A/N: Aaand third chapter.
Disclaimer: Dunuthin.
-Sanded Silk-
Hermione woke up with a start. "HUmn!" She sat up quickly, then melted back down with a groan. Her head was pounding.
"Hermione? Can you hear me?"
Hermione mustered her voice. "Y—Yes. Yes."
"Are you okay?"
Hermione struggled to open her eyes. A face above her slowly came into focus. Draco's face.
She closed her eyes again.
"Don't black out again, Hermione."
"Ungh. Trying not to."
"You caught a cold. What were you thinking, wearing just a sweater in this weather?"
"Where'm I?"
"You're in Harry's living room, on the sofa."
Hermione's head was whirling. "Gotta call—Mom."
"I called your family. They're willing to let you rest here for as long as is necessary."
"Cho?"
"Still upstairs. She was sleeping when I went to tell her, so she doesn't know yet."
"I can—can go home."
"I'm not letting you."
Hermione forced her eyes open to glare at Draco.
Draco sighed. "You're in no position to move. At all."
Come to think of it, Hermione could barely budge her limbs. They felt like blocks of lifeless, cold-blasted stone.
"But with Cho here—I'm just—another burden."
"You have no choice."
"Can't tell me what to do."
"As a doctor in training, yes, I can. You do know that when you have a cold, you can't go outside, into the middle of winter, right?"
Hermione glared at Draco, but the effort was too exhausting. She closed her eyes, turned her face to the side. Moaned. Why hadn't she noticed that she was coming down with something before?
An ice pack was pressed gently into her forehead.
"Harry left to buy medicine, and Pansy's making soup. I'm going to see if I can tell Cho now." He left.
Hermione reached out a hand spasmodically. "Wait!" She blurted.
His receding footsteps stopped. "Hermione?"
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"Don't—go yet."
"Do you need something?"
Hermione's outstretched hand flopped down, limp. What was she doing? With all her strength, she pulled her mind together and forced herself to focus. Think. She could feel steam pouring out of her overheated ears.
"Nevermind. Sorry."
Draco was silent. Then, his footsteps receded further, went up the stairs, disappeared.
He was back soon. Or not soon. She couldn't tell how much time had gone by, couldn't tell whether she'd blacked out without knowing, or if she was just imagining the whole cursed situation.
"How are you feeling?"
She didn't answer.
"Hermione?"
"Mnh. Okay."
"That's a lie."
"Shu—dup."
"Do you need anything?"
Hermione was used to being told stories when she was sick, and her fever-flattened mind allowed no exception. "Tell me about—Ginny."
"…What?"
"Ginny. She anything—like you? Reclusive? Little-boy shy?"
Draco sat down by her on the ground. She couldn't open her eyes; even if she could, she knew she wouldn't be able to see clearly. She listened to her own rasping breath, unable to hear any signs of Draco's presence, waited.
"No, she's not shy at all. She's got red hair. She's seventeen. She's going to high school, but she doesn't know what to do with her life yet."
"She's good—at playing the piano."
"Yes."
"I'm hopeless—at it. Technique—always got me. What about you? Play anything?" Hermione couldn't stop her tongue. It tended to ramble while she was sick—while she was least able to control it.
"I used to play the piano. But like you, I don't have quite the fingers for it. I stuck to trumpet for awhile, but I stopped a few years ago."
An image of Draco struggling with a trumpet popped into her head, and Hermione stifled a laugh.
"What?"
"Nuh—Nothing."
"…Hermione."
"Nh."
"What you said about me being reserved. Is it really that painfully obvious?"
Hermione nodded, smiling gleefully. "Yah."
"Just keeping to myself—did it really look that bad?"
"Called us—dull, too."
She could hear his face pale. "You heard that?"
"Was behind—a column. Holding—lemonade—for Luna. She likes lemonade. Called me dull."
"Yes, I did call everyone dull, didn't I."
"Mn."
"…Sorry."
