume, the reason why he isn't in front of me yet?"
When it became clear that Bellatrix was not going to answer, Lucius lifted his head and said shakily, "My Lord, please-"
"I only need an answer, Lucius," said Voldemort, and his long fingers touched the top of the fallen chandelier.
"I - My Lord -" Draco's father desperately cast a glance at his stepsister. "I-"
"An answer, Lucius."
Draco could feel his mother breathing heavily. In contrast, his father looked as if he was frozen, as if the slightest movement would take his life away.
"N-no, my Lord," murmured Lucius, whose face had long since lost its colour. "He - they - escaped."
"Escaped?" The Dark Lord's fingers stilled on the glass, and his black robes swept the shards on the ground.
"Y-yes, my Lord."
Draco tensed and waited for Voldemort to pull out his wand and point it at his father. He had, after all, seen it happen many times before at meetings. His mother put a cold, shaky hand over Draco's and he in turn put a finger over hers.
The Dark Lord did not speak for a very long time, and when he did, it was void of any obvious emotion.
"Draco. Step forward."
He heard his mother gasp and her hand quickly turned under his to clasp it. Draco, now shaking and breathing rather like his father, gently pried himself from Narcissa and stood, his eyes locked on the floor. "Yes? My Lord?"
The Dark Lord reached out a finger, and Draco fought the urge to shudder as he touched his chin. "Tell me," said the Lord softly, "who exactly was captured?"
"Harry Potter. The Weasley boy. The-" he inadvertently glanced towards the center of the drawing room "-Mudblood girl."
"I tortured her," said Bellatrix from the floor, her eyes bright as the Dark Lord turned to her. "I tortured the Mudblood." She gasped, as if remembering something her lord had requested of her. Draco watched her suspiciously as she said eagerly, "Potter was distressed, my Lord! He was very distressed to know-"
The Lord's nail dug into the skin on Draco's neck and he winced. "Very good," said Lord Voldemort, and he turned back to Draco and let go of his chin. "Draco, you went to school with them, did you not?"
Draco stiffened. Had he not just had this conversation when the three were brought in by Greyback's group? He stripped his voice of emotion and whispered, "Yes, my Lord."
"Good. You can tell me, then, which of his sidekicks Harry Potter prefers."
Draco's breath hitched. "I don't understand."
Behind him, his mother let out a tiny wail. The Dark Lord, however, only laughed. "Which one he prefers, Draco. Which one he would rather not part with, if given the choice. Which one he needs."
Which one Potter needed? Draco hardly understood the question, but the answer came to him swiftly. Maybe Potter liked the Weasley more, but he needed her. He looked again at the floor of the drawing room and could have sworn her screams were still trapped within the stone.
Granger. Potter needed Granger.
He was about to open his mouth to tell the Dark Lord just so, but at that moment, his aunt whispered loudly and eagerly, "Go on, Draco! Tell him!" Her voice lacked the venom she'd just exhibited towards him moments before, and it was loaded with unnatural verve.
"Quiet, Bellatrix," said Lord Voldemort, but his eyes were fixed upon Draco with intensity.
Draco opened his mouth but began to wonder why Voldemort needed this information. Was this a test to see if Draco would be truthful or not? He hesitated, Hermione's name on his lips before saying with as much contempt as he could muster up,
"He doesn't have a preference, my Lord. Potter, he's a fool. He cares about everyone."
The Dark Lord stared at him for a long moment and slowly began to laugh. At the chilling sound, Draco froze in fear, his heart pounding loudly in his chest.
"Very good, Draco," said the Dark Lord silkily - a bit condescendingly - as he turned back to face Draco's father. "If only you were as useful as your son, Lucius."
Gift #2 Draco gave without knowing he gave it. Gift #2 was a lie. Gift #2 was the truth. Gift #2 was her life versus the rest of Hogwarts.
GIFT #3
Gift #3 was stiff and short and uncomfortable, but it was sincere. It took place two years after the war, in the form of Draco himself on a warm spring day in Diagon Alley.
Hermione was entering Flourish and Blotts, and was unfortunately occupied with fixing her handbag when she abruptly crashed into someone exiting the shop.
"Oof! Sorry, sorry, my apolo-" She paused as she stared at the man passing her by. Though his face was turned away, he appeared to sense her open stare as she analyzed his cleanly-cut blond hair and prominent chin, and didn't seem at all surprised when she gaped and said, "Malfoy?"
He slowly turned to meet her eyes. "Yeah."
He offered no more words - no greetings, no return of recognition, nothing - and Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Yes, I thought it was you."
