Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.
YOU GUYS. I've finally figured out the ending to this story. I know, I know... This is only Chapter 7 and we've got at least ten more to go, but I've been agonizing about it. This is the stuff that keeps me up at night. One word for you: TWIST. I hope you'll love it. In other news, your reviews continue to be the epitome of awesomeness. I'm uploading this chapter several hours early as a thank you. Keep them coming; stuff really starts to move soon... The next chapter is a big one. I know you're all dying to hear about what happened to Hermione, but we still have to wait a bit for that. Eventually, all will become clear. It's, uh, kinda horrifying. On that cheerful note... Happy reading!
xo
Galfoy
Hermione sat in her room trying to figure out why she was able to function. It didn't make sense. Her previous breakdowns had left her in a useless state for weeks, sometimes months, forcing out the occasional word or short phrase. Now it was just a matter of days, and she really felt this time. She was able to converse. She could heal beyond the basic auto-pilot motions she had memorized. What had changed?
She had slid into her mind after having the night terror, after finding out that Harry and Ron didn't show up. The possibility of their deaths jolted her system and sent her spiralling inward. Just like last time, she was wallowing in that fuzzy dream state where she was only minutely aware of what was going on around her. It was like being under water. It was also like being paralyzed. She floated there, wondering vaguely how long it would be until the fog cleared.
But she picked up more detail than usual. That was the first sign that things were different this time. Something in her mind had changed. There was no detail before - just muted sounds, fuzzy faces, the occasional bout of lucidity.
She knew Draco had placed her on the bed with peculiar kindness.
She knew Wolf had come to see her, fretting over her and stroking her hair, murmuring soothing words into her ear... The way a lover would, not a friend. Certainly not an employer. It puzzled her, even in that state. Maybe she had missed something. Had Wolf always looked at her like that?
She knew Harry and Ron eventually came by. Relief registered somewhere in her brain, but she couldn't break out of her trance to tell them how worried she had been.
Lucius popped his head in and told her she was missed around the house. He kept looking over his shoulder as he spoke, as though he was worried about getting caught. Who was going to catch him? Draco? If he only knew.
Draco the chameleon. Dropping in on her to say hello. Telling her about Molly's food, or about Rose's healing. Telling her he wanted to be friends. Saying he was having doubts about blood status. Telling her he didn't blame her for the night terror.
Touching her hand. Washing her face and arms. Tracing her fingers.
Being so incredibly gentle.
And even in her state, she remembered the fact that she had woken up on his lap. Wrapped in his arms. He may be surly and arrogant, but he certainly wasn't the looming testament of hate he used to be.
It was like a coffee percolator, she decided. All these little details filtering down into the caffeinated slew that was her consciousness. Poking her awake. Telling her that people needed her. Draco's face sliding in and out of her mind, his fingers tracing her fingers. Around the index, around the middle, around the ring... It was such an innocent yet intimate act.
And then he was telling her she could snap out of this. Like he really believed it. He tended to say things as if there was no room for argument.
Somewhere in the fog, her mind agreed.
The next thing she was aware of was his frantic whimpers echoing down the hall as the curse gained strength. Her ears picked up the sounds easily at first, and she guessed he was in his bedroom. Then he moved to the living room and she could just barely hear him gasping for air. Worry permeated the fog. She knew what that curse was doing to him. Someone had to help.
Drip, drip, drip. Her consciousness was being prodded awake. Up you get.
Suddenly, she was sitting up in bed, and Rose was squeaking instructions in the next room. Draco was angry and rude, but that was Draco.
It was enough to bring Hermione back. Not like her old self from school - far from it - but she was able to function and chat and get angry at Draco for being a complete arse. She would take the small victories as they came.
Okay, Hermione thought. Maybe Harry and Ron were right. Taking care of the Malfoys is helping me cope, helping me function.
It was encouraging and slightly amazing to think that those two difficult men might be pushing along her recovery. She couldn't deny it though... They certainly made her feel needed.
But what was she to do with all these new details?
Behind closed doors, Wolf had behaved as if he was in love with her. At work, he was friendly and kind, checking up on her fairly often but giving her as much space as she wanted. He'd never displayed a great deal of emotion, and she'd never considered the possibility that he might want to be more than just a friend or an employer.
