Chapter Five

And If My Greatest Fear

"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three-parts dead."
- Bertrand Russell

"Where were you last night?" his father's voice cut through the air, and Draco stiffened. It was Thursday, so Draco did not work, and thus he was instead meticulously rearranging his tie collection first by color, then by function (Self-Tying, Self-Cleaning, and even a few bewitched with an Eloquence Charm that rendered the wearer admirably articulate). Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway of his son's room, looking altogether calm yet slightly suspicious.

Just go mad, urged Draco silently. You're halfway there already.

"Well?" belabored the older Malfoy.

"I don't—"

"Last night," clarified Lucius. "And the night before that, as well. You missed dinner."

"Worked late," mumbled Draco. "I'm nineteen, father, I can decide for myself when I come home."

Had Draco possessed the guts to look his father in the eyes, he would have seen Lucius's nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger. But Draco just kept his eyes on his neckties.

"Can you, now?" demanded Lucius. "If you recall, son, you've not a Knut to your name, and it is my fortune that keeps you off the streets and in fine living conditions."

He was right, of course, and Draco knew this. He placed his forest green tie next to his jade one, and then he turned to face his father. It was silly for him to still fear Lucius Hyperion Malfoy when he was housebound and could not even leave the house to buy his own coffee, cream and sugar. And Draco saw that his father was going, too—he realized, certainly, that his father was going madder by the day. Draco supposed that the two Malfoys depended on each other, now.

"With all due respect," Draco stated carefully, "it'd be nice if you gave me at least a little freedom, Father."

Lucius paused in the doorway for half a second before striding into his son's room, his black robes billowing behind him like smoke. Draco noticed that his father's robes were not as clean as they usually were, and he suspected that he'd been wearing the same ones for several days straight already. This was how Draco knew that Lucius was going mad. No self-respecting Malfoy ever wore the same robes twice in a row, not unless they were properly cleaned and pressed beforehand. From the state of him, it looked like Lucius had been sleeping in those robes.

Lucius sat down on the bed and looked at Draco. Draco looked back at him. The act of sitting while Draco remained standing signified his father's growing emotional weakness; it was an act of surrender and twisted apology. Here, right now, Lucius had given Draco the upper hand, and Draco was not so sure it was intentional.

"Draco." Lucius's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"…yes?"

"I'll be upfront about this," he promised. "I've…lost my touch." He sighed, the Draco could see that his usually immaculate ponytail tied at the nape of his neck was not so; a few strands of his white-blond hair were hanging lank in front of his eyes, and they only intensified the image of defeat evident in him. "I've bought myself enough time by convincing Shacklebolt to allow me this house arrest. Hell, Draco, I even think Potter might have helped me convince him. The fact remains that one day soon, I won't be here anymore."

Draco placed his black silk tie on top of another black silk tie with grey stripes.

"Things have been difficult," confessed Lucius, "since your mother left."

He'd never said 'died,' Draco noticed. And it was true, Narcissa had technically left first. He felt that his father almost ignored the thought of his mother passing away, like perhaps she was still alive and simply elsewhere.

Then Lucius did something astonishingly startling. He got up from the bed, walked steadily over to his son, and cuffed him on the shoulder. But it wasn't like other times, when he'd roughly knock Draco with such great vertical force that his knees would buckle, all because Draco had performed poorly on an exam or lost another Quidditch match; no, this time Lucius clouted his son on the shoulder firmly but gently, like a father. Lucius had always been supportive of Draco, but more in a forceful, moderately threatening way, never in…well, never in this way.

Yep, Draco thought. Completely blooming mad.

"There's isn't a single night I've slept when I haven't dreamt of your mother and wished she were still here," he admitted, bowing his head just a fraction of an inch. "I could easily take some Dreamless Sleep potion, of course, but the thought of seeing her, even just a fabrication of her…it's all I have. Remember, Draco, that dreams only have one owner at a time."

Lucius walked over to the door. "That's why dreamers are so lonely," he elaborated. "So just…let me know if you're ever running late again, alright?"

Draco nodded and watched in silence as his father left his bedroom. Lucius turned left outside, and Draco deduced that he was heading to the library. He was always there now; if he wasn't stalking the halls of Malfoy Manor or chatting with Draco or eating a meal, he was reading. Narcissa had loved to read. She had kept her favorite books on a special shelf of her own in her favorite corner of the library. She had read Muggle books as well… Lucius had not been very ecstatic about that, but he'd tried to be accepting, even tried to understand. It was a task that eventually proved impossible for him.