Hermione scrunched up her brow. "Wha?"
"Sorry," he said, louder this time.
She shook her head messily. "Dun—believe you." Reclusive snothead.
"What? Why not?"
The conversation was wearing Hermione out. It was a struggle even to keep her hand in place over the ice pack. Her hand slipped, her face tilted.
"Hermione? Hermione. I said not to black out."
Hermione blacked out.
-o-o-
Someone stroking her hair. Hermione turned her face toward the gentle hand.
"Hermione?"
"Cho. You downstairs?"
"No, I'm still in bed."
Hermione flopped a hand onto her face with great difficulty. "Oh no. Did I sleep-walk upstairs?"
"No, he carried you."
"Who?"
"Draco. Here's your medicine."
"Drac—mph." Hermione allowed the medicine to slide down her throat before asking again. "Draco?"
"Yes. Don't talk, Hermione, you're very sick."
"Can feel it." Draco?
"Go back to sleep, Hermione."
"Can't. What time is it?"
"Six."
"I think I can make it home for dinner."
Cho sighed. "No, silly. Six in the morning."
Hermione's eyes flew open. "I spent the night? You spent another night?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so, Hermione. So you'd better get better by breakfast or else Harry won't let you leave."
"How's your ankle?"
There was a rustle of cloth as Cho pulled back her pants to look at her ankle. "It's looking better. Feeling better, too."
"That's good. Can you walk on it?"
"I can sort of limp. But I've been told by everyone that I should stay off of it."
"…Oh. Oh crap, I didn't call Maggie—"
"Don't worry, I took care of that. You'll be fine, Hermione. Go back to sleep. Geez, how are you still so feverish?"
"Am I? Can't feel anything." Cho said something, but Hermione's eyes were closing.
-o-o-
After forcing down half a piece of toast to prove that she was feeling fine, Hermione announced that it was high time she got home.
"But you can't!" Harry exclaimed. "One only need look at you to know that you're sick."
"Gee, thanks."
"No, I mean—"
"I know what you meant, Harry," Hermione said, smiling weakly. "But seriously, I should be getting home. With Cho already stuck here, I'm just another burden—"
"No, you're not," Draco deadpanned over his water.
"Look, I've already called my dad, and he's going to be here to pick me up in ten minutes. I've got to get to work, and I've got a boatload of homework still left to do before winter break is over. I am sick, I'm not denying that. It's just, it makes more sense for me to be sick at home than here."
"Besides," Pansy piped in, "You all can't keep her here if she doesn't want to be here. I'm sure that's breaking some sort of law."
Draco stared at Hermione for a moment, intensely. Then, he looked away, lifting his glass of water to his mouth. Hermione raked a hand through her hair, which was more tangled than before, and sighed. She was happy that she'd won the argument, but at the same time, for some reason, she wasn't.
-o-o-
Mr. Bertram turned to scrutinize his daughter as she climbed into the car wearily.
"So, how was the stay?"
"Mnh."
"How's Cho's ankle?"
"Getting better."
"Good." Mr. Bertram was about to turn back to the wheel, then turned to Hermione again.
"By the way, sorry to sort of throw this on you all of a sudden, but we've got visitors."
"Huh? Who?"
"A second cousin of yours. You've ever met him before."
"What's his name?"
"Neville. Longbottom."
"…Longbottom?"
"Aren't you glad you're on my side of the family?"
"Uh-huh. And who're the other visitors?"
"Just one other. Blaise Zabini, some friend of Neville's."
"So what're they here for?"
"Well," Mr. Bertram said with a heavy sigh as he turned to turn the key in the ignition, "Neville and Blaise were passing through town to somewhere—I think they were visiting my great-aunt or something. I'm still not entirely sure why Blaise is here, but Neville—he's got this crazy idea that he can somehow reconcile me with my father."
Hermione sat back, frowning. "Oh."
