Hello friends. I've missed you. I've been working hard on this chapter (and am furiously writing to try to get on top of the return to school in several weeks!), and I hope it's enjoyable. It's got a little bit of history, a little bit of heart to heart, and a little bit of headway on the Malfoy murders. A little bit of progress on all (okay, most, you Dramione sticklers) fronts.
Nothing to really address from the reviews, but thank you for the support, those who did leave a comment. As always, please let me know how I'm doing, ask me any questions you have, tell me what could improve what I'm doing, etc etc. I've seen the stats so I know you're reading, but I'd love to know what you're thinking. It really does help! As always, I've added a preview of the next chapter as a bit of incentive. Chapter 5 is looking pretty intense ;)
Love,
Cherry
Hermione entered Draco's office, pleasantly surprised to find there were no portraits in this room, only paintings of landscapes with trees and rivers that gently swayed in a subtle breeze. In fact, the whole room was rather peaceful given the disagreeable nature of the rest of the Manor. Wine coloured walls, mahogany crown moulding with matching built in bookshelves behind a dark, sturdy desk, and two leather chairs in front of the fireplace opposite the desk, which had been lit.
Hermione looked awkwardly about the room. She didn't know to gauge how Draco was doing; he had always excelled at masking his true emotions, and that left her waiting for examine a wound she expected be healed. "I should check your injury." She expressed finally, looking at Draco expectantly. He stared at her for a moment too long before realising what she wanted.
"If you wanted me out of my clothes, Granger, you could've just asked." He smirked as her neck turned red from embarrassment, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt with deft fingers. Hermione dug around her bag to give Draco a moment of privacy as he undid the rest of his shirt, waiting until she knew he was done before turning to face him again. She approached and had him sit against the edge of his desk, brushing his shirt to the side.
"Has it been hurting?" She asked as she pressed the skin that was still pink from irritation.
Draco made a noncommittal noise. "No. Just a bit tingly."
"Tingly?" Hermione asked for confirmation, running her thumbs across his flesh. It turned white before fading back to pink. "It could be a result of that delayed treatment. I'll look into side effects. Any limitations in movement?"
"No." Draco shook his head, sighing when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you take my word on nothing?" He asked, lifting his arm and rotating his shoulder. Hermione focused on the mark, watching the skin stretch over his ribs.
"You're too skinny." She mumbled under her breath, taking a salve and applying it just in case it would help with the healing process. After she covered the injury with gauze, Draco buttoned up his shirt, answering her questions as she threw them at him.
"So when you say tingly." She pressed. "Are we talking needles or fingertips?"
"Fingertips?" Draco answered, uncertain. It wouldn't have been his first choice of descriptor, but it definitely didn't hurt.
"Is it affecting how you eat?" She let her quill take notes as they spoke, leaning against the arm of one of the chairs by the fire while Draco stayed perched on his desk.
"I know, I'm too thin. You know, my father was thin, and his before him. These are genetics you're witnessing, not a crash diet." He retorted and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"The hex was delivered just about your liver and gall bladder; given that it can destroy your soft tissue, I wanted to know if it's affecting more than just your skin." Hermione waited for a serious response and Draco sighed, shaking his head.
"No, it's not affecting how I eat. Really." He amended when neither Hermione nor her quill budged. The quill looked to Hermione for confirmation and she gave it a quick nod. It scribbled down its notes.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter." Draco gave permission and the door creaked open, a small house elf with spindly legs that didn't look to support its sturdy body entered the room, holding a silver tray upon which sat a tea set.
"Thrump has brought tea to Master Draco and his guest." Thrump looked at Hermione with mild disdain, and Draco was surprised to see that it didn't affect Hermione. She'd hardly reacted as positively when a student would give her a similar look during school. It was practically common knowledge to all of Slytherin that if you wanted to get an easy rise out of Hermione, just leer at her like she was contagious.
"Thank you, Thrump." She spoke strongly. "I'm Hermione. It's very nice to meet you."
"Thrump is pleased to meet you as well, he supposes." Thrump answered in a gravelly voice, though his words didn't seem to match his tone, and he set the tray on Draco's desk. "Shall Thrump pour master his cup?"
