Chapter Four – Confrontations
Hermione's owl didn't return until three o'clock that afternoon. Archimedes, the medium sized tawny owl, had been her gift to herself after she had graduated from Hogwarts with full honors. He flew into her sitting room and perched on the back of her favorite reclining chair. On its leg was a very small curl of parchment with three words:
"Time and place."
He didn't need to sign it. She knew that handwriting. Many nasty, bullying notes written in that hand had been slipped into her bag or found their way between the pages of her books while at Hogwarts. It wasn't the handwriting that was throwing her off, however. His seeming willingness to talk was unnerving to Hermione. Was his perceived inclination to meet and talk harmless or did he want something out of this? Could he be plotting to blackmail her into silence? Perhaps not, she considered, finding her quill in her desk. Vain as Malfoy was, blackmail was something he most likely wouldn't stoop to. There were so many other, more clever ways of keeping secrets.
Her heart thudded faster. Keeping secrets… Would he force her into the Unbreakable Vow? Was Malfoy really that obsessed with his image to make her take the Vow? Then no one would ever know about their night. Except Ginny. Ginny was the queen and the move she was saving in this game of chess. The queen's sacrifice would be Ginny's testimony to the world. But what would happen then?
Hermione banged her fist on the table, startling Archimedes and Crookshanks, who had been napping in a patch of sunlight. "Stop this," she told herself aloud. "You're getting ahead of yourself. You don't even know what he's going to say, if anything at all. He might just want to clear the air and be on his way." Staging out every possible outcome was a skill that she had thanks to years of social and testing anxiety. Whether it was a blessing or a curse was yet to be determined.
She turned his parchment over and found some scratched out words. A rough draft maybe? Regardless, she took out a new slip and scratched:
"Tonight, 5p, my flat. I'll open the Floo for you."
It wasn't until Archimedes was already flying out the window and over the trees that the blood drained from her face in realization. Her flat?! What in the world was she thinking? Any one of her friends could come barging in and interrupt.
Think, Hermione, think…
She'd just have to close the Floo and windows. Maybe even place a non-Apperation ward around the flat, just for a few hours. It would a hell of a lot easier than trying to resend another message. Hermione looked around the small living room and sighed. If she was having company, it was probably better to tidy up now. At least be presentable when Malfoy arrived.
Several times during her cleaning, Hermione stopped to check the clock, set up a ward, or make sure that the windows were indeed locked. She flicked her wand and the broom and dustbin finished their work. As the clock crept ever closer to five o'clock, she pulled the curtains tightly shut, smoothing the fabric and picking off bits of dust. Her nervousness was not sated.
The wall clock struck five.
A chime sounded from the fireplace.
Hermione could barely breathe.
Slowly, with the care and steadiness of predator, Hermione—wand drawn—crossed the room and flicked open the Floo. Tiny, green flames flickered to life in the bottom of the fireplace, an indication that it was still locked, but someone wanted to cross over.
"Who is it?" She called into the flames.
"Draco Malfoy," came the reply.
She closed her eyes, willing time to freeze forever before this moment so she would not have to live it.
"You may enter." It was as if it wasn't even her voice.
The fireplace roared as the flames leapt towards the mantle. Malfoy stepped out of the fire and into her living room. He looked positively normal in his clean, pressed dress shirt and black slacks. He was even wearing a black tie. She could see through his sleeve in the light from the kitchen where his wand was concealed. What looked to be a silver watch chain hung from his belt and led back to his pocket. It was archaic, but charming.
His posture stiffened as he saw her. He seemed to flounder with his words for a moment. "Good to see you."
"You what?" Hermione demanded, crossing the room and putting the kitchen counter between them. The barrier was somewhat encouraging.
Malfoy's eyes darted for a moment in confusion. "Um… I said good to see you."
"I heard you, but why did you say it?"
"It's called being a decent human being."
Hermione must have snorted louder than she meant to, because Malfoy glared now. "I told you I was trying to be a better person." He glanced around the room. "We were actually laying on the ground right over there—" he pointed to the floor "—when I said it."
"Why?"
"Why does it matter?" He demanded, losing his temper for a moment. His stormy eyes blazed. "Why does it matter so much to you if I try and change? Am I not allowed?!" With increasing volume, he started walking in a pacing circle. "Am I always going to be the enemy to you? Is that how you see me? With a target on my chest?!" He thumped his hand against his chest for emphasis.
Hermione suddenly felt very small. But fury replaced passiveness quickly. "You and your family did some pretty awful things to an entire sect of people during the war. That's quite hard to forgive, you know!" She slapped her wand onto the kitchen counter and rounded the corner of it, pointing her finger in his face for emphasis as she said: "You did things that are hard to forgive! Your family did things that are hard to forgive!" Tears came unbidden. She wretched the sleeve of her sweater up and, for the first time in a very long time, openly showed the angry word on her arm. The slur. The scar. The wound.
