Chapter Two
Thank you for your marvellous response to the first chapter. Reviews really give me the oomph to keep writing. I can tell that some of you are quite snappy with your opinions about what is going on between these two. As usual, all questions will be answered in good time. Wish they were mine, but they all belong to JKR. Enjoy.
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The house was dark and eerily quiet when Hermione finally crept out from her room. She had holed herself up in one of the spare bedrooms she stayed in with Ginny years before, dismissing the thick layer of dust suffocating every surface of the room with an impatient flick of her wand. Stubbornly she had stayed there for several hours, not wanting to face the boys yet. Her thoughts were too consumed by questions and doubt.
She had no idea what Malfoy was playing at, and the uncertainty was driving her mad. Hermione knew that the blond Slytherin confined upstairs was not overly fond of her. There was simply no reason why he should have her grandmother's locket in his possession. Each possible explanation she came up with was more ludicrous than the last. From the outside it seemed as though it was something he treasured, if Minerva's story was true. But that was ridiculous. No matter what had happened between them or what they may have experienced, she was pretty sure he still thought that she was dirt under his shoe. His contempt for her during most of their schooling years had cemented this image in her mind and she could not rationally overcome the feeling. Sure, he seemed to have softened in that last year, but he still glared at her, sneered at her, and generally gave her his familiar expression of intense disgust whenever she was near him.
Perhaps he had not willingly surrendered to the Order at all, she thought, winding her way down to the kitchen while taking care not to step too heavily on any of the creaking stairs she remembered. Perhaps they had confused his actions and he was actually not giving himself over to their side. It was possible. In that case, he might be holding onto her locket as a sort of talisman to remind him of his hatred for muggleborns and why he had become a Death Eater in the first place. Though deep down she knew this was not true.
Breathing out a weary sigh, she crept into the kitchen in search of something more to eat. She had stormed out of there before she had been able to finish her stew earlier, and her stomach was letting its displeasure be known with low growls and the occasional clenching of cramps. It had been such a long time since they'd had a really hearty meal, that she didn't even register the low flickering of candlelight in the room before her. As she sidled in through the door and across to the fridge, Hermione heard the faint clearing of a throat and jumped in surprise.
"I thought you'd be back after the boys were in bed."
Hermione exhaled in relief as the tension left her shoulder. Her former head of house sat there smiling wryly at her over the top of her spectacles.
"You gave me a fright," Hermione confessed, coming over to join the older woman at the kitchen table. There was a twinkle in McGonagall's green eyes.
"My guess is that you have come searching for food, yes?"
"Yes," Hermione confirmed, pressing a hand to her abdomen, "And this time I'm actually going to eat it and not go stomping off in a huff!"
Minerva actually chuckled, waving her wand to summon a hot, steaming new serving of the stew with some beautifully buttered bread. Hermione did not even wait for it to hover down and land gently on the table in front of her before she was ripping off a big chunk of crust and devouring it.
"Mister Potter and Mister Weasley were getting rather worried about you. I slipped some sleeping draught into their tea just to get some peace and quiet."
Hermione snorted inelegantly and shook her head.
"I'm afraid that their response to anything even remotely related to Malfoy is usually quite heated, Harry in particular."
"Yes, it would seem their schoolboy rivalry is not limited to merely Hogwarts. I hoped Potter at least would have matured a bit, though," Minerva commented with a slight frown on her thin lips. Hermione shrugged her shoulders in response.
"He has. But when it comes to Draco Malfoy, Harry can only ever see in black and white. He has a Dark Mark, therefore he's a Death Eater, and therefore he's evil."
Minerva nodded in thoughtful agreement.
"And what about you? If I may say, you clearly don't agree with your friends' opinions."
Hermione shook her head, blowing cool air and then taking a careful sip of her stew as she considered her answer.
"I think… he's troubled."
"How so?"
"It was obvious that his heart wasn't in it when he let those Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Harry admitted himself that Malfoy lowered his wand and didn't curse Professor Dumbledore. And that whole year he just seemed so… drained."
The older woman nodded with interest.
"That's certainly true. His grades started slipping quite shockingly, and he never seemed as concerned about trying to beat you either."
"He changed so much that year…" Hermione noted in a faint whisper, pitched just loud enough for Minerva to hear her.
"I agree. Unfortunately the rest of the Order is determined to believe that he is no better than his father. A sadistic Death Eater and no more."
Hermione's brows scrunched together as she swallowed a heavy mouthful of food, feeling it pass painfully down her throat.
"What have they been doing to him? Lupin mentioned some… rather unsavoury interrogation tactics."
Minerva pursed her lips and shook her head sadly.
