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Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter Two: Two Men, Three Lives.
For the past seven years, Draco Malfoy had struggled to repair his life, left in shambles after the final battle with both Snape and Dumbledore dead. He had been forced to watch his entire family put on trial, decimated in front of the Wizengamot, and had to then live through his own trial. He had been sure that his life was forfeit. In fact, he had spoken just the day before his acquittal to Kingsley Shaklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, and asked him to send a dementor to his cell in Azkaban the day after the trial would end. He had planned to end his life rather than follow darkly in his father's footsteps.
It had been Loony Luna Lovegood that saved him, though to this day he could not understand why. She had spoken to no one, not Draco's defense lawyer, not the prosecution, not even the Golden Trio, before she strode into the court proceedings and offered to vouch for the character of the wretched Draco Malfoy.
She was not the only life he saved during the war. After Dobby's death, he sent anonymous owls to Bill and Arthur Weasley, informing them of the Horcruxes and where they were hidden. Unfortunately, neither Bill nor Arthur knew what Horcruxes were, and couldn't help the Golden Trio track them down. He had been the one to hand Neville Longbottom the sword of Gryffindor when he dropped it during the fight; he had been the one to stun Bellatrix right before Molly Weasley killed her. He pulled Hermione out of the way of a Crucio curse when she wasn't looking and saved Pansy Parkinson's entire family when she came crying to him before the final battle.
Pansy and her family had always been tertiary supporters of Lord Voldemort; enough to stay safe, but not enough to be sent on missions for the Dark Lord. As the final battle edged closer, Voldemort started requiring more Death Eaters, and had chosen Pansy's father and mother as his newest recruits. Pansy found Draco after one of the meetings and begged him to help her smuggle her parents out of the country. That night, Draco slipped the Parkinsons pouches of Galleons, new identities, and a Portkey to Italy. A year ago, Pansy and her family returned to Britain to thank him.
No, he had not saved just Luna; but he had killed more than he saved.
After his acquittal, the media dogged Draco so much that he fled to France, where he underwent therapy to counteract his post-traumatic stress disorder, mandated by the Ministry. He went to a wizarding University, where he obtained his degree in Magical Law in less than three years, and began tacitly working in international relations under a different name.
When the Ministry of Magic found out that Vincent Marlowe was, in fact, Draco Malfoy, they asked the French Ministry to fire him; they refused, arguing that Draco was the only litigator the British Ministry would receive from France and if they wanted him gone, their allied forces would follow. Draco appealed directly to the Minister, begging for him to let him keep his job. Kingsley obliged, but only if Draco would do him a very large favor. That favor led him to Hermione Granger.
He had been reluctant at first, thinking he would get hexed the second he walked into her office, but she was kind, if cautious, and he couldn't help but notice that she had matured almost as much as he had. Her office was all dark wood and blue, classic furniture with a small vase of everlasting flowers on the corner of her desk. Her clothes, while unusual, were tasteful and modest, her hair tamed, and she had even added small, black-rimmed glasses to her already bookish aura that he found newly charming.
He had been taken aback by Hermione Granger, but he remained on his guard. He didn't want her to see the old Draco Malfoy again; his job couldn't handle that. But, at that very moment, standing over the body of his mother, Draco Malfoy felt his old self rising like bile in the back of his throat.
"Get that house elf and bring her to me now!" He shouted. Ministry officials scattered at the sound of his voice, leaving him alone with his mother's body. The small bruises around her neck were the only imperfections on her pale face; she had been a beauty to behold. Draco eyed the bruises with distaste. It seemed wrong that his mother, one of the bravest and most powerful witches he had ever known, died a Muggle death.
Malfoys never die a Muggle death.
He growled low in his throat and drew his wand, pointing it at the marble walls of the Manor, the wall exploding into crumbling rubble. The Ministry officials on the other side screamed and ran for cover.
"I thought I told you to bring me that house elf!" He roared, his pale face going red with the force of it all. "Bring her to me now!"
As he stared at their frightened faces, pieces of the wall started flying into place, forming a life sized puzzle that resembled Draco's own fractured life; repaired, but with the cracks still showing.
"They aren't going to bring her to you, Malfoy," said a soft voice. "She is at the Ministry already, her statement being taken."