"Do you see this, Malfoy?! Do you see it?! This word has followed me for two years! Two fucking years of shame and self-hatred! I've tried everything to get it off. A cursed blade carved it! This is a scar of hatred and evil and pain and… and… And it will never come off! NEVER!" She was shouting now, her tears cascading and her heart bursting.
Wracked by sobs, Hermione sunk to the ground, gripping her left forearm tightly enough that the blood was cut off.
Blinded by her tears and her bottled hatred, she didn't see Malfoy stoop down next to her. "We match you know," he said, rolling up his left sleeve. Hermione wiped her eyes and inhaled sharply as he twisted his wrist over and showed her his Dark Mark.
She had never actually seen one this close before. It was terrifying, even with the magical ink faded and gone with Voldemort's power. It now looked like an angry, greyish, burn scar. The eyes of the skull were still much too lifelike. Hermione felt as though she were staring at something deeply personal and looked away, more tears building quickly.
"I didn't have a choice, either."
She didn't look back at him, but he continued anyway. "When muggle farmers brand cows, the animal must be restrained so it doesn't lash out against the sudden pain. My father held my left arm out to the Dark Lord, Rowle and Greyback held my legs and torso. They could've restrained me with magic, but I suppose they wanted to feel me squirm. Feel the pain go through me." Hermione looked at him now. A pale and frightened child once again, Malfoy took in a shuddering breath.
"The Dark Lord took my wrist in his hand and burned the mark into me. He used a curse I had never heard of. I don't know how it happened; there was a flash of light and the worst pain I've ever felt…" He rubbed his eyes roughly. "The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, howling in pain. My arm was bleeding and pulsing with this awful light. And they all just… laughed. They laughed at me."
Bellatrix's laugh echoed in her mind, and Hermione shivered.
"I wish I could remember more. Maybe the curse he used has a countercurse and I could remove this infernal mark." He looked her in the eye now. "I know that doesn't even begin to equal what you went through, but know that you weren't the only one."
Hermione was at a loss for words.
Suddenly, he was staring at the opposite wall, blushing and not looking her in the face. "I apologize. I over shared." The tenderness was gone as he walled himself up again.
Hermione felt like something had been stripped away in that moment between them. Some barrier had fallen down. She felt close to him now, a phrase that she had never expected to think. She thought back to her conversation with Ginny. Hermione had feelings for him. Something small, but it was there. The question was, did she feel that way because he was trying to become a better person? Was it because they slept together? Where had the feelings come from? She couldn't deny that he was rather good looking, but that wasn't everything. Maybe she had been wrong. Perhaps he had just been a bully in school and a child who had been coerced into doing Voldemort's work. She had to know.
"Malfoy… Did you willingly accept the mark? Did you want to be a Death Eater?" She winced as she asked. That was way too forward.
His jaw ground and set. "He was going to kill my mother."
Hermione covered her mouth in shock.
"He was going to kill her if I made a move he didn't like. He knew I had one weakness and he was so happy to exploit it. So I took the mark and I did anything he asked me to." Hermione recalled him testifying during his trial. He was given a pardon and a clean record and only a few people had been angry with that. An eighteen year old's transgressions had been of little consequence to the Wizengamot. They had bigger fish to fry after the war.
"Why would you think I would join him willingly?" Storms of confusion swirled in his eyes; not maliciously, more out of genuine surprise.
"I… I don't know. I had doubted Harry when he tried to tell us because—"
"You did?"
"Well, yes. I did."
"Why?"
Hermione wasn't sure how to answer that. "I guess I just assumed that you wouldn't be capable of being a Death Eater. You were too young. Too unpredictable." She reached down and picked some Crookshanks fur out of the rug. "In all honesty, I didn't think you had it in you."
"I really didn't. I promise."
There it was again. It was the feeling of a broken barrier. A tug on her. It was like she was being pulled into his psyche. She shook herself slightly. "Why are you telling me this?"
Malfoy looked ashamed. "I don't have anyone else to tell. No one wants to listen to this… these emotions."
They were only quiet for a brief moment. She couldn't take it anymore. "What are we doing?" She asked. Her voice cracked, to her displeasure. "What is going on?" She looked around herself. She and Malfoy were sitting on her floor, mere inches from each other, pouring out their hearts out. She wouldn't have bet on this situation in a million years. "Just the other morning you were jibing at me like you did in school. Now we're practically having a therapy session. I used to hate you! You made my life terrible in school and—"
"Used to?"
Hermione inhaled sharply. She looked up at him, eyes transfixed on his face. She expected him to look furious or disgusted. No. He simply looked stunned.
"I…"
Say something, idiot!"
"I don't hate you." She replied lamely. "Not anymore."