This put her in a difficult position. He would assume that she wouldn't remember his behaviour, and it was an understandable conclusion. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't. Except that she did this time, and it was going to be hard to pretend otherwise. She was puzzled - he was a handsome, influential man. What could he possibly want with a girl whose brain was broken?
Lucius was a curious one. Pretending to be cold and distant with her, warning Draco away from becoming close, when in reality he was just as concerned as everyone else. Hermione guessed that he was stuck between two governing impulses: one, so far dominant, telling him to reject her because of her blood. The other, slowly gaining strength, telling him to move beyond his blood prejudice and treat her like a proper ally. One day, he might consider treating her like an equal. It was a big maybe, but it was there.
Then there was Draco. Hermione had noticed his lessening vitriol over the past month or so, and hadn't reached a conclusion about it. Sure, he still whipped out the predictable Mudblood taunt, but he also appeared to like her company and even occasionally struck up a conversation that didn't end in an insult. He had been teaching her chess with more patience than she had ever thought possible. He had even started giving her backhanded compliments.
More small victories.
But those actions didn't really hit home until the night terror. Looking after her the way he did, and then his unguarded comments in her bedroom, painted a completely different picture than the Draco Malfoy she had known for so long.
He was a strange one.
Hermione glanced down at her hands and noticed that she had been absent-mindedly tracing her fingers in the same manner Draco had done.
Draco.
When on earth did she refer to him that way in her thoughts? This whole situation was too bloody bizarre. And of course, he didn't know that she remembered everything he said. It would probably make him defensive, so she would keep it to herself for now. She would try not to think of his fingers tracing hers.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she decided to hide out in her room until Harry and Ron arrived. Rose would have told them by now, and she wanted to show them how far she had come. They would be so impressed. Maybe she was even getting better.
Hermione stretched out on her bed and waited.
Draco and Lucius were sitting in tense silence when Harry and Ron came through the floo.
"Is it true?" Harry asked, too surprised to remember to sound angry.
"What, that your princess is awake and talking?" snapped Draco. "Yes, it's true."
"Do you think she's getting better, mate?" Ron said to Harry, a small disbelieving smile on his face, completely ignoring Draco's jab. "She's never recovered that quickly before."
Harry shrugged, but he was smiling too.
"Oh, just go visit the girl before you send her into another fit, you idiots," Draco snarled. He was sick to death of the Wonder Duo, and if he had to watch them swoon over Granger for another second, he was going to break something.
They both scowled at him and stormed off in the direction of her bedroom.
Draco turned a new, uncomfortable idea over in his head. "Father?" he asked.
Lucius looked up.
"You don't think that... I mean, if Granger really does get better, you don't think they'll take her back, do you? Put her on missions again and keep her away from the house?" He was trying hard to sound calm and indifferent, but the possibility made him feel anything but. She was functional again - that meant she could spend her days the way she did before. He had grown to enjoy teaching her chess, and he was pleased that the three of them could all sit and read in the same room without it feeling horribly uncomfortable. It was annoying enough that she went to work in the afternoons with that tosser Wolf. If Potter and Weasley started involving her in the Order again, her time would be all used up.
Lucius frowned, obviously drawing the same conclusions. "I suppose it's not impossible that she would spend less and less time here if they deemed her healthy enough."
Draco grunted. He wasn't happy about this at all. Maybe Granger could just pretend to be a total basket case again? But that would mean she would have to want to stay at the house with them. Maybe she didn't want that at all. Maybe she wanted to join the missions. Maybe she wanted to be the fucking bitchy know-it-all she was in school.
She didn't need him around to do any of that.
He rubbed his eyes angrily, frustrated that a functional Granger could bring so many complications along. Couldn't things just go back to normal? He had his father's blessing to be friendly, after all. He could make it worth her while if she stayed tucked away in the house with them. He could learn how to be nice. They needed her more than those other idiots. Besides, she was a target. If she got more involved again, she would be in danger. Surely they didn't want that.
A door slammed and Harry and Ron came walking briskly back into the living room, frowning.
"What, not happy with your princess's progress?" Draco said, dryly. In truth, he was confused as to why they had come back so quickly, looking none-too-pleased either. They should be overjoyed with how she was doing.
