AN: Another quick turn around. This chapter practically wrote itself!
Thanks again to my reviewers, ShatteredTruth, cmtaylor531, lostxatx7thxsea, chaste-aeon, and BlueIrishEyes. BIE, I think you can tell from this chapter that I have no intention of continuing from last chapter. The flashbacks will be woven into the story at what I feel are appropriate times. And as for the last chapter being short... well, hopefully this one makes up for it!
Stand and Watch It Burn
VII. The Past is Another Land
Hermione stood, frozen, staring at Olivia who was still looking at her with huge eyes. Her mind raced, processing what she had just learned. It just wasn't logical. It made absolutely no sense at all.
"No," she finally said. "That's not possible. You're lying."
"If you say so, Miss. But why would I lie?" Olivia looked at her plaintively. Hermione saw the girl, staring at her with her wide hazel eyes. No, she wasn't lying. As if attempting to shrug it off, Olivia made a half-hearted attempt at it and added, "Anyway, like I said, it was just a rumour."
"Do you believe it?"
Olivia flinched. She nodded slowly.
"Why?"
"Because I saw him," Olivia answered simply. "I saw him fighting against the Death Eaters, standing right by Harry Potter. I remember him because he was the one who saved me."
"He saved you?" Hermione repeated faintly, disbelief etched on every feature of her face.
This time, Olivia nodded vigorously. "I'll never forget his face. Or that night." Olivia sighed and moved toward the small table in the centre of the room. "You probably should sit," Olivia said. "It's a bit of a tale."
Sitting down next to her, Hermione saw the uneasiness written on Olivia's face. "You don't have to – "
"No," Olivia interjected. "I've remained silent long enough. It's just…" Olivia twisted her fingers anxiously, her head bent over. "I didn't… I suppose I should have expected it. Robert – my husband – was Muggleborn. He and I worked in the Ministry in Muggle Relations. Robert was the head of the office." Olivia laughed softly. "It was like holding a ticking time bomb, in all honesty. Most people had left the office because they were scared. We, being young and naïve, thought we could stick it out. Robert was brilliant at what he did. He understood nuances in Muggles like no one else. We thought we could make it. Then one night…" She trailed off.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly, her voice full of sympathy.
Olivia smiled weakly. "I was out at my parents' with our son. When I came back, I found Robert… I found Robert lying on the floor, cold. Before I even had a chance to scream, they appeared. They told me they were waiting for me. They surrounded me and called me a blood traitor. I was on the floor, trying to cover my son, just hoping they would kill me first so I wouldn't have to watch him die."
Hermione's heart stopped. "How terrible," she somehow managed to utter.
"But the curses never came," Olivia continued. "I heard a loud noise and a lot of shouting. When I looked up, the Death Eaters had been broken up. And there where three people there, pushing them back. One of them was unmistakably Harry Potter." She blinked. "I don't really remember exactly what happened next. All I remember was that a Death Eater must have come up behind me. I heard her cast a spell… I'm not sure which one it was, but I think it was the Killing Curse because I remember a brilliant flash of green. But it missed… only because someone shoved me out of the way. He yelled at someone to go back for help. Then he looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I was all right. He had tried to cover up his face with his robes, but I recognized him. I had seen his father often, prancing around the Ministry like some overstuffed goose. And that was the last thing I saw before I went unconscious. When I came to, I was in St. Mungos. Broken, bruised, and a widow… but alive."
Neither of them said anything for a while. Olivia appeared to be deep in thought while valiantly holding back tears. Hermione, on the other hand, was trying hard to absorb everything she had just discovered in the past hour. Could it really be possible? None of this added up. If Malfoy was in the Order, she would have known. If Malfoy truly had stood by Harry, fighting to protect lives rather than destroy them, she would have known because he would have been standing by her side as well.
"Olivia," Hermione said gently, "are you sure it was Malfoy you saw and not someone else? That night must have been completely chaotic for you. You could have easily mistaken – "
"I know what I saw," Olivia said adamantly. "What I saw was Draco Malfoy protecting me, asking me if I was all right."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Olivia shrugged, her eyes downcast. "What could I say? I just figured that he turned on the Order. Those Malfoys are slippery ones and impossible to trust. At the time, I didn't think much of them not mentioning it in the paper. I guessed they didn't want to even suggest that there were problems within the Order. The Order was our last hope against You-Know-Who… After a while, everyone just agreed that Malfoy had been a Death Eater all along. And everyone believed he was You-Know-Who's go-to guy." She stopped and gave Hermione a twisted smile. "But he saved me and Robby. For that, I will always be grateful."
