One more for tonight! Hope you enjoy :-)
I don't own Harry or Hogwarts or Hermione or Draco. But oh, if I did...
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Chapter 3
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The first few days of Draco's residency at Hermione's apartment were rough to say the least. Hermione showed him how to use the television at least 20 times and endured constant critiques of her reading selection. She tried to stay patient, but she was beginning to doubt the brilliance of her plan. How was she supposed to convert Draco Malfoy? And how could she prove it after a year? Without telling Draco the real intention of his year of detention, she was starting to doubt that he would change at all. While she hated the idea of condemning him to a life in Azkaban, she hated EVEN MORE the idea that she could be wrong, and EVEN MORE the idea that she could be PROVEN wrong.
She never expected work to be her sanctuary, but here it was. Every day she typed up a report of Draco's progress (thus far, she had yet to write more than an optimistic sentence or two about a "please" he uttered by accident or an hour he went without swearing). In addition to her current experiment, she was also in charge of categorizing friends from foes, as well as determining punishments.
She was flipping through Gregory Goyle's file when she heard a familiar sound that instantly made her ears perk up. She knew those shoes calmly strolling down the hallway, and judging by the volume she had about 28 seconds. She shoved the folder to the side, straightened her blouse, tried in vain to tame her hair, and peeked very quickly in the tiny mirror she kept in her desk drawer just for this purpose. She grabbed the folder again in an effort to look busy just as he rounded the corner and appeared at her office door.
"Why hello Oliver! I didn't even hear you coming! How are you? How was your vacation? Was the weather just awesome? You look tan. Did you spend much time at the beach?" WHY COULD SHE NOT STOP TALKING.
"It was quite pleasant Miss Granger. I just stopped by to thank you for watering the plant in my office while I was gone. It looks even more healthy than when I left it!" Hermione knew that growth charm would work.
"Oh, no problem, Oliver. Really no problem at all! I actually loved it! It's a nice plant. Not that it has a personality, I mean I know it's just a plant, but it's a nice one, you know? Like sometimes you just get a feeling about a plant – like sometimes you just know that it's mean, or that it's rude, but yours is nice. It's a very nice plant." She could have kicked herself.
"Yes… well… thanks again." Oliver offered a quick nod and hurried away. Hermione barely had time to charm the top of her desk into a pillow before her forehead reached it.
There was no way this day could get any worse. She heard a tap at the window and retrieved a note from her own owl – she could already predict what it said.
Granger. The television is broken. It wouldn't turn on or show the pictures or make any sound and I was quite certain it was broken. Then I threw the remote through the screen. And now it most definitely is broken. Come fix it.
She returned her forehead to her work surface.
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Hermione's day perked up a bit that afternoon when Harry stopped by to drop off files on Milicent Bulstrode. Noticing her exhaustion, he pulled up a chair.
"So is it true? Are you now babysitting Draco Malfoy?"
"I am."
"I just don't understand how this plan of yours will work. How is a year of house arrest an adequate punishment for what he did?"
Although they had agreed to keep the real experiment a secret, Hermione had asked Kingsley if she could tell Harry and Ron the truth and he had agreed. She explained the real plan to Harry, as well as her growing fears that it was impossible to achieve or even judge.
"Well you can't do it on your own, that's for sure. But I might be able to help you out. I think it's a good idea Hermione, but it's going to be tough to accomplish in that flat of yours. Why don't you bring him to Sunday brunch at the Weasleys? If anyone can turn a man good, it's Molly Weasley."
"You don't think they'd mind one more?"
"You know Molly would love more mouths to feed, especially if his attendance means you can attend too. I'll owl her this afternoon and explain the situation – but the cover, not the whole story. Bring him Sunday, and we'll figure something out."
"Thanks, Harry. I know I've said it before, but I don't know what I'd do without you."
Harry smiled, replied "Ditto," and made his way back to his office.
Hermione began to get tentatively optimistic. If Molly Weasley could kill Bellatrix, what couldn't she do?
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The sight that greeted her when she opened her door momentarily shocked her. Pictures were torn off walls, their glass panes shattered. The couch was on its side, the pillows ripped open and their stuffing scattered throughout the apartment. Book pages were strewn across the floor. It looked like a warzone. And in the middle of it, sat Draco Malfoy, a smirk on his face.
Hermione scowled, raised her wand, and uttered "Reparo totalium." Immediately the glass reconnected, fitted itself back into the frames, and the pictures returned to the walls. The couch righted itself and the pillows returned to their former plumpy glory. The book pages sorted themselves out and rejoined their books, which flew back to their alphabetized position on her bookshelves. After about twenty seconds, her apartment was completely restored.
"There goes a whole day's work, down the drain. Thanks a ton, Granger." Draco threw his arms in the air.
"I need to get you a hobby."
"Oh, look, the TV's fixed. Out of the way, Granger." He settled down on the couch and flipped to the Game Show Network, which had become his daily obsession. Hermione made her way to the kitchen as Draco shouted (mostly incorrect) answers at the screen and mercilessly ridiculed contestants who (also) answered incorrectly.
Over dinner, Hermione raised the subject of Sunday brunch with Draco.
"You expect me to eat at that rat's nest! Absolutely not. Out of the question. I will absolutely not go, no matter how much you zap my buttocks or no matter what colors you transfigure my bedroom into."
"You know, I can block the game show network."
"You fight dirty, Granger."
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On Sunday at 10:00, Hermione and a very pouty Draco apparated to the Burrow.
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Before leaving, Hermione had gone over the rules with Draco one more time.
