all characters belong to JKR
Chapter 3 – Home, Sweet, Home:
Hermione felt woozy from the side-along apparition. She turned to Draco and actually slapped him upside the back of his head, hard, with her open hand.
"Ouch, you bully," Draco said. "See, that's what I mean by 'ingrate', Granger, hitting a man in the back of the head because he does you a favour."
"You kidnapped me!" Hermione shouted. She started walking around the large foyer. "What is this place?"
"My summer home, 'The Green Elms'. It's actually just up the lane from your folks," he said.
"Don't call them that." She turned to him, pointing her finger at his face. "You can call them my dad and his wife, but don't ever call them 'my folks' and especially don't ever call HER my 'stepmother', wicked though she might be."
"A bit touchy, aren't you?" Draco asked.
"No, actually, it's her preference, not mine. I once called her 'my stepmother', not even to her face, but to a neighbour of theirs, I mean, I just referred to them as my dad and my stepmother, and when we got back to their house, I was slapped in the face and told that I was never, ever, to call her that again."
"She slapped you?" Draco asked.
"Yes."
"What did your dad do when he found out?" Draco asked.
"He was there, he witnessed the whole thing. He felt bad, and apologized to me later, but what you have to understand, Draco," Hermione began, "is that I am his mistake, and one that he must make amends for every hour of every day. He cheated on his wife, in more ways than one, because he fell in love with my mum, and I was the result, so he must make that up to his wife in some way or the other."
When she finished he was surprised. "Your dad always seemed like such a nice chap, too."
"He is nice, just, I don't know." She could not find the right words.
"No, Hermione, he's not a nice man to let a grown woman hit a child in the face. How old were you?" he asked.
"Nine," she said. "Listen, let's not talk about this anymore, I'm sorry I mentioned it."
He grinned and said, "Weren't you ever tempted, you know, when you were older, to hex her, or turn her hair pink, or something?"
She laughed and said, "I might have done a few things, but nothing worth talking about."
"No, you have to tell me now," he pleaded, with a smile.
"I thought you were going to feed me," she said.
"Food is after the entertainment, and you are the entertainment. Start talking." He took her hand and led her to the sitting room.
"Well, the last time I was here, and I was way beyond the age of consent, so I couldn't get in trouble with the Ministry, I…I…no, I can't tell you," she said, covering her face with her hands.
"Now you have to," he said sincerely.
"Okay, well, she was on one of her many, many diets, because they were going on a cruise, and all she ate everyday was these diet milkshakes. I might have switched them with real milkshakes, with a lot more calories, and I charmed them to taste the same, and by the end of the summer, not only had she not lost any weight, but she had gained something like a stone or two." Hermione looked shocked, and she was the one who told the story.
"You're joking," he said, seriously.
"Well, I guess she gained exactly 1.7 stones, but she went up two whole dress sizes, and she had already bought a whole new wardrobe for their trip, and she cried and cried because all her new clothes didn't fit her. The thing was they wouldn't have fit anyway, because I had already shrunk them all down two sizes, anyway."
Draco started laughing and said, "When did you say you did this?"
"The last summer I was here, a couple years ago. Wow, when I put it like that, that seems really immature," she reasoned.
"But wickedly entertaining, almost something I would expect from a former Slytherin, not a former goodie-goodie Gryffindor," Draco responded.
"I not that good, but I'm starving, where is the food that was promised me?" she asked.
He started toward a set of double doors, which led to a large screened in porch. "Here you go," he said. There was a table, with white linens, candles, wine, and enough food for ten people.
"Were you expecting anyone else?" she asked.
"I wasn't really expecting you, I thought for sure you wouldn't come," he said, pulling out her chair.
"I was kidnapped, remember?" she asked. She took a bite of the salad, and said, "Who prepared this little feast?"
Draco rolled his eyes and said, "You will just scream at me again, and talk about my bloody blue balls or whatever you said, if I tell you."
Hermione almost choked on her food, and said, "Bloody blue balls? What are you talking about, Malfoy? Oh, you mean when I said, 'your blue blood breathing'! Oh, Malfoy, you are such a riot!" She laughed very hard. "Okay, continue, why might I scream at you again?"