"No, Thrump, I've got it." Draco said and with a flick of his fingers, Thrump bowed his head and shuffled out of the room, not before sending another slightly disgusted - albeit curious - glance at Hermione. "Cuppa?" Draco asked Hermione and she nodded, pausing as Draco poured her a cup and held it out to her.
"It isn't poisoned, is it? Thrump hardly seemed to like me." She asked and Draco sighed, taking a drink out of the cup to prove a point.
"He might have the attitude of a pure-blood, he wouldn't poison a guest of mine. Not without permission, of course." Draco poured a new drink for Hermione, ignoring the glare she was sending him, and handed her the new drink. She accepted and cradled the teacup as her quill waited anxiously for more to write down. She noticed and returned to her questions.
"Have you noticed any changes in your sleeping pattern?"
Draco shrugged. "Yes but I wouldn't likely attribute them to the hex. There are other things going on lately."
Hermione's face softened at this. "How has it been?" She probed, knowing this was her opportunity to do so.
"Quiet, mostly." Draco played off her question, taking a drink from his teacup. "Though it was never very boisterous here to begin with, was it?" A sour smile flirted on his lips and Herimone recognised the gesture from her own behavior.
"You're blaming yourself, aren't you?" She asked and Draco's eyes shot up to hers, dark and cryptic. Within a moment, they went back to the glazed over expression Hermione was beginning to see as his attempt to remain unaffected. "It isn't your fault." She continued. "That you're the one who's still alive."
"Yes, well, I do wonder what the murderer's goal was. They made certain to take the mark of a Death Eater, yet they purposefully left me alive. My mother was as innocent in all of this as she could've been, given the circumstances she was forced into; she never even took the Dark Mark. So why the two of them? Why even come to my room to blind me if I wasn't a target?"
"I don't know." Hermione answered and Draco chuckled humorously.
"That's a first." He pushed off the desk and walked to the cabinet behind it, digging around its interior.
"I don't know why he or she chose your parents," Hermione continued begrudgingly, "but I know you're carrying the burden of responsibility for living on your shoulders."
"And how would you know, Granger?" Draco called over his shoulder. "They teach you that during Healer training? Spend a week learning to notice signs in those who have recently lost everything?" His voice was raising and a glass fell from the cabinet he was searching, shattering against the wood floor. He cursed under his breath, stilling his movements.
"I know, Malfoy, because I went through the same thing." She set her teacup on the end table nearest her and slowly approached Draco. Hermione rounded the desk and kneeled in front of him, just out of range of the broken glass. Draco looked at her questioningly, trying to understand what she was doing. Was this what sympathy looked like? Pity? Comfort? He couldn't identify what she was doing, and in all reality, he was distinctly aware that he didn't know how to take Hermione's words.
"I go through the same thing." She corrected herself, knowing the emotion wasn't only in her past. The knowledge that she was responsible for something as catastrophic as her parents' deaths weighed on her heavily, and she knew there would never be a time when it would ever truly go away. But perhaps she could spare Draco some of that heartache, if he even felt that. He was clearly affected in some way, and blaming himself for something that wasn't caused at his effort...maybe if he saw what it was like to truly be the cause, he wouldn't force himself to suffer believing he was responsible for Lucius and Narcissa's murders.
"Just before Harry, Ron, and I began the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, I Obliviated my parents to protect them." Hermione noticed her voice wasn't nearly has strong as she was expecting it to be, but then again, she'd never had to tell anyone about her parents. The Order knew what she was going to do before she'd done it, and the news of their deaths was spread around without her needing to tell anyone. Even so, Hermione continued, refusing to let herself quit just because she was nervous. "By their account, they never had any children - and never knew what magic was - and were planning to move to Australia in search of fairer climate and new business opportunities. Their plane left Wednesday, but the Death Eaters got there Tuesday." Hermione watched the realisation spread across Draco's features, only for it to be clipped quickly by a mask of indifference. "They tortured them for information on me. For hours and hours. There was nothing my parents could tell them and when the Death Eaters grew to understand what I'd done, they killed them. My parents died without understanding why. And it's all due to my leisure that they didn't leave the country sooner." Hermione's voice was hesitant by the end of the story, and she felt like hell, but the ache she felt in her heart wasn't quite as bad as she'd been expecting. It was a gift, she supposed, for sharing with someone who was suffering from something very similar.