"Unfortunately I don't have much sway over the Order. Despite being close to Albus, I was always isolated at Hogwarts, protecting it in his absence. Until this year, anyway. That was my station. But from what I can gather, I think their big plan is simply to make him break and confess his supposedly evil plan, despite being truly disorganised."
"It's barbaric."
"It's war. To them it's part of the fight. They believe a little torture is worth it, for the greater good."
"And what about the good inside us? What happens when we slowly turn into them?"
Minerva nodded in tense agreement.
"My thoughts exactly. With luck they will grow bored with him and realise he is just a pawn. Just a victim of circumstance."
Hermione observed her former mentor closely for a long moment before she responded.
"Is that what you think? That he's innocent?"
"I do. I wasn't so sure at first. But then we found your necklace. Hermione… you didn't see his reaction when Remus tried to take it from him. It was quite a shock."
"Please tell me," she asked, finishing off the last of her stew and pushing the bowl away with a feeling of fullness she hadn't experienced in quite some time. Minerva stared at her fixedly.
"Malfoy went to pieces. He started to yank wildly at his bonds and scratched at himself. He was yelling incoherently at first, but then eventually it became clearer. He was screaming No, don't take it over and over again, and his eyes were demented. I honestly thought he would give himself an aneurysm. And then he said your name. It came out a bit strangled, and I think the only reason I heard was because I was standing so close to him. I'm quite certain that Remus didn't catch that part, thankfully. What struck me the most actually was that he said your first name. Not Granger, but Hermione."
Her forehead was creased in abject confusion as she took in this new information. Her hands shook a bit where they gripped the edge of the table and she had to lick her lips before she spoke.
"But… I don't understand. Why? Why would he…uh…" She paused and tried to gather her thoughts, but they were in turmoil, "It doesn't make sense."
"Consider it carefully, Hermione. Can you think of any reason why Mister Malfoy would have formed some kind of attachment to you?"
She shook her head numbly.
"No. Not… not exactly. I mean there was this one time….but…uh…I'm pretty sure he still hates me. I mean, in sixth year he didn't actively torment me like he used to, but he certainly never liked me or even paid any attention to me at all."
Minerva pursed her lips in a frown.
"Would you be prepared to speak with him? He might actually respond to you."
Hermione sighed and stared at the wall next to them in consternation. A million thoughts and feelings spun through her head at once; anxiety, fear, hope, self-doubt. But underpinning all of this was an insatiable curiosity that had blossomed inside her ever since Remus had revealed that golden necklace. She needed to know why Draco Malfoy had developed some kind of strange connection to her. She needed a way to rationalise his behaviour in her mind. So that left her with little choice.
"Yes… I suppose I must," she agreed gently, slumping forwards to lean her chin on one hand, "But I'm not sure what I would say to him."
Minerva smiled reassuringly at her.
"Just follow your instincts. They've got you this far."
"And what if I make things worse?"
Her mentor huffed out a terse breath and gave an indulgent shake of the head.
"Hermione, dear, I don't think you could make it any worse even if you tried. I'll talk to Remus and Kingsley tomorrow and convince them to let you talk to him alone. They probably wont like it."
Hermione scoffed.
"Well I'm sure it will still be an improvement on their methods."
"No doubt," Minerva replied with a slight smile, "Now you'd better get some sleep in a real bed for once so you'll feel refreshed tomorrow."
"Yes, Professor."
Her old teacher shook her head fondly and gave her a pat on the shoulder as they both rose.
"You can call me Minerva now, Hermione. I'm no longer your Professor."
"I'll try. I can't promise I will be able to break old habits though."
The two of them chuckled and then Hermione nodded politely and slipped from the room. As she slowly climbed up the first set of stairs, she peered upwards through the creaky stairwell. It went up quite far. The building was narrow but tall. And he was up there somewhere.
As she dragged her feet higher, Hermione contemplated Draco Malfoy with a steadily pounding heart knocking against her ribs. She only hoped that tomorrow might yield some answers. But she wasn't counting on it.
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She's here. She came…
A blond head lifted up. The chin slowly pulled back from where it had fallen, heavy and wet with drool, from a stiff shoulder. Eyes, crusted from sleep and tears, blinked sluggishly open. There was not much to see beyond the darkness and the erratic flickering of a decrepit street lamp.
The only actual sign that there was another living soul in this damned house was the rusty shuddering of the pipes every so often. Although the room itself was charmed silent, blocking out all human noises from outside, the pipes ran underneath the floorboards of the room itself, and so he could tell when people were using the bathroom directly below. He could also feel the thrumming vibrations of the staircase as people heaved themselves up its rickety frame, even if he could not hear the footsteps themselves.