"Because I have house elves here, and I know you hate house elves," he said, taking a bite of his steak.
"I don't hate the house elves themselves, I hate the fact that they are enslaved by bloody blue balls like you," she said, still laughing. "Do you know what that even means?"
"Not only do I know, but, more importantly, do you?" he asked, shaking his fork at her.
She shook her head and said, "It's good to laugh again. I haven't laughed in such a very long time." She suddenly looked thoughtful.
"About that, when did you divorce?" he asked bluntly.
"Just a few months ago," she replied.
"I was shocked when I heard you married that man anyway. He was a right idiot, the last I recall," he said.
"No, he wasn't," she defended.
"Yes, he really was. Why did you divorce?" he asked.
"What's with all the questions?" she asked.
"I just wondered," he said to her.
"Well, keep wondering," she said ruefully. They finished eating in utter silence. Hermione felt it was awkward. Finally, she said, "How do you know my dad?"
"A few years ago, after my father died, my mother came here for the summer. I was visiting her, and she became very, very ill. There were no Healers around, her own personal Healer was out of the country, and she refused to go to St. Mungos. I recalled that your father lived near here, so I went and saw him, told him you and I went to school together, and might he come see my ill mother. He came and they became friends. She had a heart disease, and she was never really better. She died two years later, and whenever she came here, he tended to her medical needs," Draco explained.
"That's nice," Hermione said. She did think that was nice.
"I thought when I told him my name, he would have said 'no'," Draco admitted.
"Why would that have mattered?" Hermione asked.
"Well, I wasn't exactly a friend of yours, was I?" he commented.
"My dad wouldn't have known that," Hermione stated. "I never once talked to him about my friends or my enemies, or anything to do with magic. He's not even ever heard me talk about Ron or Harry, and they're my best friends. Now if my grandfather had ever met you, he probably would have popped you a good one."
"Why?" he asked. "I don't mean why your grandfather would pop me a good one, I mean, why doesn't your father know about your friends and in my case, your enemies?"
"Because it's part of my other world. He doesn't even know about Voldemort, or the war, or anything," she explained. "He doesn't even know about my divorce or my miscarriage." As soon as she said it, she remembered that Draco did not know about her miscarriage either.
She couldn't look up at him. She kept her gaze on her empty plate. He finally said, "Do you want to talk about it?" He now understood the comment she made earlier on her porch, after singing the lullaby.
"No, what I want is a tour of this place, Malfoy," she said lightly.
"I shall oblige," he said. He stood and held out his arm. She took it. As they walked around his house, and he pointed out different rooms, and paintings and art pieces, he thought that it was odd that her own father wouldn't know about her role in the war, or the fact that she had spent so much of her teenage years in danger. He didn't even know she had a miscarriage. What kind of family did she have?
They reached a set of stairs off the second floor and she asked, "What's up there?"
"Just an attic," he said.
"Let's have a look," she said, as she started to open the door.
"Let's not, surely you don't want to see an old attic," he said.
"Of course I do, old attics are my specialty," she regaled.
He didn't understand what she meant, but he said, "Time to take you up to my attic, then, to make you my sex slave. I wasn't kidding about that part earlier."
She said, "What are we waiting for, then?"
"You were never this much fun in school," he said.
"Yes I was, you just were too busy hating me to notice," she responded, walking up the narrow staircase with him.
"That's true, hating you was a full time job back then," he said. They entered the large, open attic, and it was apparent it was used as a studio.
"Do you paint?" she asked, going over to look at some canvases up against the wall, and one that was on an easel.
"A wee bit," he said, bashfully.
"These are quite good, Malfoy, who knew you had any sort of talent, besides the talent to malign other people's character and cause havoc wherever you went?" she asked, moving aside some of the smaller canvases, to look at the larger ones behind. "You could go professional; you should have a show or something. Show at a gallery, either a magical one or a Muggle one. I'm serious." She was still looking at his paintings. She walked over to the other side of the attic, where there were crates of paintings. "May I?" she asked. He could only nod his head. She walked over to the crates, and started to look through the paintings there.
