Discovered in Hiding
Ch. 6: Muggling Draco
In the afternoon, Draco could stand the boredom no longer. He daringly explored the entire upstairs. The loo was like any other. Nothing new there from the last few weeks. His personal items were impeccably placed on a shelf. Hermione's personal effects made him shutter. Womanly… things… he made a disgusted face and closed the little cupboard. At least she did not leave her things lying about as he had expected. The one thing he could not stand was Crookshank's litter box in the bathroom. That was truly disgusting! Thank all the magic in the world, Hermione kept it spelled against foul smells and cleaned up after her foul tempered cat regularly. Using the light switch in there was now common for him. He wondered when that happened. Oh yeah, when he got stuck in there in the dark by accident in the first week.
The hall was familiar too, so he helped himself to Hermione's bedroom. He frowned seeing that in three weeks she had not unpacked really. Her clothing was folded or piled in her opened trunk and not in the dresser drawers. Did she think he would be a foul git and force her to run off? He winced. Hadn't he just been and done that this morning? Books were everywhere. She never stopped reading. He traced his hands over the spines of familiar Hogwarts texts. He touched her clothing and felt the texture of her bed. Simple yet soft, like his own. She was very careful not to leave anything of herself behind to be open for the taking. He hairbrush was perfectly clean like his own, for safety. There was a locked box by her bed. He smelled it. Smelled like paper inside, likely letters and photos. Nothing in her room really spoke of being home either save for a plush animal on her bed that must be nearly as old as Hermione. He sat on her bed and inhaled trying to see if the room smelled like her. It had a smell, but he didn't know if she smelled like it.
So foolish! He was married to her and knew nothing of her. If they were to pretend to be in love and wed and such, they needed to know things about each other. This was as much for her safety as it was for his own. He wondered if she felt as out of place as he did. Likely not. She was muggle born. Yet they were both barely eighteen and now considered husband and wife according to all legal paperwork. And why did they have to have him take HER name? Right, because Malfoy would totally defeat the purpose of hiding from his father. Lucius was probably murdering every muggle with the name.
He stepped into the spare bedroom or guest room. It felt more sterile than their bedroom. Pleasant, if you wanted a room at a bed and breakfast, but far from anything home-like. Was Hermione too scared to settle in?
He headed downstairs wincing now and then. His back was hurting a great deal. But he could not see or treat it if something was wrong. He decided to try to occupy his mind and continued exploring. The main floor was less familiar to him. He opened everything in the kitchen to see what was where. The cold box, fridge as she had called it, worked as well as the magical ones. The rest was exciting and forbidden at the same time. He was never allowed in the kitchen at home. It was where house elves did the magic of preparing food and such. He found the plates and cutlery and everything else that might be basically useful. He remembered these items from inventory lists he was taught to keep back at his estate. He doubted any of these were actual silver though. His stomach growled its need for food. He chose to ignore it. He was not done his exploration. The dining room was suitable. Not enough place settings or chairs for a proper family gathering, but then it was just them. He wondered if she had table manners beyond the basics seen in the Hogwarts dining hall.
He tested the light stitches and chose to leave all the lights on as he went. The living room was peasant-ish. Not enough rich wood showing. The fireplace served both the living room on one side and the den on the other. There were no pictures anywhere. If this were a family home, there would be family pictures. Paintings and photos of family and friends. Who would she put there? Likely her parents, though no such picture graced any room. Harry for sure and maybe even Ron to remember him. None could be found. Who would he put? He would like to put his mother, but that was risky. He didn't have anyone else. That left him feeling very alone. They would need pictures of each other to pull off their lie, too. The spells to create those were in his head and unable to come out. He fisted his hands in frustration.