But then something had shifted this afternoon. The sudden tingle of recognition was like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. It was a presence inside the house that he had thought he might never experience again. His magic prickled with awareness and he yearned for a wand to break free from his restraints. Naturally the frantic surge of terror he felt had left him trying to deny it for several hours. He even thought maybe he was hallucinating or this was merely another torture device designed to entice him deeper into madness. It surely wasn't possible. But when McGonagall silently delivered his dinner earlier – a sloppy stew that he could eat with his one freed hand – he knew that it must be true. Not the least because they had actually bothered to feed him after days and days of starving, or however long it had been. But then the old woman came very close to him to partially untie him. And when he took in a deep, urgent breath of that stew, his nostrils filled with the faint tinge of something else clinging faintly to her robes.
Lavender and honey…
The scent was painfully familiar. He wasn't even able to hide his visceral reaction to it, jolting forwards in his seat to get closer. Just the mild hint of that smell evoked so many memories. Crying into a warm shoulder, his nose pressed against the soft skin of her neck. Those big brown eyes wide and milky with compassion.
Draco Malfoy was no fool. He was desperate, angry, miserable and lonely. But not stupid. He knew that the thread he felt joining him to Hermione Granger was paper thin and fragile. The history between them was complicated and murky. And he wasn't even sure if he particularly liked her. She was an infuriating, bossy little swot. But that didn't prevent the twinge of anticipation that was fluttering deep in his gut, knowing she was here. Given the timing, it was likely she was here because of him. And after that incident with the necklace, he was wondering whether he would now actually get to see her, speak to her. They surely must have figured out that it was hers by now.
Draco lifted a shaky hand and scratched numbly at the skin just below his collarbone. He could remember the feeling of the necklace's sapphire pendant pressed warmly there for many months, the weight of it so calming. Until he had tried to hide it in his jacket of course, where it had eventually been found. When the werewolf had taken it from him he had finally cracked. Months of pent up frustration and helplessness had given way to fury. He had tried to stop the wolf from laying his dirty hands on it, but had been unsuccessful. And now it was gone. And instead Hermione herself was here.
Draco shook his head and dropped it down to stare fiercely at the floor. It was only a matter now of counting down the minutes until she arrived here in his room. Then he could finally lay eyes on her and not some old muggle pendant that was ultimately a hollow replacement of her. In the meantime he would spend every moment considering what he was going to say to her. He was very aware that she probably still hated him. One wrong word and he might find himself cast out at the mercy of Death again. But he thought vaguely that it would almost be worth it just to see her face one last time.
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Hermione had finally snapped and told all the men in the room to stop lecturing her on what to do. Everyone wanted to give their share of advice. Harry, Ron, Remus and even Kingsley and Bill Weasley were there, each doling out recommendations on the kinds of topics she should bring up and talk about with Malfoy. How to get him to speak. Where to sit. Even whether or not she should smile or stay serious. She had listened patiently, inwardly rolling her eyes, for a solid ten minutes before she'd had enough.
"This is ridiculous. I'm just going to talk to him. I don't need tips on how to have a conversation. I'll just play it by ear."
Ron had snorted at her, his grin spreading wide.
"I never thought I'd hear you say that. You always have a plan."
Hermione grimaced, shooting him a small glare.
"Yes, because all our plans have been so successful this year," she grumbled sarcastically. Remus had shaken his head at their light-hearted banter.
"This is important, Hermione. He could be dangerous."
"He's tied up with no wand. I think I'll be alright. I'm sure the worst he can do is snarl and call me a mudblood."
The others had flinched at the word and she jumped to her feet, not wanting to deal with any more unsolicited instruction.
"Just trust me," she had muttered forcefully, tossing her braid back behind her shoulder and leaving the room to the sounds of spluttered protests. Minerva had sent her a sly wink as she passed her on the way out.
That had brought her here. Standing outside the room that contained Draco Malfoy, and feeling her heart drum against her ribs. She felt a little nauseous about the whole thing. With a clammy hand, she reached forward and grappled with the doorknob. It took a couple of clumsy twists to open, probably because she was shaking so hard with nerves. And then she was slipping into the room, her footfalls soft and hesitant.
Malfoy was instantly recognisable by the colour of his hair; that sleek, white blond paired with his pointed features gave him a sharp and painfully familiar profile. She walked around until she was facing him. It was only then that she noticed what was different about him. He was thinner, horribly so. And his hair, which used to be slick and perfectly posed, was limp as it fell raggedly over his forehead. Malfoy had always been pale, but now his skin was white as a ghost, practically translucent.