He knew he needed to watch his step, to think about his future, but he didn't have the self-control. "She killed my mother, now bring her back here!"
Granger didn't flinch at his tone, her expression didn't change. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Malfoy," she said formally. "You do not have jurisdiction here, and with your conflict of interest –"
"I don't give a damn about procedure, Granger, you get her back here now! She will pay for this!"
"She will pay for this, but she shouldn't have to!" Granger's voice was starting to match his now. "They want to kill her for this, but she was under the Imperius curse. Someone else wanted your mother dead, now don't you want to know who that was before you have your only lead killed?"
The silence rang in the air; Draco could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest so hard he could see it, and Granger seemed not to want to look at him. He understood then. She felt sorry for him, sorry for having to do this to him. He felt a swoop of rage at her pity, squashed almost instantly by humiliation.
"Get out, Granger," he said quietly.
"I can't," she replied, just as quietly. "I have to process the scene, ask questions," she paused. "I have to do my job."
Her voice had gotten closer; she had moved closer. He felt a pull to her comforting diligence, the guarantee that she would do everything she was supposed to do and more to fix this. It was Granger, after all.
"You will…" he trailed off, unsure of how to finish his sentence.
Hermione's hand went to his shoulder. "I will," she answered.
"Then go," he whispered faintly. She nodded, he could feel it, and slipped a paper into his hand. It was an address, for an apartment in Muggle London.
"I have a spare bedroom," she said to his questioning glance. "I assume you don't want to be here tonight, and I have a bottle of firewhiskey with today written all over it."
He gave her the smallest smile she had ever seen, but didn't answer her. She took that as a maybe and left him there, holding her address in his hand, in the middle of an empty hall with the body of his mother.
~~DM&HG~~
It took Hermione all day to process the Manor. She had to send agents into every single room of the entire estate to gather fingerprint evidence and to identify all traces of magic. Unfortunately, the house was huge and ancient, so infused with pure magic that most of her evidence was tainted. She managed, however, to gather a few possible suspects from the evidence that remained.
Blaise Zambini, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy.
She felt the need to cross Lucius off her list almost immediately. He hadn't escaped from Azkaban, he had no way of casting an Imperius curse without a wand, and had been delirious in his cell for the past two years. Blaise and Rodolphus remained.
"Mitzy, what can you tell me about the visitors your Mistress received in the past few weeks?" Hermione asked the trembling house elf graciously.
"Mitzy is not allowed to speak of it, especially to Mudbloods," the house elf managed to spit out, crossing her dirty arms over her oven mitt dress. "Mitzy is bound by secrecy."
Hermione sighed. "Mitzy, if you don't tell anyone who cast the curse on you, we won't be able to find who wanted to kill your mistress. Don't you love your mistress?"
Mitzy burst into angry tears. "Of course Mitzy loved her mistress!" She wailed. "Mitzy should never have let anyone see her mistress!" She leapt off the chair she was sitting in and threw herself, large dribbling nose-first, right into the door, which slammed open against the wall.
"Mitzy, stop!" Hermione grabbed the house elf, who hissed something about 'Mudbloods touching Mitzy' and tossed her back into the chair. "If you won't talk to me, is there someone else you will talk to?"
Mitzy shook her head. "Mitzy will not speak. Mitzy is bound by secrecy."
"Yes, yes, bound by secrecy and all that," Hermione waved her hand impatiently. "Mitzy, if you don't tell me, you will die," she said. "Do you understand?"
"Mitzy is bound by secrecy."
"Oh, bugger it," Hermione said, stepping away from the house elf, who started mumbling about Mudbloods and blood traitors again. "Annie! Get someone in here to take Mitzy to her cell, please."
Before long, Mitzy was being carried out the door by two agents, one on each side, to take her to her holding cell in the basement of the Ministry to await further questioning. Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. What was she going to tell Malfoy?
She hadn't meant to give him her address; she figured he would throw it back at her. She most certainly hadn't meant to yell at him while he was staring at his mother's body. She shivered at the thought of being in that room again, where Narcissa Malfoy's body was lying, in the same spot Hermione had been lying when Bellatrix carved the word "Mudblood" into her arm. Her hand went almost involuntarily to the faint scar, almost faded with time.