"I don't hate you, either." The reply was less surprising than the blush that crept up his neck.
"Well that's a phrase I never thought I'd hear you say," she laughed slightly. The tension cracked and Malfoy smiled. It broke completely as she smiled back and they began to laugh together.
Hermione had never expected such an astonishing mix of emotions.
"What are we doing?" She asked again, smiling as she said it this time. "I don't even know what we are anymore."
"Let's start with acquaintances," Malfoy said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "Perhaps colleagues when at university."
"Right. Good. Acquaintances."
"Why are you laughing?"
"Oh, I don't know," she giggled. "Never in my wildest dreams did I expect this scenario!"
"Nor did I," the reply was so matter-of-fact.
Hermione bit back a yelp as intrusive thoughts poured into her mind. In that moment she had wanted to kiss him. Of her own volition. Not under any effects of alcohol or a spell. She had wanted to kiss him. Right there and then. What in the name of Merlin was that about?
"Are you okay?"
Damn it all, why did he have to look so concerned? "Oh, yes, sorry. I just remembered I had plans for tomorrow and need to prepare for them." The excuse was awful, but he seemed to buy it. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."
"It's alright, I was just going to ask if you still wanted… erm… wanted to talk about…" He couldn't seem to finish the sentence. "About… Oh Merlin…"
"New Years?"
"Yes. That."
Embarrassment was abound.
"I think we should… Just not tonight." She didn't chance looking at him. "I have a few plans that I need to get to yet tonight and it's already past six."
Sweet Merlin, he looked disappointed. "Of course. I apologize for calling at such a late hour."
What an outdated expression. "No, don't worry," she attempted a smile. "I invited you."
Silence lapsed for a moment. "Right, well," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Here, let me help you up—"
"Thank you, but I can—"
"No I insist—"
"Whoa—!"
Hermione's leg slipped out from under her. Malfoy caught her around the waist, but her leg got caught on his ankle. They both fell onto the ground in a heap. It took a fraction of a second too long for them to realize that they were sprawled on top of each other.
With the grace of newborn deer, they separated quickly. Hermione stood first, Malfoy not far behind.
"I told you that you needed help," he said cheekily.
Hermione fumed slightly, hoping that the tinge of anger was what was making her cheeks so warm. "I was perfectly capable of getting up on my own, thank you very much."
"Oh, yes. I could see that much." Before she could return a scathing reply, he took a pinch of Floo Powder rom the pot on the mantle. "Now if you excuse me, I should go. Have a pleasant evening, Hermione."
"You, as well."
And just like that, he was gone.
Hermione spun around and slammed her hands on the counter. "What the bloody hell was that?!" She demanded of no one. "He called me by my first name!" Her heart was hammering so fast that she thought it was going to explode. Running her hands through her hair seems to help her nerves, if only slightly. "Okay, okay, think for a second," she breathed, trying to get a handle on her emotions.
There was no way in hell she had that strong of a feeling for him. There was no way. He was her childhood bully! A menace to her every day of her life. He had been told to kill Dumbledore, for goodness sake!
But he didn't do it.
He couldn't. Harry had said that he had lowered his wand and never fired a single spell other than to disarm Dumbledore. Had Malfoy really been that unable to do the deed? Or was it all for show until the other Death Eaters arrived? Malfoy had been the one to invite them into Hogwarts. He had fixed the cabinet. But had that just been because he was told to?
Voldemort had been holding Madame Malfoy's life against him. Hermione had never met the Malfoy Matriarch for more than a moment, but she seemed to hold all the same views and beliefs as her husband. But as a prisoner to Voldemort, would she have held to those beliefs? Harry had said that she was the one that pronounced him dead and knew it was a lie. Was there a streak of good flowing through the Malfoys? The phrase was often 'like father, like son,' but perhaps, Hermione mused, the phrase could be turned in this case: 'like mother, like son.'
Hermione looked at the clock again. Six fifteen…Still enough time to get to the Weasleys. She reached into her refrigerator and picked out the packed dinner she made for her and George. After tucking that and a pack of Exploding Snap cards into her beaded bag, Hermione took down the wards and unlocked the Floo.
Moments later, there was a knock on her front door.
"Miss, please open your door, this is the police!"
Hermione's brows furrowed. The police? She cast a quick charm to enlarge the peephole on her side. A police officer and her elderly next-door neighbor were standing there. They looked normal enough. Hermione looked around quickly to see if she left out anything magical before she unlocked the door and opened it.
"Oh thank heaven," her neighbor said, relief palatable on her wrinkled face.
"Mrs. McGuffin, what a surprise. And hello officer, is there something I can do for you?" She tried to lean nonchalantly on the doorframe.