But it was when he raised his head that Hermione saw the biggest changes to his appearance. Hollow, haunted eyes stared up at her from his place bound to a chair. The purplish shade rimming his eyes underneath was so dark he appeared bruised, and his lips were cracked and dry.
All in all, he looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion, as if he hadn't slept in the entire year since she'd last seen him. Despite this, Malfoy's eyes widened into an almost comically large expression of hope when he saw her. Hermione felt her stomach flutter again. She tried to tamp down the butterflies and look serious as she stood before him. But there was no mistaking the suddenly open features of his face and the entreaty she found there.
"Hello…uh…hi…Malfoy."
Her first words came out as a rather inept croak, and she winced at how stupid she sounded. Brushing her embarrassment away, she transfigured a nearby doorstop into a wooden chair identical to his, sitting in front of him like a mirror image.
Malfoy didn't say anything; he was still drinking in the sight of her. But he did incline his head slightly in acknowledgement and nervously lick his lips. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time before Hermione finally worked up the courage to say something. She wiped her sweaty palms on the tops of her jeans.
"You…um…you look tired."
Malfoy nodded. He cocked his head slightly to one side and observed her, but didn't respond verbally. She took a deep breath and tried a different approach.
"The others said you surrendered to them. Is that true?"
The blond nodded stiffly.
"Does your father know?"
He shook his head. Hermione sighed and her gaze hardened.
"Are you going to actually say anything to me?" she asked, starting to lose patience. The Slytherin boy swallowed and then leaned forward to mimic her stance. The only difference was that his feet were each tied to a leg of the chair, and his wrists were bound in front of him. When he still didn't speak, she grit her teeth and continued,
"Because if you're just going to sit there then I may as well leave-"
But as she shifted to stand up, Malfoy's took in a deep breath, eyes even wider.
"Don't go."
His voice was a rasping whisper. If it hadn't been so eerily quiet in the room she might not have heard him. It was possible he hadn't actually spoken out loud to anyone in a long time.
"Then talk to me," she challenged.
Malfoy shrugged one shoulder weakly, his brow furrowing into a dark scowl.
"What do you want me to say?"
"Why don't you tell me why you gave yourself up?"
The blond boy's lip twitched and he made a low scoffing sound.
"So we'll just start with the easy questions then?" he sneered. Hermione quirked one eyebrow up at him, her expression defiant.
"Don't you think you owe them an explanation? You wanted the Order to capture you and now they have."
Malfoy's jaw clenched and he stared at her intently.
"Why do you refer to your friends as them?"
"Excuse me?"
"You said I owe them an explanation. Not us. Are you not part of the infamous Order of the Phoenix?"
Hermione tapped her foot on the creaky floor irritably.
"Last I checked, I wasn't the one with the dubious loyalties here."
"I have no loyalties."
She considered his comment very carefully. Based on the stubborn, almost petulant expression on his face, she realised that he was telling the truth. He belonged to no one. Not the Death Eaters and not the Order. Based on his wide-eyed, anguished stare she thought maybe he was just trying to survive. She observed him thoughtfully for a long moment before she spoke again.
"Why won't you talk to the others? They claim that you haven't said a word to them."
He copied her by lifting an eyebrow a bit wryly, a near smile almost cracking his stern expression.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"No."
He shrugged, his movement restricted by his bonds.
"They're not you."
Hermione frowned. She leaned forward in her seat as a strange tingle crawled up her spine. Their gazes were locked with an intensity that sucked the air from her lungs. Her brown eyes were fixed on his steely grey ones.
"I really don't understand, Malfoy. Why me? You hate me."
"I don't…" he paused and swallowed slowly, his eyelashes fluttering as he took a deep breath, "I'm not the same person I used to be. I don't hate you."
"That still wouldn't explain your willingness to…chat…with me. I don't even have a role in the Order. The three of us aren't part of it, not really."
"So?"
She sighed and fiddled unconsciously with the end of her braid, which was draped over one shoulder.
"So… I can't do anything for you. I have no power here to get you what you want."
Malfoy tilted his head to one side again.
"Who says I want anything?"
"Oh please. Why else would you be here?"
He gave her a long look, his stare making her shiver. She squirmed a bit in her seat.
"Sanctuary, perhaps," he murmured quietly.
Hermione had no response to that, but the idea troubled her. That Malfoy would be so desperate to fight for his life that he would throw himself into the hands of people he hated was terrifying. It made her feel both curious and horrified about what he had probably endured over the last year or so.
"Actually, there is one thing I would like…" he added when she didn't speak for a long time. Hermione had been staring unfocused at a spot on the floor, but she raised her eyes to his again.