He poked then at everything in the living room. The TV blared and blinked out then blared again. He hit several buttons but could not figure out the muggle contraption to shut it off or quiet it. He gave up and explored the den. Walls of book. A good solid desk. It looked like an excellent study. He could see papers upon it. Legal documents. Those he perused very carefully. Their marriage contract, their fake birth certificates. Their fake educational certifications and previous work documents. The deed for the house that required regular payments to the bank. Bank account papers identifying their accounts. They each had an account and shared one. Though, he had handled the affairs of people paying the Malfoy's rent. Insurance papers and paperwork for the car. This seemed very normal for him and was completely in the realm of his understanding. This aspect of muggles nearly matched that of the wizarding world which was quite the surprise. Could they be as business minded as the world he knew?
The paperwork was all a scattered mess in the large drawer which irritated him immensely. If they got audited, it would be a disaster! Wincing against the noise from the TV, he found file folders and started to sort all the paperwork properly. Considering that most of the books walled this room, he figured they would have to share the den. If they have to share it, she had better keep it organized, especially after her put it in order.
He was hungry and hurting now. He resigned himself to finding his own food. He had no idea how to prepare something for himself, not even a sandwich. What the hell was she thinking leaving him with nothing? He placed an orange on a plate and took out a knife. He supposed he could do this much. He sliced the orange in rings and then halved them. Apparently he could not do this as well as he though. He cut his fingers and hand several times and wrapped his hand in the tea towel. Now his stomach hurt from being hungry, his head hurt from the stupid picture box, his back hurt since this morning's running around and now his hand bled and stung fiercely. He hated it here! He took his plate of orange slices up to his bedroom. One only ate in bed when they were an invalid. He figured he qualified since he was STILL in his sleeping pants.
He wanted to go home where things made sense. He wanted his mum there to care for him. She was gone though, along with everything else.
He nibbled a few slices of orange as he curled in his bed, leaving the door open to hear everything in the house as best he could over the noise in the living room. The pain would not subside though and that only caused him to lose his appetite. He ground his teeth as he grew hot and cold and nauseous. He pulled his blankets up and wished the pain would subside. Hell, he wished Granger would get back and make it stop. Make all of it stop. Stop the noise. Stop the pain.
Hermione finished setting all her things in the dining room on the table. Annoyed about the blaring TV, yet pleased Draco had explored and not burned down the house, she turned off the cacophony. A knife and some drops of blood in the kitchen alarmed her. "Draco? Draco!" She hurried up the stairs. In his room he lay in the bed, blond hair plastered wet to his face. She saw the sliced oranges on the plate hand eaten and put two and two together. "Oh Draco." His pale blue eyes opened. "Show me your hand." He stuck his towel wrapped hand out from under the blanket. She unwrapped it and tended to his cuts with some items from the bathroom.
He was immeasurable grateful she was there. So much so, he could almost cry. He didn't though. She treated his back and with a damp cloth wiped the sweat that stung him. She smoothed his sweat dampened hair from his face. "I'll get some food for you and bring you the pain medicine." He wasn't sure what her tone of voice was. It wasn't exactly pity, thankfully, but something that made him want her to stay there. He could not voice his request. The neighbour was correct. She did come back, but Draco doubted that it was because of love.
That was a messy emotion he couldn't understand as he had so little of it in his life, same from his mother. After all, among the nobles and pure bloods, marriages were still commonly arranged and not based out of love. Matches were made based on who would bring betterment to the family in some way. It felt so much like breeding programs used for dogs, especially when the occasional inbreeding was engaged in to ensure keeping the blood pure or within the family. Draco hated that and dreaded it. You ended up with unstable people. Bellatrix was a prime example.
Draco, my son, live… find a way to live and be the change you want to see in the world.
Draco wondered if he was really free enough to do either of those, live… and make change. It was his mother's secret wish for him, a secret they shared.
Hermione stoked the back of Draco's head briefly before making some soup and slices of bread. She brought those up, filled a glass with juice and opened the pill bottle. She worried some about him. Even before Draco had fully rolled over to sit and eat, she left again. She returned. "Draco, here. This is a muggle writing tool. Ink is inside it. I have more should it be emptied." She set down a small spiral notebook and the pen. "I am sorry it took so long for me to clue in that you need a way to speak to me. Write what you need to say." She hoped this helped smooth things a little between them if he was not offended by using muggle means to communicate.
