Hollow Play
By Clichex
Chapter Three
"I wait. I compose myself. My self is a thing I must now compose, as one composes a speech. What I must present is a made thing, not something born."--Margaret Atwood, "The Handmaid's Tale"
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Before the war had escalated, Hermione could sleep through most anything. Though being friends with Harry and Ron made sleeping just that much harder. It was a wonder she had gotten any sleep at all since she had met them.
There had been nights after the boys had fallen asleep in their beds, in their dormitory that she had sat up, waiting. Waiting for what, she was never quite sure. But she'd stay up never the less.
Some night, this would prove useful. Harry would need to talk, or he'd wake up with pain from his scar.
When things had come to a head, sleep was harder to come by. There were patrols, missions, and the never ending work that needed to be done, that apparently only she and few others could do.
With the death count rising and nerves meeting the numbers, and then almost surpassing them, sleep was a luxury they could not always afford.
After the war, sleep was plagued with nightmares. Many nights, she had stayed up with Remus, watching him sleep. Or with Ginny as she cried about the loss of her brother, and the heartbreak of Harry's still very isolated attitude. If anyone needed something, she would be there without second thought.
Even after the excitement died down and she and the boys lived in Grimmauld Place, she would stay up. Waiting.
So even through exhaustion, Hermione woke when Remus pulled himself from bed.
It was the slight shift in the mattress and absence of heat that altered her. She turned to face him.
"You said you'd be gone before I woke," the words were soft and still not fully coherent, but he could hear each syllable perfectly.
He smiled slightly and pulled the blankets up tight around her, trying to trap the warmth in.
"I'm not here."
She yawned and stretched, arms above her head in fists as her toes curled. "You are, too, Remus Lupin."
"No, I'm most assuredly not here. I'm asleep in my own bedroom down the hall. If you listen closely, you can hear my dreadful snoring."
Hermione laughed.
It was still dark outside, though the sun was beginning to change the color of the sky slightly. It was no longer a solid black, but had become a dark shade of blue. Similar to those of the bed sheets she lay on.
"What time is it?"
"It's too early for you to be awake, Hermione. Go back to sleep."
"You told me I was sleeping, remember?
Remus sat back down on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "You are sleeping, this is all a dream."
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the smooth tone of his voice was lulling her back to sleep.
He stayed a few more minutes, just until her breath evened out and her chest rose and fell rhythmically in slumber.
Hours later, or maybe just minutes. Though, that was doubtful. Hermione was roused from sleep.
Not from the annoyingly bright sun shining through the old window hangings, but from two sets of voices coming from either side of her.
They were familiar, comforting, but she wanted nothing better than to tell them to please, bugger off, so she could get a few more minutes of rest.
And when she finally decided to say just that, they laughed at her. The nerve of these two voices, she thought.
Opening her eyes so she could see exactly who she was going to verbally assault, she the the obviously amused faces of both Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter.
Both of them had matured greatly over the course of the last five years.
Harry was now a married man and was expecting his first child. His hair was still messy as ever, hiding the famous lightning both scar. His glasses always seemed to need repairing and they most always sat lopsided across his face. But the face was no longer that of a boy, but that of a man. It had hardened with age and hardship, as faces are liable to do. But he still possessed a type of boyish charm that would have made James Potter proud. It was that smile of his. How it curved up ever so slightly when he was doing something mischievous that the misses wouldn't approve of. Or when he looked upon someone he genuinely cared about, how it would somehow become that much broader, only to match his sparkling eyes.
He was still shorter than Ron, but Ron was taller than most everyone now.
The redhead had grown out his hair in a similar style to Bill. His face too had been hardened by age, marred by scars from the war. He was still slightly freckled, but the boyish trait he once held had almost completely disappeared. Ron was Ron, though. He worked full time with George and chased after birds constantly. Still so much a boy at heart.
But to Hermione, no matter how grown up they became, they were still her boys.
Her boys coming to her rescue on Halloween. Her boys talking incessantly about Quidditch. Her boys trying to copy her homework. They would always be red-faced and awkward. They would always be hers.
"We heard about what happened with you and Draco," Ron blurted out. A full grown man and still, had never applied tact to his actions.
The boys scooted closer, Harry taking her right hand in his.
"What Ron meant to say, Remus Flooed us this morning. We don't know the specifics, but he said you were a bit of a mess last night. What happened, luv?"
Hermione threw her left arm over her head, covering her eyes.
She felt like a fool, of course Remus would tell them. She hadn't thought to ask him not to.
"We're friends with him Hermione," Ron carefully picked her arms up off her face and looked at her with worry in his eyes, "But we'll defend your honor if we have to. Right, Harry?"
"Oh, Ronald. It's nothing quite so serious."
He looked relieved. He and Draco had become close since the war. She knew how hard it would be for him to not just act indifferent towards him, but to declare open fire? No, she would never ask that of him, even if she wished harm to befall Draco.
"Tell us what's happened, then?"