She Flooed back to her apartment, feeling slightly disappointed when she found it empty. Sighing, she wrote a quick note on a piece of parchment and fed it into the fire, sending it to Ron's new flat, across town. Before long, he had materialized in her fireplace, brushing off the soot on his robes.
"I'm sorry!" They both exclaimed at the same time. Hermione laughed, Ron ran his hand through his unruly red hair.
"I shouldn't have barged in here while you were sleeping," Ron added.
"I shouldn't have kicked you out, that was rude," Hermione replied.
"Friends?" He asked, holding out his arms.
"Friends," Hermione confirmed, giving him a hug. Ron kissed the top of her head and pulled away, crumpling up her note and tossing it into the fire behind him. Hermione stepped away from him and retreated to the kitchen.
"Want a cuppa?" She asked from behind a cabinet door.
"Sure," Ron answered, slipping his shoes off at the entrance of the kitchen, like he used to. He took a seat in the adjoining dining room as Hermione put water in the kettle and waited for her to join him.
"I went to Malfoy Manor today," Hermione said, taking the seat across from him. She paused, waiting for Ron to explode. When he didn't, she looked up into his clear blue eyes.
"Go on…" he prompted.
"Oh," she paused. "I had to go get a house elf from the Manor because…" she paused again. "I shouldn't say."
"Then why bring it up?"
"Because it's the Manor, Ronald!"
His face looked, if possible, less pink than usual. "Oh," he replied. "Are you okay?"
She nodded absently. "But the house elf won't be."
Ron put a hand tenderly on her shoulder. "Well, you can't save them all, right?" he said cautiously. When she looked even more distressed, he moved his hand to her hair, where he combed gently. She closed her eyes reverently.
"Yeah, I guess I can't," she whispered. "I just feel sorry for Malfoy."
The combing stopped momentarily. "Why?"
Her eyes opened. "His mother's dead."
Ron looked alarmed. "Dead? How?"
Hermione related the entire story to him, including her odd desire to give Malfoy her address. He snorted derisively at the mention of the youngest Malfoy, but stopped himself when Hermione raised an eyebrow. She pursed her lips and gave him her most severe expression. Ron looked abashed until Hermione started smiling.
"I know you don't like him, but he's different," she said. "That sounds cliché…"
"I'll believe it when I see it," Ron said with a small eye roll. "But I will watch my mouth…for you."
Hermione gave him a gracious smile and retrieved his empty tea cup. "Thank you, Ronald."
"Hey, Mione?" Came her voice from behind her.
She knew the question before he even asked it, but she let him continue.
"Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? As…as a date?" Ron's ears, she knew without looking, were red. She paused for a second, her hand on the tea cup. She tried to think of the cons of this situation. There were too many to count. But the pro, that she could somehow repair her tenuous relationship, was much too valuable.
"Sure," she said. "But we keep it casual. Don't take me somewhere expensive, don't dress up, and don't try any funny business."
Ron smiled as she scolded. "Yes, Mother," he said. He gave her a swift kiss on the lips before he started to the fireplace. As he was grabbing a handful of Floo powder, the fireplace lit up and the built form of Draco Malfoy was unfolding himself from the fire, brushing soot off his expensive robes. When he saw Ron and Hermione, he paused.
"Am I…interrupting?" He asked, his eyes the only part of him that moved. "You…told me to come by…" he said to Hermione.
"Yes," Hermione said instantly, her voice higher than usual. "Yes, and no, you aren't interrupting. Ron was just…going," she locked eyes with Ron and gave him a forced nod. He eyed Malfoy for a second before offering his hand.
"Nice to see you, Malfoy," he said stiffly. Hermione hid a smile behind her hand.
Malfoy looked confused, but took Ron's hand. "Mr. Weasley."
Ron smirked. "See you…Friday, Mione?"
Hermione gave him a brief nod, ushering him to the fireplace. In a matter of seconds, Ron was gone, and Hermione and Malfoy were alone.