"And with his release? What are people saying about that?"
"I've never seen people so upset," Olivia replied, snorting a bit. "Oh goodness. You would think the Ministry just let You-Know-Who go. People are calling for the Minister's head. A lot of people have lost faith in Davids… and the people loved Davids."
"But the rumours…"
Olivia smiled sadly at Hermione. "People forget quickly, especially things they want to forget. It complicates things when not everything is black and white. Everyone knew Lucius Malfoy was a pure-blood elitist. No one was really that surprised when he turned out to be a Death Eater. Why should his son be any different?"
"And you?"
"I don't know," Olivia admitted. "My gut tells me that he's innocent. My heart tells me he's a good man. But my head… None of it makes sense at all."
"No," Hermione agreed. "It doesn't."
Olivia cocked her head and looked at Hermione with interest. "Why are you so interested in Draco Malfoy anyway?"
Hermione sat there, debating for a while, unsure of what to say. Should she tell her? This girl was a perfect stranger! They had just met a little over an hour ago. Still, Hermione couldn't deny she felt something of a connection with the brunette sitting across next to her. I'm going crazy, Hermione thought.
This time, it was Olivia's turn to say, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want."
Hermione laughed bitterly. "Honestly? I don't even know what to tell you. I'm not even sure what's going on."
"You could start with your name," Olivia suggested, smiling gently.
"Oh of course, "Hermione said, mentally slapping herself. "We've been sitting here chatting for so long and I haven't even the decency to tell you my name." She extended a hand to Olivia. "Hermione Granger… Weasley." Hermione couldn't believe how awkward it still was for her to refer to herself as Hermione Weasley. At work, she had gone by Hermione Granger, even after they had married. Not that Ron was happy about that, of course.
Olivia didn't take Hermione's hand. Instead, she stared at Hermione with big round eyes. She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "Hermione Granger? Oh. Oh my God." Olivia now was covering her face with her hands. "I'm so… Oh Merlin. I've made an utter fool of myself. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley." She quickly got out of her chair and started to walk away.
"No, please," Hermione pleaded, grabbing Olivia's arm. "Stay."
Although Olivia didn't continue walking away, she didn't sit back down either.
"Please," Hermione repeated. Finally, Olivia nodded and sat back down. "And call me Hermione," she added.
"All right," Olivia replied. She gave Hermione an embarrassed smile, her face flushed. "I can't believe I didn't recognise you."
Hermione waved that off. "I tried to remain out of the public eye," she joked. "Besides, everyone was more interested in Harry than me. Olivia, I need to ask you about…"
"I don't understand," Olivia said, cutting Hermione off. "You should know all of this better than me. Why are you asking me? You could ask Harry Potter. Or your husband. They were in the Order. You were in the Order. You should know all of this."
"But I don't," Hermione said bitterly, "and I know Ron is lying to me about it. If Ron's lying, Harry will lie to me too. They're hiding something from me and I don't know what."
"But you should know," Olivia insisted. "You would know if Malfoy was in the Order. You should know about the rumours and capturing Malfoy. According to The Daily Prophet, you were the first on the scene."
"I know," Hermione said. "I read the article."
Olivia raised an eyebrow. "So does that mean it's not true?"
Hermione bit her lip. "I have absolutely no memory of being there. I have no memory of the arrest of Draco Malfoy. In fact, the last memory I have of Malfoy is the end of my sixth year." She closed her eyes and tried to think back three years ago. Shaking her head, she said, "It's all foggy. I can't even really recall the end of the war."
Olivia was silent for a while, gazing at Hermione as if she were examining her. "Has it always been like that?"
"I haven't really thought much about the war since it was over," Hermione confessed. "Harry and Ron always went on about how we needed to move on and not dwell on the past. They never discussed the war much." Hermione paused. "You know, now that I think of it… any time I did mention the war, they would try to change the topic rather quickly."
"And you never found that strange?" Olivia was now openly staring at Hermione. "The war was absolutely huge. How could you just… pretend like it never happened?"
Hermione shook her head. "It was hard on all of us," she said. "The end, especially. Harry was injured so badly. There were so many deaths in the final battle… people I loved and cared about were gone. Everyone was so emotionally shaken."
"I still think that's strange," Olivia insisted.
"I rather agree with you," Hermione confessed.