So his father was just lonely, concluded Draco aptly. And he, Draco, was alone. Lucius was just trying to reach out for him, he decided. Draco knew that he and his father had always lacked the usually congenital paternal bond that he'd seen so many other children have with their fathers, but Draco, while he realized Lucius was different than most, could not deny that his father cared for him deeply. What other explanation was there for the coarse way that Lucius had commanded Draco to stay hidden in the trees that summer during the Quidditch World Cup while he had gone to lead a Death Eater march? Or the way that he, previously so obsessed with Voldemort's return to power and defeat of Harry Potter, had completely and abruptly abandoned his master during the Final Battle to search for Draco?

"Merlin's Beard," muttered Draco, still rummaging through his drawers. "How many ties do I have?"

He grabbed a fistful and tossed them all on his dresser, scattering them lightly about so that he could sort them properly. He glanced upwards and caught sight of his reflection, and only after seeing the dark bluish circles under his eyes and his pallid skin did he realize how pathetic he was. His reflection apparently agreed:

"Well, here you are, my dear," it clucked, "Nineteen years old and floundering."

Draco chuckled darkly. Floundering was the perfect word for it. Draco was struggling, gasping for breath, unsure of where to head next…because no matter where he headed, he figured it would be halfway pointless. Bitterness and tragedy plagued what was left of the Malfoy line; would it ever stop?

He and his father were the epitome of loneliness and being alone. Now if only Draco could figure out the difference between the two.

"And then she what? She asked you to marry her?"

Draco scowled at Theo, wielded his knife, and cut open the cardboard box in front of him that held copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six. "Yes, Theo," he said for the twelfth time. "Indirectly, but yes."

Theo roared with laughter, then leaned on the counter of Flourish and Blotts and shook his head fondly. "That Pansy," he chuckled. "At least she knows what she wants."

"I just wish she didn't want me."

"It wouldn't be so bad," insisted Theo. "Honestly, you'd just have to marry her for the vault access; you could cheat on her all you want and she'd never be able to say anything."

"Still not going to marry Pansy."

"Just close your eyes during the ceremony, don't be a prat, you're not going to do much better."

Draco shot Theo a dirty look. He was sometimes surprised how much of an idiot the man was.

"What?" said Theo defensively, his hands in the air. "I'd do her in the dark."

"I am still astounded that you told her I worked here. Honestly, if you hadn't gone shooting your mouth off for a couple of Galleons, she'd never have found me."

"If your plan was to go undetected by Pansy," smirked Theo, "a bookstore was a brilliant choice. I actually had to give her directions to this place…"

"I just"—Draco felt stupid saying this in front of Theo—"wanted more in a wife, I reckon." He sloppily arranged some books on the shelves. "Naturally I've envisioned myself with Pansy before; it's absolutely revolting."

"Why's that?" Theo wanted to know.

Draco rolled his eyes as he thought back to his Hogwarts days. "We had something once. But something changed, or maybe I did. She emits this aura of desperation. She'd lie to me just for the sake of lying to me. Just to make me pity her, so I wouldn't leave her."

"I feel like your father telling you this," said Theo, his voice a bit quieter than it had just been. "But he isn't going to be around forever to withdraw from the account and hand you what you need. One day, Draco, you're going to be all alone, and if you're still not married by then, you're also going to be broke."

Draco almost laughed at the possibility of being broke. Why, right at this very moment, Draco had just over two thousand galleons locked in a safe inside his room, just in case he was ever in need of gold but didn't feel like going all the way to Gringotts. Even if his father died tomorrow and left Draco with an inaccessible vault, Draco would still have enough money to last him at least two years. At least. Probably more…he kept his expenses low these days, as he didn't really desire anything and really only spent money on food.

He told Theo all this, and Theo only shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

Draco had been talking to Theo more and more lately. Ever since that night when Draco had stopped by Nott Mansion, the two old housemates had been consistent in their conversation. It wasn't so bad, Draco decided. Human interaction could be beneficial; in moderate amounts, of course.

It had been possibly over a week since Draco had last seen Granger or Pansy, and he was feeling pretty good about it. Though he supposed, if he really thought about it, he wondered why Granger hadn't come looking for him yet. He'd been by the park a few times after visiting Theo and hadn't seen her there. He was far from worried, of course, as she was only Granger…but still, Draco had always been a bit curious.

"Take a look at the clock." Theo's voice snapped Draco out of his reverie.

It was five o'clock. Theo grinned at Draco's relieved expression. His shift was finally over. Draco strode over to Cyrus's office, informed him of his leave and watched as his timecard punched itself out at the sound of his voice. Cyrus waved brightly to his favorite worker, and Draco hastily grabbed his cloak and rushed out the door.