Draco stared at Hermione as she processed her emotions, her external reactions foreign to him. He was aware of what it felt to be in pain, or to experience loss, and he likely had his mother to thank for that. Early on, she had instilled in him that suffering wasn't a weakness, but a sign of depth and emotion that made him human. It had all seemed like rather useless information to a small child, but as an adult, Draco could look back at his life and know that Narcissa was trying to create a foundation for Draco to build upon himself, but that foundation was quickly dismantled by his father's iron rule and demanding ambition, which Lucius then used to mold his son into his protégé, always appearing calm and in control to an external viewer. It seemed very different for Hermione, Draco noted. Like she was raised in a home where expressing her feelings was more important than putting on a good front, and judging from the way she was beginning to tear up, she was failing miserably at putting up any sort of front.
One skill Draco was never taught by either parent was the ability to console, so the most he could do for Hermione in her current, unraveling state, was fish a bottle of firewhisky from the cabinet and hold it out to her. She laughed shakily and took the bottle from Draco's grasp, standing up and setting it on his desk as she opened it. He grabbed the still intact tumbler and cast a Mending Charm over the shattered one, taking the two glasses and placing them on the desk, letting Hermione pour them. He winced as she filled the crystal glasses nearly to the brim, watching the volume of the sixteen year old firewhisky drain from its bottle. Hermione handed him a glass and they didn't bother toasting, both taking a long drink from their cups.
Hermione's face twisted up, and she shook her head.
"It may taste strong, but it'll do you a load better than tea." Draco explained - more familiar with the benefits of alcohol than he was willing to admit - and Hermione agreed wholeheartedly, taking another drink.
It was some hours later that Hermione knew she was drunk; sitting on the floor of Draco's study, nearly shoulder to shoulder with her once classmate as they spoke of nonsense.
"What were their names?" Draco asked Hermione, looking over at her lazily. "The Death Eaters." He clarified when she stared at him with hazy, unfocused eyes.
"Rowle and Jugson." Hermione answered. "It was Rowle who told me all about their deaths." She wiped her nose clumsily. "Used it as leverage during a fight. Hoped I would act irrationally, I suppose, but he didn't seem to consider how good I was with a wand."
Draco quirked an eyebrow at Hermione's smirk.
"Let's just say that should I feel inclined, I could visit him anytime at St. Mungo's until his days are over."
"Merlin, Granger." Draco breathed, looking down at her with both a new found respect and fear. "I didn't know Gryffindors committed real crimes."
"It's not as though he was a good man." Hermione argued, glaring at Draco. "He was cruel and corrupt, and killed more innocent people than just my parents."
"Oh I fully condone the decision." Draco confirmed. "Can't say I'll do much less if I get to my mother's murderer before the Auror's do."
"Your mother's?" Hermione asked, sober enough to recognise the distinction. "Do you think there were two murderers that night?"
"I wouldn't know. But the only one I'm concerned with is whoever killed my mother. My father was wholly responsible for his actions and whatever repercussions they might bring. He brought his death upon himself. But not my mother." He went to pour himself another drink when he noted the bottle was empty. He tossed it forward, the glass container sliding noisily against the floor.
Hermione winced at the action, watching the bottle morph into more than she knew logically were there, placing a hand to her head.
"Oh I'm going to regret having drank so much in the morning." She muttered, letting her eyes close. Draco watched her as she tried to reestablish control of her drunken form, wondering if she was indeed feeling the same guilt he did, even all these years later. Is that what was in store for him? Pain and regret, no matter how much time passed? Draco supposed the real benefit of his father's controlling rules and strict demands was that he had less to feel now that he was gone. At least he only had one parent to mourn.
"I should go." She stumbled as she forced herself to stand. "It's getting late and I have an early shift." She reoriented herself and pointed her body toward the door. "Where's your Floo?"
"I told you, Granger, you're not on the approved list of Floo users." Draco stood too, both swaying. "You'll have to Apparate outside the Manor grounds, though you might be a little too sloshed for that."
Hermione groaned, ignoring his last comment. "You mean to tell me I have to walk all that way and Apparate out of here? This place is terrible."
Draco began walking Herimone down the hall in case she got lost, nearly tipping over when she whipped around to point at him, her brown eyes sparkling with intrigue.