Mr. Bertram had never explicitly told his family of the obscure, long-standing rift between himself and his father. But the family had somehow known nonetheless, somehow been aware. No one talked about Grandfather Bertram, ever.
"Um." Hermione looked out the window as Harry's house began to slip away behind them. "So. How's it been going with Longbottom so far?"
"Not so well, as you should know. I'm not even sure if his real motive is to actually reconcile anyone. He seems to have taken a liking to Lavender. Both he and Blaise, actually."
"…Oh."
"Yes."
"Well then." Hermione cracked her knuckles luxuriously. "How terribly sick do I look, Dad? Be honest."
"Very sick."
"Good."
-o-o-
As soon as Hermione stepped into her house, she breathed a long, thick sigh. But the sigh was cut short as two unfamiliar heads popped into view around the frame of the living room door.
"And you must be Hermione," the slightly chubbier of the two said, smiling unsurely. He walked into full view and extended his hand to her. "Nice to meet you, I'm Neville Longbottom."
"Hello." Hermione shook his hand, emotionlessly. He didn't look too dangerous—dark brown hair, light brown eyes, plain clothes.
Hermione looked over his shoulder. "I know you're my second cousin, but who's your friend?"
"Ah," Neville said, turning around. "This is my close friend, Blaise Zabini. He and I were on a business trip, and were passing through, and I just thought it was only appropriate to come visit your family."
"How kind," Hermione said flatly. She extended her hand, almost sarcastically, to Blaise, who took it graciously and—to her utter surprise—pressed it to his lips.
"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione."
She whipped her hand away. "Pleasure's all mine, trust me."
Mr. Bertram cleared his throat thunderously. "Dinner will be served soon. Will you all?"
-o-o-
Dinner was silent for the first time in years.
Hermione slowly savored the taste of broccoli—who knew being sick could do this—as she looked around the dinner table. Something was funny about the situation, but she didn't think it was appropriate to laugh.
"So," Neville said abruptly, breaking the silence in a way that was painful to everyone.
He put down his fork. "You know why I'm here, Uncle."
Mr. Bertram didn't look up from his plate.
"My grandfather—your father—is ready to talk to you."
Still no reaction. Hermione swallowed her broccoli and watched intently.
Neville continued. "Grandfather has realized the rashness of his decision. He wishes to see you again, to see his daughter-in-law. His grandchildren."
Mr. Bertram swallowed what he was chewing, but he didn't bother spearing another piece of food with his fork. His brow was scrunched in thought. Mrs. Bertram, for once, was quiet as well.
"He wants to—"
Mr. Bertram put down his fork. "Stop. Just stop."
Neville looked startled. "What—?"
"I have no interest in reconciling with my father." That flat tone. Hermione knew nothing would change her father's mind.
Neville tried again. "But—"
Mr. Bertram glanced up. "You know nothing of what transpired between your grandfather and myself. He couldn't have told you. He couldn't have told anyone. It would have debased him too much."
"Sir—"
"You," Mr. Bertram said, "are no longer welcome at my house. You are to leave as soon as is possible."
Neville looked around the table at the sullen faces, then out the window. "It's already quite late to begin travel today. Might I stay overnight, and leave tomorrow?"
"As long as you can account for your friend."
Blaise looked up, smiled, and cheerfully changed the topic, much to Hermione's thanks. "Wonderful food you've got here, Mr. Bertram," Blaise said. "May I ask who cooked?"
"That would be my wife."
Blaise nodded, smiling, to Mrs. Bertram, who grimaced back.
Neville looked around again, hoping for one face to encourage him, just one face. But nothing encouraging flickered on anyone's face. He sighed, and looked back down at his food.
-o-o-
The next morning, Hermione was helping the two strangers pack their belongings—which wasn't actually that much of a task, seeing as they had only settled down for a total of fourteen hours—when the doorbell rang. She waited to see if anyone in the house would answer, but heard no footsteps. Sighing, she got up from the guest bed side, smiled at her second cousin, and went to answer the door.