"Only you would wear a cloak in the summer," remarked Theo as the two walked outside onto the streets of Diagon Alley.

Not this again. Draco raised his brows. "Without a cloak, a properly dressed wizard is no longer properly dressed."

"Draco, it's one hundred and five degrees in the shade!"

"Irrelevant. Besides, Malfoys don't perspire."

Theo had to laugh, and Draco gripped his friend's arm firmly and turned swiftly on his heel, Apparating the two of them to the forest by Nott Mansion. He welcomed the unpleasant sensation that came with Apparation; things like pain and discomfort were annoying, certainly, but they helped remind Draco that he was still alive.

Theo and Draco appeared in the forest, and Draco mentally hexed himself when he realized that his eyes had immediately jumped to the particular swing set on the playground not too far away. He hexed himself again when he realized that Granger was there, and once more when he found himself wishing he were there, too.

"I have to show you this new thing I came across," said Theo, breaking free from the trees and stepping out into the sunshine. Draco followed. "They're called cigarettes," Theo elaborated. "A Muggle thing, sort of like a pipe, except you throw it out after."

"Disposable pipes?" Draco thought it sounded stupid.

Theo said nothing, merely grinned and took out a small cardboard carton from the pocket of his robes. He shook the box lightly in front of Draco's face, then pocketed them again.

"I actually have to go home soon," Draco found himself saying. He wasn't sure why he'd said it, because it was nowhere near true. He'd already told his father that he'd be going to Theo's after work; it was around five now, and Draco didn't have to be home until seven. It wasn't as if he didn't want to try out this odd Muggle contraption…well, alright, that was part of it. But mostly he wanted to talk to someone…

Theo scowled good-naturedly at his excuse. "Figured. See you tomorrow." And with that Theo patted Draco on the back in an almost sad sort of way, as if he felt a little sorry for him, and took off in the other direction towards the ominous mansion in the distance. Draco was left standing there, halfway between the forest and the Mansion.

And right in front of the playground.

Draco turned his head slightly to the side. She sat there, watching him.

"Weren't you going to say hello?" challenged Draco, taking in the image before him. She was sitting on the swings, an unidentified book laid open in her lap, one hand holding the book in place and the other lightly gripping the metal chain of the swing set. She said nothing for a while and simply studied him. Finally she spoke.

"No, I wasn't," she admitted.

"You haven't been here lately," he observed.

Hermione didn't answer at first and instead turned to the next page of her book. "That's not true," she corrected him. "I've been here almost every evening. I've just come at specific times so as to avoid you."

"Are you saying you've memorized my schedule?"

"I'm saying that you don't know mine. I usually come here around four in the morning, Malfoy."

He stopped short as he realized that he could never fall asleep until precisely that time of night. Did it mean something? Of course not, he thought to himself. Let's not be stupid.

Draco cleared his throat. "If you don't mind my asking," he began, and Granger seemed to nod her head slightly as if allowing him to continue, "why at four in the morning?"

This, apparently, had been the wrong question to ask. He watched her head fall, her curls tumble and she hung her head in…in what? Shame? Despair? Embarrassment? The knuckles on her hand clutching the metal chain were white. Slowly, she lifted her head, and Draco could see that her eyes were shining.

"Why…why at four?" he repeated, because he didn't know what else to say.

"That's when I remember the most," she answered. Her voice was surprisingly powerful despite the defeated look in her eyes. Draco wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, but he could only guess that it had to do with the war. And he could relate.

"I hate remembering, too." He didn't recognize his own voice. He didn't register that his feet were moving of their own accord, that they were making their way over to the swing right next to Granger. It wasn't until he'd finally sat down that he looked at his surroundings in alarm. Hermione sat next to him, a confused look on her face.

With a little sigh, Draco shrugged in her direction and looked straight ahead through the trees. Hermione turned and refocused her gaze into the distance as well.

Silence followed, and though it was far from a comfortable silence, it certainly wasn't an awkward one. In that instant, they were certainly not friends; yet somehow, they were no longer enemies. In fact, Draco almost forgot that they had ever been. He quickly glanced over at Granger; she was reading her book again.

They sat there for hours, not saying anything else to each other, until Draco had to go home. When he realized his watch read as 6:56, he politely stood up, nodded in Granger's direction, and began walking away towards the forest. Hermione continued to sit, staring in his general direction until she saw him disappear with a CRACK into thin air.

She pondered for just a little while.

Maybe there was some good in him after all.