"No calling anyone Weasel, Weaslette, or any other derogatory form of Weasley. No making fun of people with red hair, freckles, or… lanky bodies. Be polite to everyone, especially Molly. For every misstep, you go a day without the game show network. And yes, that includes Million Dollar Pyramid."
Draco gasped.
"Fine, Granger. Is there anything I can do?"
"Absolutely. You can smile, you can eat, you can talk politely, you can-"
"Great, got it. Let's just go. The sooner we go the sooner we can get home and I can watch my shows."
As they disapparated, Hermione decided she needed to wean him off of that television.
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If an anonymous observer was at the Burrow who had no prior knowledge of Voldemort, the war, or Draco Malfoy, he or she would have thought Molly Weasley was greeting a long lost nephew. She immediately pulled him into a hug and tousled his hair. Holding him in front of her at arm's length, she surveyed his appearance.
"Hermione, what have you been feeding him? Have you been feeding him?"
Draco pouted pathetically, absorbing Molly's sympathy.
It wasn't exactly the welcome Hermione expected, but she decided to take advantage of the break from babysitting Malfoy and ran to find Harry and Ron while Molly ushered a confused-looking Draco into the kitchen.
She found Harry and Ron on a picnic blanket in the yard and sat down with them. After a year of close quarters searching for horcruxes, she found that she missed the simplicity of proximity. Resting her head on Ron's stomach and thumb-wrestling with Harry, she found the moment of calm she had desired for weeks. No matter what else was going on in her life, nothing mattered as much as this.
Breaking up her moment of bliss, Ron brought up the current bane of her existence.
"So Harry tells me you've taken it upon yourself to convert the ferret. Personally, I think you're barking, but I also know better than to try to argue with you. I don't have to talk to him, do I?
"You don't have to, Ron, but I wish you would. I think he needs male friends. Or any friends for that matter."
The three lounged about talking lazily of Ron's on-again, off-again relationship with Lavender, Harry's rekindling of his romance with Ginny, and Hermione's non-existent love life for the next 30 minutes. A loud bell from the kitchen roused them to brunch. As they settled around the table, magically enlarged to hold the platters of pancakes, french toast, waffles, bacon, sausage, biscuits, muffins, and other delicious looking foods, Hermione noticed the overwhelmed look on Draco's face.
Molly sat at the head of the table, with Draco positioned to her left. She piled his plate high with everything on the table and watched eagerly as he tentatively took his first bite. He nodded his approval and she clapped her hands, delighted. Hermione wasn't sure who was happier, Molly for the chance to nurture, Draco for some real food, or Hermione for the chance to stay away from him.
Hermione expected the conversation to be awkward, but everyone acted as if Draco wasn't even there. Brunch passed in the normal fashion with everyone talking loudly over everyone else, Percy squawking about George stealing his muffin top, and Ginny and Harry sharing sneaky smiles. Draco looked shell-shocked and did not utter a single word. Hermione decided to take it as a blessing and enjoyed herself in spite of his discomfort. She thought it nice revenge for Draco's little destructive spree in her living room earlier that week.
Normally after brunch everyone would have moved outside for a game of Quidditch, but Fleur and Bill were coming to visit later that day, which meant Mrs. Weasley put everyone to work cleaning the Burrow. Hermione finally decided to take pity on Draco and head home. Molly offered Hermione a quick half-hug before moving on to Draco. She hugged him, tousled his hair, pinched his cheeks, told him how wonderful it was to have him there, and hugged him again. It took all Hermione had to pry him away from her and disapparate back to her house.
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Once they returned, Hermione expected a barrage of complaining. What she got scared her even more – complete silence. Draco walked to the dining room and stood at the window, staring at the cloudy day.
"I'm not going back there again."
"Oh, come on, Draco, it wasn't that bad. Sure, Molly can be a bit overbearing, and you did have to eat a lot of food, but it wasn't that-"
"You don't get it, Granger," Draco cut her off angrily. He spun around to face her and she could see the pain in his eyes - something he normally hid so well. "You don't get it. I'm not your puppy, I'm not some child that you can tote around with you from place to place. I'm a person! But more than that… I'm… a murderer. I'm a criminal. I'm a Death Eater." Hermione could see his hands shaking. He turned back to the window. "This isn't a game, Granger. We're not going to have some magical year where we become best friends and I become a hero."
"That's not why you're here, Draco! It's just house arrest, just a method to prove you're not dangerous."
"But I am dangerous, Granger!" He quickly crossed the room and stood directly in front of her, inches away from her face. "I'm a Death Eater." To emphasize his point, he raised his shirt sleeve and showed her the awful tattoo he had been forced to receive.
"I'm a Death Eater, Granger. I'm not your puppy. I can't go back there to all that… happiness. I'm not a part of this world – your world, Granger, and I never will be."
He stormed away from her and slammed his door behind him. Hermione moved to the window and eyed the clouds wearily.
She hated to admit it, but he was right. He wasn't her puppy. He was a man, a man who had experienced more trauma, more tragedy, and more rage in his 18 years than most had in their entire lives. She couldn't change his life, his values, or his prejudices. This experiment was a joke.
She moved to her terrace, upon which she had long ago cast a weather-proof charm. Normally she read here, but today she had too much on her mind. Her plan had seemed foolproof from the outset, but now she realized how little she had considered the actual process that needed to take place. What could she do for him? What could she accomplish in this year?
Staring out at the clouds, she decided to start small. She could get him to stop hating her. She could help him figure out who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with his life. Maybe she could help him deal with what he had experienced.
But most importantly, Hermione decided as she watched the first raindrops fall on the sidewalk, she could be his friend.