Upon opening the door, she slammed it shut again.
"Cho's here too," Draco said through the door.
Hermione opened the door again, ashamed that she'd slammed it in the first place. Having been called 'dull' by him, and then having been nursed to health by him within days, she didn't know how exactly to treat him, to act around him. She hated that—the not knowing.
It was his fault. His fault to call her dull in the first place, and then to walk her home, catch her when she fell, nurse her back to health—
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, interrupting her own thoughts. She widened the door, and her eyes instantly brightened when she saw her sister leaning on the doorframe, waiting patiently.
"Cho! You're on your feet!"
"More like my foot. When I found out you came home, I decided I wouldn't stay a minute longer either."
"Glad to hear it. But—erm, there are visitors here that neither of us had been informed of."
"Visitors?" Cho's brow crinkled. "But we never get visitors."
"A second cousin of ours. Neville Longbottom."
"…Longbottom?"
"Yeeeah. He brought a friend too, someone completely unrelated to us and whose presence I cannot understand. Do you recognize the name 'Blaise Zabini'?"
"No, I don't. Who—"
"Zabini?"
Hermione looked at Draco, who had been politely silent before. His face had paled beyond its usually pale complexion, and he was staring at her, begging her. No. Please, no.
"Yeah, Blaise Zabini."
Draco's face turned slowly from shock to anger—an anger to pure and virulent that Hermione actually took a step back.
"Whao. I'm not going to ask, but if it's that bad, then you should leave—"
At that precise moment, Blaise appeared at the door.
"Sorry, Hermione, but you seem to have one of my socks."
Hermione looked down at her clenched hand. Indeed, for some unknown reason, a sock was hanging pitifully out of her clenched fist. She dropped it immediately.
"Thanks. I—" Blaise bent to pick it up, then looked up. Past Hermione. At Draco.
At once, Hermione knew something was terribly wrong.
-o-o-
A good twenty minutes after Draco had left—stormed off, really—Hermione approached Blaise, who was sitting atop his suitcase, lost in thought, the cheery smile completely gone.
"Blaise?"
Blaise looked up, then smiled at Hermione. A lightning-quick smile, gone the next moment. "Hermione. I'm sorry you had to witness that—"
"No, I'm not really bothered by that. I was just wondering—er, what happened? I've known Malfoy for a few days now, and he's…well, I never imagined he would be capable of looking so livid."
"I take it he's got you under his spell, then."
"His spell?"
Blaise looked down at his hands for a moment.
"The thing is," Blaise said slowly, "Draco and I have known each other. For a long time. Since early childhood, really. I was very close to his family. His father was like my own father, whom I'd lost before I was born. I was pretty much adopted by the Malfoys."
Hermione waited patiently.
"When we were around eighteen," Blaise continued, "Draco's father died. Heart attack. No one ever saw it coming. It was quick, and it took his life almost immediately. Everyone was devastated. Having already lost his mother as a child, this second loss struck Draco especially hard.
"Within months of being given the property, the money, Draco turned…I'm not sure how to say this. His attention focused more and more on his money, his wellbeing. I wanted to start a career, to go to college. When I asked him for monetary support, he refused."
"He didn't give you anything?"
"Not a cent."
Hermione was silent.
"I told him that I would go to a community college nearby, and that I would be around if he wanted to talk or anything. I knew the grief was still plaguing him, and I was hoping that he would overcome it, that we could go back to before. But it wasn't meant to be, I guess. We never really reconciled. Before I finished my freshman year in college, he left. Left his sister, his property, everything. I only heard through the grapevine that he wanted to be a doctor. He'd never told me anything like that before."
"But this doesn't sound like the Draco I know at all! Just yesterday, he was caring for me—I was sick at Potter's house—"
"I know. It didn't sound like the one I knew either. I'm not entirely sure what his motives are, putting on such a nice face. But deep down…something's wrong. And I don't think it's grief over his father's death. In fact, his father's death liberated him. He's the head of his household now. And it's a rich, rich household, let me tell you. Combined with his future career in medicine? He's set for life."