As he ate, she recounted her day to him. She wanted him to know what she had been up to and keep him in the loop as best she could. It also served as a way to introduce muggle ideas and things to Draco. His facial expressions were amusing and made her smile or sometimes giggle. She had never realized before how expressive he really was. He hand covered her mouth as it usually did when she giggled. Draco frowned and reached over, tugging her hand from her face. He avoided her eyes and took his pain meds. She blushed to her own surprise.
She left him to rest for a little while, to let the pain killers kick in. In the meantime, she put things away, cleaned up, cooked a simple meal for herself, and got busy with her reading. It was to her surprise to find Draco standing in the doorway of the dining room. There was a look of disapproval on his face. "What?"
Draco had wasted the first few pages of the little book she gave him experimenting with writing. Standing in the doorway of the dining room, he could not understand why she was working there. He flipped open the little notebook and scribbled with the muggle pen before handing it over to her.
This is the dining room. It is used for dining. You should be in the study for this.
She read it and laughed. He snatched the book back with annoyance. "Draco, this is the largest table in the house. I need to look at everything while I work. And try to… make sense of some things that make little sense." She waved her hand at this first set of newly opened mail with bills. His eyes followed her gesture, then his hands. She watched as he gathered up all the banking and bills and wandered away. "Hey! Those are important. What are you …" She stopped in the doorway of the den, watching him neatly file them. Then he wrote in the notebook.
It bothered him to have to write, but what choice did he really have? It was too slow for what he wanted to say, Hermione would just have to be patient while he got it all out in his careful penmanship, for honestly, what he considered scribbling was too perfect and beautiful for Hermione to call scribbling.
You took one useless and pathetic class on arithmancy. You never learned economics, politics, investments, banking structures, business or property management, or anything else that one actually needs to function in the world, including etiquette and appropriate conduct among peers and superiors. Hogwarts fell to plebeian standards when it ceased to teach these and left it up to wizarding families to find suitable summer tutors. From now on, before you render us destitute within a few short months, this is MY domain. Find me the muggle money exchanges and basic details.
He thrust the notebook back to her. She read it, stiffening her shoulders as she usually did before she lost her temper. However, she could only in the end agree with him, though not with his word choices. Actually, she was somewhat relieved that someone knew how to do this because he was right, she didn't and nothing at Hogwarts prepared her for it. "Fine." Draco wasn't sure if he offended her or not.
After a few tense moments, she spoke again. "Since we are down here, we might as well begin with your muggle training since you abandoned the Muggle Studies class at Hogwarts and have no idea how to use things here in the house." He totally paled and she thought he would faint. "We don't need the muggles outside thinking you are an ignorant backwater country bumpkin or plebeian." Just to use his own insulting word back at him. Her satisfaction failed as his eyes rolled back, his knees buckled and he did faint dead away like a girl. She winced as he hit the floor, he desperate attempt to catch him proved not quick enough. What had she said? Was he actually hurt worse than she thought? Maybe she does need to take him back to the hospital.
She fretted over these thoughts as she cradled him, trying to coax him awake. He woke moments later. "Maybe… maybe we will address the muggle stuff in the house… tomorrow."
He swallowed. The memory of the teacher on the dining table, HIS dining table at Malfoy Manor. The memory of Voldamort killing her and his snake Nagini devouring her just before a meal was served to everyone. He took a few sweating gulps of air. He didn't hear Hermione's soothing words, just turned and buried his face into her trying to banish the images from his vision.
Hermione had no idea what happened. His nightmares through the night woke her frequently. She was ever so glad to not have to be anywhere the next day. Her next meeting with Professor Stanton was to be the day after in the late afternoon. Harry called her and she spent some quiet time talking to him. He and bill had to take care of something that came up. He wouldn't be able to come for maybe two more weeks. At her questions of concern, he assured her things were fine and that she was quite safe. He was just… busy.