Silence.
"So what then?" Olivia asked, finally breaking the silence. "Are we both just crazy conspiracy-mongers? Is The Prophet lying?"
"No," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "Someone's lying, and for once it's not that damn rag."
Olivia said slowly, "Then the only other plausible option is…"
"Someone modified my memory," Hermione finished.
x x x
The past is now another land
Far beyond my reach
Invaded by insidious
Foreign bodies, foreign speech
Where timeless joys of childhood
Lie broken on the beach
x x x
Draco opened the back door leading into the gardens. Now that it was nearly June, the gardens were in full bloom. His father had never been a gardener or one to go outside even, but he had always insisted on having extravagant gardens. Draco believed he saw flourishing greenery as a symbol of accomplishment. He could always see the utter satisfaction in his father's eyes anytime a guest complimented the thriving gardens.
In his younger years, Draco had thought that the time and magic spent on the garden was a waste. As he got older, Draco had taken up tending to the gardens in the summer, despite the elves' insistence that he let them. Slowly, he came to love the blooms and always felt pride during the summer when the garden was filled with blossoms.
It was a light, golden morning. Draco started down the narrow stone path that went through the rather expansive garden. He started through the archway, covered with climbing morning glories, opened to greet the morning sun.
Draco took in a breath. He could smell the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. There was also a soft tingle of magnolias. Now through the wicker archway, he passed by a fountain. It was (Draco thought) a rather repulsive looking chimera that his great-grandfather had placed in the garden years ago. Draco had softened the darkness of the area by replacing the rotting ivy surrounding it with sweet peas and bluebells. He smirked, thinking of how his dear, dear great-grandfather would react seeing his prized sculpture now.
Just a little past Jimmy the Chimera (as Draco fondly called it) was one of Draco's favourite parts of the garden. There was a little bench under a large oak tree with long, reaching branches, both of which were situated right by a large pond. During his absence from the manor, several ducks had taken up residence in this pond. Draco sat on the bench for a short while, watching with amusement as a female duck led a line of seven tiny fluffy ducklings, all squawking loudly as they struggled through the reeds and narcissuses. Draco had planted them there years ago in honour of his mother.
He really could have stayed there all day, but there was something in particular he had wanted to see. Draco took one last glance at the duckies. The mother duck had entered the water and now the little ones were plopping in after her. Seemingly content with their assertiveness, he finally got up and continued down the path.
In one corner of the garden, Draco had concentrated most of his gardening efforts. It was a small gated section that he had considered his own little haven. The gate looked a little rusty. Three years of rain and sun would do that, Draco reasoned. He pushed the gate and it opened with a loud creak. Draco grimaced. It was a rather unpleasant sound.
Looking around, Draco noticed that the garden was still quite neat. All the shrubs were neatly trimmed, the flowerbeds were free of weeds, and the small park bench looked immaculate. Apparently, Hetty had explicitly ignored his commands to stay out. But surprisingly, Draco wasn't annoyed. Instead, he felt slightly pleased. Coming to the centre of the garden, Draco finally arrived at his destination. He frowned at what he saw.
"Hetty!" With a loud crack, the house elf appeared.
"What does sir want?" Hetty asked. When she realised where she was standing, Hetty panicked. "Oh, Hetty knows young master told her to stay out, but Hetty didn't wants young master's hard work to go to waste and Mistress enjoyed coming here so, Hetty couldn't…"
"It's all right, Hetty," Draco said reassuringly. "Everything looks lovely. You did a wonderful job."
"Thank you, sir!" Hetty as positively beaming.
Draco smiled at elf's glee. Hetty was the one who had taken care of him when he was younger, and he always felt an attachment to Hetty… though Draco had to confess that he had treated Hetty extremely poorly when he was younger. Under his father's influence of course – not that that was any excuse, but under his father's influence nonetheless.
"Hetty," Draco said, "I wanted to ask you about this bush."
Hetty peered at what Draco was pointing at. "Yes?"
"Well, why isn't it flowering?"
Hetty's eyes welled up. "I'm so sorry, young master. I knows this was the bush sir loved the most, and Hetty took care of it, sir, but no flowers came."
"None?" Draco's face fell.
Hetty shook her head, her eyes still sparkling with tears.
Draco sighed. Just as well, he supposed. "All right, Hetty. That's all. You should probably return to your work." Hetty nodded and disappeared.