~~DM&HG~~
Granger was nervous; Draco wasn't a fool. She had ushered the Weasel out of the house so fast he had to keep himself from teasing her about it. But since they had been left alone she had gone back into the kitchen and retrieved the aforementioned bottle of firewhiskey, two glasses, and had set them on the coffee table in the lounge.
Draco felt like a mess, but he didn't look it. When he felt bad, he made sure his outward appearance offered the complete opposite, and he knew it often worked. He had already caught Granger looking appreciatively at his suit. But he could still feel the pity in her eyes, and that he did not like.
"Did you forget how to drink, Granger?" He asked quietly. She, who had been glancing into space in deep thought, jumped.
"Help yourself," she waved her hand dismissively.
Draco cracked open the bottle and poured himself and Granger a healthy dose. "Here," he said, passing it over. "You look like you need it."
She absentmindedly took it and sipped. Her small nose wrinkled at the taste, but she didn't cough. "Thanks."
"If you don't mind me asking –"
"Ron asked me out again," she cut him off, her eyes still focused on something he couldn't see.
Draco narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I thought you two were already together?"
Granger gave him a small, sideways grin. "Nope. Haven't been for two years. I mean, I guess I understand why he would ask me out again, at least I think I do. But why? He's an international Quidditch player and a war hero, he doesn't need to settle for the girl he's known for years. I mean, do I even want to be with him again? I don't even know what I want. And then there's you."
Draco, who had been listening to the rambling with an amused smirk, looked taken aback. "What about me?"
Granger, who must have realized what she said, blushed magnificently. "Not like that," she assured him. "I mean, the tabloids are going to be publishing our picture together a lot, especially with the Tournament and all," she reasoned. "So, Ron's naturally jealous personality isn't going to like that at all, and he's going to like it even less if we get back together."
"So don't get back together," Draco said automatically.
"But, I loved him, you know?"
"Sure," Draco answered unhelpfully.
After a moment of silence, she slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Malfoy! I'm so insensitive, I'm so sorry!"
Now he was really confused. "What?"
"Your mother!"
Draco's face fell. Her distress had been so entertaining, he had let his mother slip from his mind. "It's okay, Granger, you didn't know her."
"But she was your mother."
"I know that, thank you," Draco's voice was sharp, and Granger fell silent. He let her stay that way a moment before, "I'm sorry, that was rude."
"The boy I used to know was rude," was her quiet response. Draco looked straight ahead, away from her. He could vaguely see, out of the corner of his eye, Granger refill her glass and then his. He took the offered class and knocked the whole thing back. She did the same, wincing slightly.
"I wish I could say I'm sorry for that," he answered. Granger turned to him momentously. She looked like she was trying to focus on him, to undress his intentions.
"But you're not," she said accusingly.
"I feel like if I was different to you, you wouldn't have turned out as spectacularly as you did," he shrugged. "Not that I had that big of an effect on you. Just…" he paused. "Don't want to mess up what obviously worked."
He refilled his glass while she tried to come up with an answer.
"What happened to you?"
"Too much," he said. "Maybe I'll tell you one day."
Her small hand had somehow fallen onto his wrist. Draco emptied his glass and let the fire spread throughout his limbs. He grabbed the entire bottle and took a large gulp. Granger chuckled and claimed it from him, taking her own gulp. She gave him the bottle back and returned her attention to her other hand.
She pushed his sleeve up until she could see the Dark Mark. Her daintly, cold fingers traced the snake and then the skull with an almost respectful hesitance. Draco's steely eyes travelled from her hand up to her face.
"Granger, what are you looking for?"
Her voice was less than a whisper, her words slightly slurred. "What do you mean?"
"With me. Why did you ask me here?"
He could see uncertainty in her eyes, and felt her answer blossoming in his stomach. "I don't know."
His right hand set the bottle on the table and claimed her cheek. "Yes, you do. Be brave, Gryffindor."
"I wanted to see who you were," was her modest answer.
"Why?"
"Because you aren't Malfoy anymore," she said, her voice only slightly stronger. "You're Draco. You're different."
"I told you, Granger," Draco's voice was low in his throat. He could feel her pulse speeding up under his hand. Her blush was returning. "It's been seven years. That boy doesn't exist anymore."
And he kissed her. Desperately, in grief, and almost accidentally, he threw himself off a cliff.