She spent the time walking Draco through various items in the house, explaining how to use them. She started with basics like the telephone, doorbell, electricity, hot water and heating, the fridge and microwave, and the TV. Draco discovered how similar muggles were to wizards and internally felt amazed at the magic they created without magic. He would never admit he was developing a secret interest. The learning helped occupy his days and keep him from getting bored.
They next big fight came when she taught him about the laundry machines. He was horrified he would have to wash his own clothes! "And the hell do you think I have been doing? You think I like washing your sweaty smelly things! We don't have many clothes. So get used to washing them!" The lesson ended swiftly there. They still argued over the use of the dining room table for research space too. She yelled. He threw things. They both stormed off. Their worlds collided in misunderstandings like this.
The den soon became his personal domain when it wasn't his bedroom. It was how he shut out the muggle world when he was fed up with being mugglified as he called it. "I am not trying to mugglify you!" she yelled through the den door. "I am trying to educate you… you… you ignorant GIT!" The door flew open and the fury painting his face made her think he would actually hit her. He turned away and slammed the door shut again.
As payback, she refused to wash his laundry and he suddenly understood just how few clothing he had. When she was off at the university, he invaded her room and concluded that she too was woefully ill prepared. No wonder she seemed to almost always look like she was wearing the same things to work. She was! It was offensive. They were NOT poor according to their finances. Harry had brilliantly made an arrangement for Draco's account to be funneled into the ministry and refunneled to the muggle bank. It still didn't mean he wanted to squander it, but for the love of one's basic dignity, they needed clothing. How could she hope to impress people by not dressing properly for work! Did she have no pride in herself? This needed correcting immediately. It was embarrassing, to HIM. As his wife, it of course reflected on him.
He had achieved some small measures. They ate breakfast and supper at the dining table. Over one breakfast, he brought the schedule she put up on the fridge door. He needed to make changes there. The fridge was not the location for memos. As it was, bringing books, papers and writing stuff to the dining table was rude, but he had little choice since he could not speak.
We need to shop for clothing. We can afford it. And we both need proper wardrobes that are not an embarrassment of repetition or a display of second-hand over-used unprofessional attire suitable only for youths from low class families.
He saw her scowl. It was the one that came when he called her a mudblood, and usually just shy of her punching him in the face. He leaned out of reach and scribbled again.
We are adults without uniforms and need to show so, especially if you are trying to impress people of higher status than you in this world. Grant me the dignity to at least look respectable, me as well as you. Students run around in jeans, professors do not. And I can't be wearing the same three sets of clothing forever.
She finally grinned. She had not been able to convince him to willingly get into the contraption known as the car or mingle in any muggle inhabited locales. "YAY! We go shopping! OH! And we have dinner to plan for guests too so we should get something for that! Harry is coming over and so are Bill and Fleur. They arrive in two days."
Had he known shopping was the easiest way to change her mood, he would have suggested this MUCH earlier in their forced relationship. He was so used to Hermione as the book fiend and intellectual (she should have been sorted into Ravenclaw, honestly) that he forgot sometimes that she was just a teen girl and might actually like the same things other girls her age did.
A/N – Google Maps is my friend. I am not from England. I have never left the North American continent, nor seen the ocean in person. So, needing to write and situate the story in England, off to Google Maps I went. I even have STREET NAMES! Now that I am done being totally silly, I apologize to anyone who lives in Reading or England for any mistakes I make. I am sure to make some large and small gaffs. Colloquialisms will likely be my main gaffs. Canadian speak is not British speak. There are terms I miss (like loo… I already made that mistake). By the way, for information about the University of Reading (pronounced Redding), I went to their website. They have a great video tour. I also perused their History department programs and courses. Alas, I named my professor quite fictitiously. There is no Professor Stanton at the University of Reading at this time.
http:/ www .reading .ac .uk /about /film /about -aboutvid .aspx