Draco stood, staring at the offensively bare bush for a little while longer. He prodded it and immediately regretted that. The bush was thorny. Stupid, he berated himself. Bush – 1. Draco – 0. I should probably head back. Mother will be wondering where I am.
When he returned to the manor, Draco could hear a distant clash of china.
"Draco, is that you?" his mother's voice called out.
"Yes, Mother," he called out. From the sound of her voice, Draco guessed she was in the small sun room by the kitchen.
When Draco appeared in the doorway, Narcissa smiled, acknowledging his presence. "Would you like some tea, Draco?" she asked, gesturing at the tea tray resting on the small round table before her. "I've also asked Milly to prepare some breakfast for you. I'm sure you are hungry after your stroll."
Besides her unrestrained display of emotion upon his return, his mother had remained rather calm in spite of everything, Draco thought. She hadn't changed much. Although it didn't seem she intended to go out, Draco noticed his mother was still wearing rather fine silk robes in a light blue edged with silver thread. Her thin blonde hair was gently gathered atop her head. Most of all, she still carried an air of importance. This image of his mother was the same now as it was three years ago. Yet she seemed distinctly different than the mother he knew before he went to Azkaban.
Looking at her again, he knew what it was. She smiles more.
"Thank you, Mother," Draco responded. "Really, you should join me. A morning walk would be good for you. Enjoy the fresh air and all that."
Scoffing, Narcissa lifted her cup to her lips. After taking a slow sip, she said, "Oh, Draco, you know I would hardly do such a silly thing like that. The sun is terrible for my skin, and all the bugs hovering about the flowers would bother me."
That's not what Hetty told me, Draco thought. But he didn't bother to correct her. Instead, he sat down in the chair next to her.
Wordlessly, his mother poured him a cup of tea, adding a little sugar and a dash of cream. She handed it to him. "The way you like it," she said.
Draco took a small sip and set the cup back down. They hadn't talked much since his return. It was just over a week now, and this had been so far their most meaningful conversation. Not that Narcissa had been much of a conversationalist before (Malfoy women were generally told to be seen and not heard) but Draco had longed to speak with his mother. He wanted to know what she had been doing for the last four years since he left the Dark Lord.
"Mother?" he asked.
"Yes, Draco?" she replied evenly.
How to go about this? Draco considered his words carefully before finally uttering, "What did you do when I left?"
Narcissa tensed. Seeing her reaction, Draco almost regretted bringing it up. But he needed to know. "I went to your aunt," she said.
Draco's jaw clenched. "Bellatrix?" he asked coldly.
Narcissa shook her head. "Do you think Bella would have taken me after your failed mission?" Draco recoiled at that. Failed. "She laughed at me. Laughed in my face. So I went to Andromeda, who, surprisingly, took me in. When the war was over, I returned to Malfoy Manor. The Ministry constantly tried to take the property away from our family, but I still had some connections. I managed to keep it under a protectorate hoping one day you would be released." She shook with fervor. "It was my only hope."
"I'm sorry, Mother," Draco whispered.
"Don't be foolish."
"I failed you. My mission. Then with the Order."
Narcissa turned to look at her son, her blue eyes dark and flaming with anger. Draco had never seen his mother so uninhibited. "The Order?" she spat out. "You're apologising for that scum? First those dirty blood traitors take my husband and then turn around and call my son a traitor." She shook her head furiously. "No. No. They may have won the war, but it does not mean they are right. Since the war was over, they have celebrated by laughing at me. They embrace the Muggles but scorn us. That's what they call justice! No. Never mention that bloody name to me again."
The topic was dropped. Draco knew better than to press the subject. The rest of the conversation tapered off slowly until finally they were sitting in complete silence.
x x x
The present is an empty space
Between the good and bad
A moment leading nowhere
Too pointless to be sad
But time enough to lay to waste
Every certainty I had
x x x
Hermione spent the rest of the day in a daze. How could she go back and face her friends that hid secrets from her? How could she go home and sleep in the same bed with the man who couldn't tell her the truth?
It had taken some time, but finally, Olivia convinced her to continue her day like nothing happened. The two agreed that until they got some more concrete evidence, it would be best that Hermione say nothing to Ron or Harry… or anyone else for that matter. Olivia promised to be on the lookout for information and swore she'd contact Hermione as soon as she caught wind of anything.