"But why would he have any interest in us? An indistinguishable family in a nowhere town like Worchester?"
"His friend is interested. He came with Harry, didn't he? He's only tagging along for the networking. He's using Harry."
Hearing that phrase so bluntly said—he's using Harry—forced Hermione to sit down.
"That's wrong," she murmured. "Can't be right." She felt Draco's arms catching her, Draco's quiet voice washing over her, cooling her fevered mind.
"I'm sorry," Blaise said after a beat. "I see I've struck a sensitive nerve."
Hermione sucked in a breath. She was being weak. Again. "No, you really didn't," she reassured Blaise, smiling. "I just…had no idea."
"Well." Blaise nodded. "Now you do."
Hermione nodded, slowly.
-o-o-
After Blaise and Neville had left, Hermione paced back and forth in her room like a caged animal. Cho walked in almost immediately after the front door closed.
"Hermione?"
"Mm."
"Hermione, tell me what Blaise said."
Hermione sat down and told all.
Cho sat down next to her after a beat of silence. "I…had no idea."
"I didn't either."
"Something is very wrong about this," Cho said, frowning. "That Blaise would tell you his past with Draco so easily? And it doesn't match the Draco who carried you up the stairs last night at all."
"I know it doesn't. It must be part of Draco's lies, then. I should have known the minute he came into the room, looking at all of us like that. Calling us dull without even bothering to meet any of us. I should have known. Why did I let him trick me?"
"Hermione, don't jump to that so quickly."
"I'm not jumping to anything too quickly. Dra—Malfoy—"
Cho looked at her sister sadly. "And to think you liked him," Cho said quietly.
"I never did!" Hermione said quickly. "I never liked Malfoy. And I'll—I'll strangle you if you say it again."
-o-o-
At the pharmacy the next day, Hermione's supposedly-turned-off phone rang.
"Damn it all!" Hermione hollered, flipping open her phone and pressing it to her ear.
"He-LLO?"
"Hermione," came a whispering voice.
"Luna? You know I'm at work right now—"
"Okay, fine," Luna said, sighing. "I'll make it short, then. Your second cousin—Neville—I think I'm in love with him."
"…WHAAT?"
But Luna hung up.
-o-o-
Hermione pounded like a madwoman on Luna's door. "Luna? Luna!"
Luna opened the door slightly, then smiled at Hermione dreamily. "Hermione. Neville is the sweetest thing I've ever met in my life."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Never in my life did I ever think for a moment that you would say such a thing about anyone," Hermione whispered.
Luna just swooned on her feet. "He recognized my book on Hiberno-Saxon creatures of lore—you remember that book?—and we talked on and on about Hiberno-Saxon lore and about—about everything else, it seems like."
Hermione gaped at her friend in shock. "Can't I rely even on you to remain sober, Luna?"
"Oh, Hermione, he's coming back in three days to visit. I'm positive we're going to get married."
Without hesitating a second longer, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked away.
-o-o-
Neville wasn't a bad guy, really. Just—he came at a bad time. A very bad time.
Hermione paced in her room for the second time in one day, which was unusual. Twisting her hopelessly-tangled hair around her fingers, she bit her lip, trying to think straight.
Luna and Neville—she'd apologize to Luna later, and she figured she could deal with Neville. But only because he'd accomplished the amazing feat of being Luna's first male acquaintance, even friend. And future husband, apparently.
Harry and Cho—that seemed to be going all right too. Nothing to worry about. Yet.
Draco.
Malfoy.
Hermione buried her face into her hands. The Draco who promised her soup, who caught her under the dim street lights—and then the Draco who'd withdrawn from his best friend, from his family—
He'd called her dull, called everyone at the party dull. But Hermione thought, after getting to know him, that he had done so out of a shy, flustered whim, out of being uncomfortable in such a small room with so many people. She sort of understood why he'd insult people out of his own shyness, too. She'd been like that, once, a long time ago.