"How did the murderer get into your home that night? Did they use the Floo network?"
Draco's eyes widened, too, at the question. "I can check the log." He breezed past Hermione and she followed - albeit quite a bit clumsier since there seemed to be three hallways spinning about - and the two set off, winding around corners and down staircases until they reached a drawing room with a grandiose fireplace. Draco pulled his wand from his waist and pointed it at the hearth, speaking the novissime usum spell, which lit the mantle green with flames that displayed the last time the Floo had been used. The two sighed when it displayed time and day predating the murder by several weeks.
"There goes that theory, then." Hermione hummed. "It would've at least been a lead." She rubbed her neck and yawned, glancing at Draco, who looked as though his one chance at peace had been ripped from his hands. Empathy tugged at Hermione's heart and she rested a hand on his arm, willing him to connect with her. He granted her a single moment of honesty as their eyes met, but it passed quickly as a memory came to Draco.
"My father had a private Floo." He breathed, the flame in his eyes returning. "He claimed it was none of my business what he needed it for, but I caught him using it one day to sneak Death Eaters into our home just after the mass escape from Azkaban." Off they went again, this time back up the stairs and through many more halls, until they reached a study filled with antiques and more angry paintings.
Draco performed the same spell as he'd done with the last fireplace and relief flowed through both of the young adults. The date in the flames read Christmas Eve. They'd done it. They'd found a lead.
"I'll go tell Ron." Hermione gushed excitedly, abandoning a tired Draco as she rushed as quickly (and in as straight a line) as she could out to the gates, where she immediately Apparated to Ron's flat.
She stumbled through the dark space until she reached his bedroom, the snoring alerting her that he was out cold.
"Ron?" She called out, using her wand to light her way to the bed. "Ron. Ronald!"
Finally jumping at his name, Ron rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Whaddya doin here, Mione?" He turned his clock on the nightstand toward the bed. "Blimey, it's gone midnight!" He groaned, finally waking up enough for Hermione to turn on the bedside light. Ron adjusted, swinging his lanky legs out of bed until he was sitting up (nearly) straight. "What's going on?"
"You have to come." Hermione tugged weakly at his arm. "It's the Floo and we figured it out and you need to come to see." She babbled on and as Ron roused himself, he twisted his face up, trying to assess why his girlfriend was acting so strange. It made itself clear when he smelled the alcohol.
"Hermione, are you drunk?" He asked, gobsmacked. Never had he seen Hermione anything but sober. Not even the night they celebrated Voldemort's demise.
"Well, yes, but that isn't the point! You have to come!" She continued tugging until Ron finally asked her enough questions that he was able to determine why she was there.
"So there's a secret Floo with secret access for only certain people, and it was secretly used the night of the Malfoy murders." Ron confirmed the story, hardly believing it.
"Yes." Hermione moaned like it was common sense. "The Floo is your lead! Your way to solve the case!"
"It's something, Mione, but it's nothing pressing." Ron argued. "Nothing that can't wait until morning." He glanced at his clock. "Which will only be in a few hours." He muttered, pulling Hermione by the hand toward his bed. "Let's just sleep for now and I'll check it out first thing, yeah? Is that okay?"
Pouting, Hermione let Ron guide her under the comforter, growing tired. "But I didn't tell Malfoy I was leaving. Not really, anyway." She grumbled as she closed her eyes, shimmying her jeans off and sliding them and her shoes out of the bed and onto the floor.
Biting back an insult, Ron nodded. "I'll send him an owl. Just go to sleep."
"I suppose." Hermoine yawned and sleep overtook her nearly instantly. Confused from the night's events, Ron kept his word and sent Draco a quick note stating that Hermione passed along the message and he would check out the Floo in the morning before crawling back into bed, though any thoughts of sleep were now replaced with why his girlfriend had been at Malfoy Manor, getting chummy with their once school bully.
"You're so wrapped up in what happens to Malfoy - and it seems that you've forgotten what a knob he was to you in school - that you're not even home when I try to visit you!" Ron shouted back, his face turning nearly as red as his hair.
"I'm trying to cure a dying patient!" Hermione yelled back. "Maybe if you did your job and found out who murdered his parents, I would've found a better cure by now and have been done with it all!"