"Hmm?"
"I want to lie down."
"Lie down?" She asked in disbelief, unsettled by the unexpected request. Draco nodded, shifting in his seat with a pained grimace as his back popped and cracked audibly.
"I've been sitting upright for so fucking long. It's driving me mental. Even before I came here I hadn't slept in days. I just want to rest my head on something."
He looked at her beseechingly, and she wondered faintly what had happened to his notorious hubris. Years ago he would have been far too proud, or possibly arrogant, to reveal such vulnerability. Unless he was playing up an injury to annoy Harry of course or to get special attention from Lucius. But that was different. He had rarely showed true weakness. Hermione felt her heart clench with sympathy. Even if he was full of shit and manipulating her, she still couldn't bear to seeing anyone in pain. And he certainly wasn't faking the exhaustion on his face; the swollen eyes or the skin that had almost a yellow tinge in places.
"I…I could…" Hermione paused to consider the dilemma. She glanced down at her wand. She knew it was probably a bad idea to start throwing spells around or releasing him from his bonds. Remus and the others would have a fit. But damnit, she was the only one Malfoy seemed willing to communicate with. That made him her responsibility. Setting her jaw firmly in determination, she flicked her wand and the cords that had been spelled to contain him vanished.
"Don't move," she warned him, training her wand on him. It was pointed directly at his face. His eyes widened a bit in fear, but she also noticed the way he shifted his hands to rub cautiously at his bruised wrists.
"Will you get in trouble for this?" he croaked.
"Probably."
"You can restrain me again if you have to. Just please let me move to the bed."
Hermione observed the dusty old bed he was referring to, up against the wall in the far corner of the room.
"Alright, let's go."
Malfoy rose unsteadily to his feet. He swayed there for a moment, blinking rapidly. Then his hand was grasping the back of the chair to regain balance as he started to topple.
"Are you okay?" she asked, feeling conflicted. She wanted to help him, but she knew it would be incredibly foolish to get to close to him. She might pity him, but she certainly didn't trust him yet.
"I think so. Just dizzy," he responded in a slurred voice.
She made a few wand movements towards the bed, instantly clearing it of dust and grime and adding a refreshing charm or two. Then she transfigured the old quilt to be thicker and the pillow a bit fluffier.
"You got pretty good at nonverbal magic," he commented sluggishly as he stumbled over to the mattress. Hermione nodded, watching him carefully as he pulled himself up onto the bed.
"Incantations waste time," she murmured a bit defensively, but he just smirked at her. Once Malfoy had pulled himself fully onto the bed he let out a long, throaty groan. He slowly stretched his body out and rested his head down on the pillow with a look of bliss on his face, eyes closed.
"It's the simple things you take for granted-" he whispered.
Hermione sidled closer until she was next to him. She considered the situation with a frown of concentration.
"Are you hungry?"
He nodded and she summoned a bowl of the stew from last night. It landed with a thunk on the bedside table.
"I've charmed it to stay warm, so you can take your time."
Then she allowed her wand to hover over his prone form as she conjured bindings. Instead of strapping him in too tightly as before, she merely tied a single bond around one ankle. She made sure he couldn't remove it, either magically or physically, but gave him room to manoeuvre around the length of the bed.
"I think…that's probably good enough. I hope so. I'll still be in big trouble. Are you in any pain?"
Malfoy finally opened his eyes then to blink owlishly up at her.
"Nothing urgent. Granger…"
It was the first time he had said her name. She felt her shoulders tense up, but not in disgust. It was rather an instinctive response to the low, purring tone of his voice.
"Yes?" she asked, feigning a calmness she didn't feel.
"You will come back again, won't you? You're not leaving? I barely got a chance to…say…all the things I wanted to say…"
Hermione stared at him for a seemingly endless moment.
"No, I'm not leaving. I'll visit you again tomorrow. I have more questions, you know I do."
The blond boy smirked sleepily, clearly already starting to drift off.
"Till tomorrow then."
And then, because she must surely be going crazy, or maybe the dusty confines of the room were causing her to lose control of her senses, she murmured,
"Goodnight."
Without waiting for a response, Hermione bolted from the room. She shut the door firmly behind her and rested her head back against it. Her heart was pounding and a headache was forming behind her eyes. But most of all, she was remembering the stale, chemical smell of the hospital wing at Hogwarts. And how a similarly fragile Malfoy had pleaded with her to stay with him until he fell asleep. Shuddering, she wondered if history was going to start repeating itself.
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Let me know what you think of the unfolding mystery. How was the first meeting between our main characters? What would you like to see happen between them next time? Please review.