The police officer was no more than sixty and had a dark mustache. He took out a pad of paper and said, "Good evening, miss. My name is Officer Gerald Blackard. I apologize for intruding, but there was a complaint of a domestic disturbance about an hour ago."
"I heard you yelling at a man in here! I thought you was being abused by some bozo!" Mrs. McGuffin's sharp voice carried over the balcony and into the night air. Hermione was sure the other neighbors heard and were meant to. There were quite a few elderly women that lived in this complex, and they all gossiped about all the other tenants.
Hermione cursed herself. How could she have forgotten a Muffliato charm? She smiled. "Thank you for your concern, really. But it was nothing to worry yourself over. It was a… bad breakup." She hoped that was convincing.
"You must have a much nicer telephone than I do. I heard that boy's voice as if he were in the room with you!" Mrs. McGuffin rapped her cane on the concrete, as if to affirm the subject.
"Do you feel threatened by this man, miss?" The officer asked, writing down some notes as he said it.
A laugh nearly escaped, but Hermione managed to turn it into a smile. "No, sir. Thank you. We are just both very hard-headed individuals and wanted to get the last word in during our call. Thank you for checking in, Mrs. McGuffin, I really do appreciate it." She turned to the officer. "And thank you, sir. But I have dinner plans with my friends and really must be going. Thank you, again." She grabbed her belongings and locked the door the muggle way behind her before she trekked down the stairwell, the officer following not far behind.
"If you see any more of this hard-headed gentleman and you don't want to, please don't hesitate to give the local station a ring," he said, tipping his hat to her. "Would you like a lift to your dinner plans?" He opened his patrol car door.
"Thank you for your kindness, Officer Blackard, but I have a bus pass." She smiled warmly and wound her scarf a bit tighter. The policeman tipped his hat again before he got into his car and drove off. Hermione waited until he was just out of sight and then found the alley between her apartment building and an opposing building to Apperate to the Weasleys.
Draco walked briskly out of the fireplace and into his own home. He hadn't lived in Malfoy Manor in nearly two years. The townhouse he now lived in was in a fairly nice Muggle neighborhood that allowed him some anonymity. Oh, if only his father could see him now. Living among Muggles, making friends with them.
As soon as his feet touched the rug, he let out a gasp, as if he had been holding his breath.
"You IDOIT!" He hissed angrily. He let himself fall open far too easily in her presence. Their chance encounter at the bar was something out of a story, but he was in over his head. He had to limit his contact with her until he could sort through his emotions.
"You alright, mate?"
Draco looked up and sighed. "It didn't go well," he said, addressing his Muggle friend, Albert Burns. Albert had sworn to secrecy once he had learned that Draco was a wizard, but didn't desert him once he had learned about some very recent wizarding history.
"The way I see it, you're trying to atone for past wrongs. That's real noble of you. Bet your old man couldn't do that!"
Albert was the kind of skinny that a mother would worry about with a mop of chestnut brown hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He had been a welcome ear to talk to for some time. With not a drop of magical blood in his veins, Albert had a unique position that completely removed him from the magical world, but he wasn't afraid to share his thoughts on magical folk once he learned more about them.
"Did she not accept your feelings?" Albert asked, reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing two bottles of beer.
Draco chuckled and flicked his wand. "Accio beer bottle," He removed the cap and took a long sip. Stout. His favorite.
Albert laughed. "I love it when you do that." He walked over and sat down on the large, green armchair.
"We didn't even get to talking about New Years." Draco leaned against the mantle and locked the Floo. "We somehow ended up pouring our hearts out about our pasts and then she basically shooed me out."
"Heavy stuff," Albert said, taking another swing of his drink. "Do you think she fancies you at all?"
Draco drew little circles on the wood of the mantle with his index finger. "I don't know."
There was a loud sigh as Albert got up from the chair. "Listen, Draco. You're my mate, so I'll give it to you the easy way." He clapped Draco on the shoulder and gave him a meaningful look. "She's not stupid, this Hermione. From what you've told me, she's probably smarter than anyone I've ever met. She's not gonna fall for any games or tricks or anything like that." He shrugged. "She also doesn't sound like the kind of girl that appreciates beating around the bush."
"Logic is her standby. I'm sure she'll put it together eventually," Draco's voice sounded more hopeless than he intended.
Albert rolled his eyes. "And isn't you telling her that you like her going to sound a lot better coming from you than some other bloke or her own brain?"
He stared at the floor for a moment. "I bullied her in school. I was the 'bad guy' in the war. How could she ever find any way to care about anything I do?"
A finger wagged in his face as Albert smiled. "You seriously doubt the powers of fate and human decency."
Draco chuckled. "You could say that again." And he downed the rest of his stout.
(I just need to stop promising a set time for updates, honestly. It's been what, a month and a half? Ech, sorry guys. But! I hope this chapter makes up for the sad lack of updates. See you guys later! Cheers!)