So, begrudgingly, Hermione returned to the Burrow to retrieve Aiden. At Mrs. Weasley's request and after getting Ron's okay, she agreed to stay there for dinner. Dinner was a strange affair. Hermione was unused to the heavy weight of withholding something from her husband and her family. She opted to remain silent, watching as the small crowd around her chatted amiably. Were these people – friends and family that she'd known for years – hiding something from her?
After dinner, she and Ron with little Aiden in tow Flooed back to their place. It was rather late. Hermione quickly went to Aiden's room, dodging right by Ron. She lingered in her son's room even after she was sure his steady breathing would continue through the night. She watched his little chest rise and fall as he slept peacefully, dreaming innocently. Hermione envied him.
Realising she could not avoid Ron forever, she timidly walked into their bedroom. Ron had already changed into his grey flannels and was sitting up in bed, perusing Quidditch Quarterly. When he heard her enter, he glanced up and smiled at her. Wavering, Hermione smiled a bit back, and Ron returned his gaze to his magazine.
"Hey, 'Mione," he said distractedly. "How was your day?"
"All right," Hermione replied. That was good. That was really good! Hermione mentally praised herself. Short, quick answers. The less I say the better. She sat down in front of her vanity and began furiously brushing her hair.
Ron flipped a few pages in his magazine. "What errands were you running? I didn't hear you mention anything about that."
Hermione nearly dropped her brush. "Wh-what?"
Ron gave her a funny look. "Your errands," he repeated. "Mum said you left Aiden with her for a few hours and went off to Diagon Alley for a bit."
"Oh. Oh right!" Hermione's mind was swimming. "I went… to Flourish and Bott's. I wanted to pick up a book, and I didn't want to be carrying Aiden around the bookstore."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Thank Merlin. The poor little thing probably would have been bored out of his mind."
Normally, Hermione might have snapped back, but she remained silent, pensive instead. Slowly she made her way to bed, pulling the covers over her.
"Are you okay, Hermione?" Ron gave her a look of concern. "You don't quite seem yourself. You were awfully quiet at dinner tonight, and now you're rather silent. Normally you won't shut up. Is something wrong? Is there something you want to tell me?"
Hermione fidgeted with the sheets, pulling and twisting them in her hands. Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked Ron in the eyes and gave him a convincing smile. "No, no," she said. "I'm just rather tired. The whole day has had me all tuckered out. Nothing's wrong. I'm just tired."
Apparently satisfied with this answer, Ron smiled and kissed Hermione on her temple. "All right, you rest up then," he said. "'Nite."
Hermione put her head down on her pillow and turned her back to Ron, trying desperately to fall asleep. Lying to him had been easy. Almost too easy.
x x x
The future is a barren world
From which I can't return
Both heartless and material
Its wretched spoils not my concern
Shining like an evil sun
As my childhood treasures burn
x x x
Later that night, Draco sat by the window in his bedroom, gazing out at the garden. The silvery moonlight illuminated the jasmine and cast long shadows along the hedges. His finger traced the ornate wooden frame that lined the glass.
What would tomorrow bring? He didn't know. Maybe he didn't want to know. Tomorrow was bleak. Would his past haunt him forever? Draco closed his eyes. After imprisonment in Azkaban and being labeled as a Death Eater, what future could Draco possibly have?
His mother had had hope. She hadn't said so, but that was all that kept her going. She had managed to bide by, alone and unwanted because she had one dream to keep her alive. Hope. Purpose. That's what people needed to keep going. But he had none. Maybe before – three years ago… but that was three years and an Azkaban sentence ago. Too long, too far, and too impossible. Draco laughed to himself. That was what he had thought three years ago too. But no, now it was impossible. He knew that.
Resentments ran deeply, Draco reckoned. His mother would never reconcile with the Order. She had hated them on principle before. When the tables turned, she went to their side. But then, they did something to make her truly loathe them. The fragile trust that had begun to form was prematurely destroyed by hasty action.
As he pondered this, Draco began to wonder if he was thinking about his mother… or himself.
AN: I realise the wording sounds a bit like Draco hates the Order, but that's not what it means at all. I would change the wording, but I prefer it this way. Just know it doesn't mean he hates the Order... though this should be clear from Draco and Harry's interaction. How about Draco the gardener eh? It wasn't a trait I had planned on giving to him but I think it really works quite well. And how do you guys like Olivia? I'm always wary of when people create characters, but I felt Hermione needed a companion she could talk openly to. And how's Narcissa? I doubt she'll play a huge role in the story later on, but her characterization was something I spent quite a bit of time considering.
Review and tell me what you think!!!