Malfoy gave a terse nod. Silence fell between them like a chasm, and she was just remembering all the unpleasant reasons why she despised him when he broke the silence by saying stiffly, "Remember Hogwarts?"
Somehow, she didn't think he was talking about the school.
"Yes." Hermione allowed herself to smile a little as she added, "All those… good memories."
He didn't smile. She didn't expect him to, because she now remembered how cruel he had been to everyone but his group of Slytherins, how pretentious and condescending he had been. She remembered his snide personality, his conniving, rude gestures.
She was beginning to hate him a little bit, now that she remembered how he'd spread those awful rumours about Harry in their fourth-year.
Desperate to end this little rendezvous before she became too caught up in past misgivings, she opened her mouth to bid him adieu. She was, however, cut off before she could speak.
Malfoy cleared his throat and shifted the book he held in his hands. His face was contorted in such a way that she knew whatever he was going to say would be painfully and utterly uncharacteristic of him.
"I trust you aren't going to take this to heart, and that's why I'm telling you this," he said warningly and she, startled, nodded. "I didn't like you and Potter and the Weasel in school. I still don't," he added quickly, as if to uphold his reputation. She nodded again, apprehensively.
Looking as if he wanted nothing more than to stuff the entire conversation back into his mouth, Draco painstakingly continued. "I… The difference between then and now, however, is that it was childish before. Now I actually don't like any of you because I don't like you. Not because of your fame or brains. I actually don't like you, so I'm not going to call you" - his eyes flicked towards her left forearm - "names any more."
He flushed and fell silent.
After a moment's worth of shock, Hermione recovered and said, a tad amusedly, "Malfoy, that's the poorest attempt at an apology that I have ever heard."
Draco's mouth thinned and he spun around without another word.
"But I really do think I know where you're getting at, and appreciate it," she continued to his back. "Though I am confused why-"
She suddenly gasped as he shifted to leave and the title of the book in his arm flashed at her. He spared her a glance, but she was staring openly at the book. She paled as she said, "Is that…?"
Hermione closed her eyes and remembered the faintest sound of a cello. The feel of a brass knob beneath her fingers. A blond boy sitting in the center of a white circular room.
When she opened them again, Draco was looking from the book to Hermione's bright eyes, as if making a connection between the two. Hermione couldn't care less - without thinking, she reached out and plucked the book from his arms.
"It is," she breathed in wonder as the words "Cello Toccata by Frescobaldi/Cassado" shone in bronze letters. She touched the paper cello on the cover and it popped up and began to play the song she had hunted for all sixth-year but never heard since.
"My book, Granger," said Draco, but he was giving her a most appraising stare as she apologized and handed the book back to him. "You know that song?"
"I heard it once before," she said truthfully, then blushed. "In the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts."
If he made the connection, he didn't show it. Instead, Draco Malfoy stared at the book and said quietly, "My mother wants to learn it."
"Me too," said Hermione wistfully as the notes rang pure and clear. "It's really beautiful."
Malfoy nodded and the two ceased their conversation, listening to the soft music play.
"I should get going," Hermione said regretfully after a few passing customers began to stare at the two standing near the doorway with their heads tilted towards the paper cello.
"Me too."
The two awkwardly shuffled their feet before Hermione said softly, "Thanks, Malfoy. For the music," she improvised quickly, when she saw the flush return to his face at the hinted mention of his "apology".
He jerked his head in a half-nod and turned to leave, pushing down the paper cello into its place on the book. Music was replaced with silence.
As he strode towards the door, Hermione noticed how his walk had lost its boyish swerve, and his frame had thinned a bit. She felt a sudden rush of sorrow not unlike the type she had felt after the war. "Malfoy," she called. "I know you don't, er, like me, but could you do me a favour?" He didn't say anything but motioned for her to continue. "Er, could you send me an owl with the title of that song? Just so I can remember it."
Neither mentioned that she had a quill tucked behind her ear, that parchment was available at the cashier, that she could simply write down the name and part ways with him for the last time in her life.
"Fine," he said, and nodded at her. "Expect it tomorrow, even though I don't like you." She wasn't certain, but she thought she saw a smirk on his lips as he left the shop.
Hermione stared after him and smiled slightly. It was interesting, she thought as she turned to the bookshelves, to see how things had a way of connecting back to each other in the end.
Gift #3 was an apology. It was a book, a renewal of Gift #1. It was music. It was temporary release of his pride. But more than that, Draco's Gift #3 to Hermione was a fresh page, a new beginning.
Gift #3 marked the start of something new.