She sat up in bed, still holding Harry's hand. It took her all of ten minutes to explain to them what had happened. She left nothing out. Not because she was hoping for some sort of reaction, though she received many. But because they would continue to pester her about it until she had no choice but to tell them every small happening in excruciating detail.
Remus came in during her retelling and sat through the rest of it with a closed mouth and open ears.
"...And that's that. For whatever reason, I just wasn't enough for him," though she had tried rather valiantly to hold back her tears, at that moment she couldn't any longer. Voicing the fact that her love, her devotion, the years she had spent trying to make a relationship with Draco work, wasn't enough to make him happy, broke her.
Having to voice that aloud to Ginny or Luna would have hurt tremendously, but confessing it to three grown men, was devastating. She knew it was ridiculous, but it felt like admitting that she wasn't good enough. Not just for Draco, but for any man.
However, as soon as she began to cry, three pairs of clumsy, yet strong arms were around her. Three voices murmuring words of comfort and support, surrounded her.
When they pulled away, Ron handed her his handkerchief and whispered softly into her ear, lovingly, "You look like shite."
And despite herself, she laughed.
Wiping away her tears, she made a list of things for Harry and Ron to collect from the home she had made with Draco.
Drawers needed to be cleared out. Shelves needed to be picked through. Desks. Clothing. Toiletries. The life she had made for herself needed to be packed away into boxes, and then huddled into empty spaces around Grimmauld Place until she could find her own flat.
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The boys Apparated to the front of the cottage Hermione and Draco had bought just a year ago.
On the outside, it was cheery, with its little rose garden that bloomed all year. The vines covering the rough build of the house. A chimney with little clouds of smoke rising into the air.
It was perfect.
They knocked and not two seconds later, there was Draco Malfoy, looking at his always had. Self-important and pompous.
He held a glass decanter in one hand. It was filled with an amber liquid that reeked of Firewhiskey.
"I assume this isn't a purely social visit, gentlemen?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
On the one hand, he wanted to throttle him for putting Hermione through pain. But at the same time, he wanted to talk to Draco, get his side of things. Maybe, there was some sort of miscommunication between the two of them? A misunderstanding? He could be the mediator, he could solve this, fix them. And everything would be right again.
"No, not today, mate."
Draco raised the glass to his mouth and took a deep sip.
"It's not even noon yet. A bit early to be smashed, isn't it?"
Ron still hadn't said a word.
The blond looked contemplative for a half of a second, before retrieving his wand from his trouser pocket and aiming it at his time piece.
The hands on the tiny clock moved forward and landed on a somewhat decent drinking hour.
"Satisfied?"
"Hardly," Ron finally snorted.
The three men looked each other over, sizing each other up. The air was thick, not incredibly so, but enough to know that if one of them put a toe out of line, a physical or magical fight would break out. And they all knew who would be on what side.
Ron had come to respect Draco and that respect, at first, was grudgingly mutual. After some time a friendship was born of it, though neither forgot the absolute distaste they once held for the other.
Holding Hermione's list in his hands he shoved it at Draco, "Hermione made a catalog of things she needed us to pick up."
They each smiled briefly, if the visit had been under more pleasant circumstances, they all would have had a good laugh and remarked on how utterly like her that was. But unfortunately, this was not one of those times.
Draco downed the rest of his drink and stood aside; letting the other two enter his home.
"Come in, you know where to find everything, I'm sure. You've been here enough times."
Again, they each smiled for the briefest of moments. They would still be friends after this moment, even if battle lines had been drawn.
After closing the door, Draco sat himself down in the nearest chair and continued the brooding that had been so rudely interrupted.
Hermione had been upset enough to send Potter and Weasley over to fetch her belongings. Though he would have been more then happy to have Flooed them to her.
And then it hit him, he had no idea where she was staying.
Clearing his throat, he called out into the house, "I suppose it really is none of my business, but if I wished to get in contact with Hermione, I would need to know where she is staying at the moment. Where might that be?"
He could hear one of the two of them making their way from one of the back rooms to where he was.
Ron stuck his head around the corner, "She's with Remus until she gets things straightened out." As quickly as his head had appeared, it disappeared and he walked back to wherever he had been before.
Without thinking, Draco balled his hands into tight fists. So tight, that the skin on each hand turned white at the knuckles.
It wasn't until he felt the slightest of sensations on this skin did he realize he was still holding his empty glass. And said glass had completely shattered in his grip. He was now bleeding and cursing quietly.
Quickly, he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the broken glass.
The pieces flew back together, making it whole once more.
Next, he pointed his wand at the cut across his palm. Slowly, the skin began to stitch itself together. Instead of a fresh wound, it now looked as though it had a day or two of healing.
He wiped away the blood on the arm of his chair.
Hermione was staying with Remus.
Simply thinking the words made him horribly angry. Out of all the places she could go, she chose to stay with him.
He ground his teeth together painfully. That choice was completely and utterly unacceptable.
But he had been the one who had pushed her there, surely, he shouldn't care.
But he did.
His head throbbed, as well as his hand.
She would not stay with that man.
Not if he could help it.