Suddenly, she heard a grandfather clock from the second floor-landing chime. She said, "Goodness, what's the time, Malfoy?"
"Shut up and I'll count the dongs," he said. He counted the chimes and he said, "Apparently its nine o'clock."
"Time to go back, I'm afraid," she said. "I've had a nice evening, who knew you could be pleasant company."
"And who knew you could be witty and delightful," he said back. He wasn't being malicious, but frank. "Come, I'll take you back."
"You don't have to, I can apparate. I'll just apparate up the driveway, in case my dad and older brother are home," she told him.
"I brought you here, I'll take you back, it's only right. I actually need to talk to your father for a moment, anyway, if he's back," Draco explained. She merely nodded, and she put her hand on his arm. He apparated them back to the side of her house. They walked up to the porch, and into the front doors.
"Hermione!" her father said joyfully from the front hall. "I was so happy that you went and had a bite to eat. We had quite a day around here, I must say," he said after kissing her cheek. He turned to Draco and said, "Nice to see you again, Draco. Thanks for picking up my daughter this afternoon."
"That's fine, sir," Draco said.
Hermione's oldest brother was standing in the hall. He walked up to her and kissed her cheek hesitantly. "How's Roger?" Martin asked.
"Oh, well, we actually got divorced," she admitted quickly. That was easier to say than she thought it would be. Her father and other brother turned to her, shocked.
"What?" Michael asked. "When did this happen?"
"Oh, a few months back," she stammered. She looked at Draco, wearily, and then said, "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, shall I? I'm very tired, right? I'll be up in the attic, goodnight everyone. Thanks, Draco." She smiled and walked up the stairs.
Draco noticed that the three Granger men exchanged confused stares. Draco was going to talk to Hermione's father, but decided that could wait until tomorrow. He bid the three men goodbye, and then, in a bit daring, he walked out their front door, and apparated to their attic.
Hermione was sitting on the bed. She almost screamed at the sight of him. She put her hand over her heart and said, "Is it your goal to give me a heart attack and kill me before my visit is over?"
"We can discuss my killing you later," he joked. "You know, I told you the truth when I said that Davies was never good enough for you. I remember he was a pompous, stuck up git, who thought he was better than everyone else."
Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "Are you sure you aren't talking about yourself?"
"You are no longer funny," he said, adding, "Tell me why you divorced, Granger."
"Oh Draco, it's complicated," she said. She kicked off her shoes, and lay back on the bed. He walked over to her little window, and opened the sash. He sat down on the other side of the bed.
"I'm not a child anymore, Hermione. I am not some oppressive bully who is waiting in the wings to make fun of your misfortunes. I've grown and matured, and I would like to think that you and I could be friends someday. Just tell me; maybe it will make you feel better."
She closed her eyes and said, "Nothing will make me feel better, and I've never told anyone the truth, not even Harry or Ron." She took a deep breath in, and exhaled it slowly.
"Did you divorce before or after your miscarriage?" he asked, lying on his side, beside her.
She turned her head to look at him and said, "This is odd, isn't it? You and I, talking like friends, on the same bed together. Hell, even being in the same room together is odd."
"Yes, we make odd bedfellows," he agreed. She turned to her side, and looked at him.
"We divorced after my miscarriage," she said. "No, let me amend that statement, we divorced because of my miscarriage." She shut her eyes again and said, "That's all you need to know right now. I can't talk of it, not yet, please, respect that." She kept her eyes shut for the longest time. He thought she was trying to avoid him, or force him to leave by ignoring him. Actually, she had just fallen asleep.
When he finally realized she was sleeping, he took his wand, caste a cooling charm, put a locking charm on her door, and he quietly took off his shoes. He lay back down on the bed, and fluffed the pillows. He was comfortable. He might as well stay here. He probably couldn't sleep anyway. He would be thinking about her all night. He looked back over to her, and touched her hair lightly. He couldn't imagine anyone ever divorcing someone like her. As he said, the man always was a fool.