And his kindness towards her—but then his cheating Blaise—the softness of his eyes as he placed the ice pack on her forehead—but then the anger boiling deep in his eyes as he glared at Blaise—
Hermione wanted, very much, to like him. She came to terms to that, she could accept it. She wasn't one to dislike someone based on surface impressions, anyhow. But she knew nothing beyond the already-unclear surface; she couldn't figure Draco out. He seemed to be hiding a world of secrets, of quiet, of anger, of pain, inside him.
"Hermione?"
Hermione's head snapped up, and she found herself eye to eye with Cho.
"Cho? Is something wrong?"
"I was going to ask you that."
Hermione's eyes wandered back to her hands. Cho watched her sister closely for a moment, then sighed.
"Luna came by. She said something about telling you that she'd made up her mind, and was following someone—I heard Neville, but I think I'm wrong."
Hermione shook her head wearily. "She fell in love with Neville."
"She's following him?"
"To wherever his business trip is taking him, I believe."
Cho stared at her sister. "When did she start liking him? Wasn't he only here for half a day?"
"Yeaaah."
"Do you think we should—you know—go after her?"
Hermione thought about it. It sounded like "Would you like to get the hell out of here?". Which was very, very appealing.
"I'll go after her. Probably should. You never know what kind of trouble someone like Luna can get into. Did she mention where she was headed?"
"She said the city was Beledaire. A little north from here. I've been there before."
"Right, then. Beledaire."
"What should I tell Mom and Dad?"
"Tell them I went after a lovesick-for-Longbottom Luna Lovegood."
"Will do."
-o-o-
As she was leaving the house, a backpack of necessities slung over her shoulder, Cho came running out of nowhere, face gone white.
Hermione dropped her bag. "Cho?"
"Hermione," Cho panted. "It's—It's Harry."
"Did he break a bone or something?"
"Worse. He's left."
"…What?"
"Gone. I just got an e-mail from his phone—he's gone for some project proposal meeting. It didn't say where he'd be going. He's just—just—"
"Oh, Cho." Hermione folded her sister in a hug.
"Why do you think he left?" Cho whispered against Hermione's hair.
"Whatever the reason, it wasn't you. I know that's what you're thinking. You didn't do anything wrong, you couldn't possibly have. It must have just been business then."
"But it was so—abrupt. Unannounced. He's not the type to forget he had a meeting coming up, and just pop it on us out of nowhere."
Hermione's heart sank as another possibility came to mind. "Maybe he was never serious about you two to begin with."
"…What do you mean?"
"Well, he's rich. That's the way they are. Come and go. Best to forget him, Cho." Hermione sounded more confident than she felt. Far more so.
"D'you think so?"
"Yes. Just forget about him, Cho. He's not worth it."
Cho let go of Hermione slowly. "I'll try to. I…really liked him, Hermione. I still do."
"I know. We all do."
"I…" Cho bit her lip, forcing the knot in her throat to subside. Hermione watched as her sister wrapped a cloak of forbearance about her features. "Good luck. On finding Luna," Cho finally said.
"Thanks. Do Mom and Dad know?"
"Not yet. Probably best for you to get going before they find out."
"You're probably right."
A quick good-bye. And then Hermione was gone, her mind in a haze. Find Luna—find Longbottom—Zabini might be there—answers. Answers to all these questions flying around in her head. Sighing, passing a hand over her face, Hermione got in her car, dropping by at the pharmacy to tell Maggie before setting off for Beledaire.
A/N: And that's chapter 3! Sorry if it wasn't up to par with the other two chapters, I'm a little sick right now and my mind is refusing to let me focus on anything.
Thanks again to Hugo Purist for the love. Also to victwi, for your love as well. :D Always nice to hear from readers.
I'm going to get some sleep now.
REVIEW.
-Sanded Silk-