"You certainly must be thrilled, Malfoy," Harry ground out as Draco's eyebrows rose. "Apparently she became lucid after she realized the curse was taking you again."
Draco felt a strange twitch in his heart. That's what woke her up? He saw his father straighten up in his chair.
"What did you do to make her worry about you?" Ron seethed, advancing slowly on the Malfoys. "Last I checked, you didn't even want her 'filthy' hands on you."
Draco thought briefly of Hermione's soft hands sliding over his chest, and quickly shuffled the image away. Now was not the time. He didn't like the way Weasley's fingers were twitching near his wand, anyway.
"It's been two months since I said that," he said, dismissing the issue with a wave of his hand. He had to get Potter and Weasley off this train of thought before they tried to take Granger away from him. If they thought things were getting too comfortable, they would purposefully ruin the quiet balance of the house. "Obviously I'm grateful that Granger has been able to treat my father and I. As for her being worried, I think that's just a typical bleeding heart Gryffindor thing, don't you? Doesn't your kind worry about everyone?"
His father caught on to Draco's attempt at diversion and joined in. "Surely you don't believe that my son has somehow swayed Miss Granger into being more concerned than she would be for anyone else," sneered Lucius. "Are you worried that your Mudblood has softened to a Malfoy?"
"Don't use that fucking term around me, Lucius," said Harry, angrily.
Ron was looking between the two Malfoys suspiciously. His fingers relaxed somewhat.
"Let's go, Harry. It's true... 'Mione couldn't possibly give a shit about these two murderers. They'd as soon kill her as look at her. It was their side that broke her mind in the first place. She's just being nice. She'll come back to the Order as soon as they're better."
Draco flinched. He heard the roar of the floo as they left, but his eyes stayed locked on the table.
"Do you think she would?" he asked his father, quietly. "Leave, I mean?"
Lucius sighed. "We've already discussed this son. Of course it's possible, but we really have no idea how her mind would fare outside the house. Perhaps she's able to function her best here. Perhaps not. I really think you're too invested in this - we can't allow ourselves to become too dependent on her."
Draco's anger flared. "Dependent? Dependent? We starve without her, I become possessed by a curse, your leg is already starting a new infection, and we have zero stimulation other than her library. I think we've passed the point of being dependent, father. My concern is, since we know we rely on her, and don't you fucking deny it, will the Wonder Duo try and take her away? We have no idea how long this war will last, and honestly, if Granger makes our time here a little more bearable, it's not surprising that I'm concerned she might leave." He stood up so quickly his chair fell backwards. Fuming, he stalked off to his room, not looking back at the shocked look on his father's face.
As he was reaching for the doorknob, he heard a shaky sniffle coming from Hermione's room. He froze. Was she upset? Of course, Potter and Weasley had been less than welcoming about her reasons for waking up, but would they be stupid enough to voice that in front of her?
Draco stood in the hallway for several long seconds trying to decide what to do. Would it seem too friendly to go check up on her, or just friendly enough? Maybe it was easier just to be rude to her after all. This business of introspection was bloody exhausting.
With a sigh, he knocked lightly on her door. "Granger? You okay?"
He pushed open the door, and found Hermione curled up in the bed, her eyes red and puffy, wet with tears.
It was a very sad sight.
Completely unsure how to proceed, he sat down awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
"Not liking the real world?" he said, knowing the joke was probably in bad taste. To his surprise, she chuckled.
"They were mad. I mean, actually mad that I was worried about you," she said. A strand of her hair was plastered to her cheek, and he tried very hard not to reach out and move it. "I thought they would be happy with my progress, but no."
"Your progress is brilliant," Draco scoffed. "Even I can see that. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Granger. If those two dolts can't figure that out, than maybe it's a good thing you're not more involved with the Order right now."
She looked at him in surprise. Even though he had become less frosty, that was an unusually kind thing to say. "Thanks, Malfoy," she said.
He grunted in reply.
"I'm not going back to what I used to do for the Order," she said, unexpectedly. "I feel safe in my house, and I get anxious enough going to work, but I can't imagine participating in missions again. I think I'd shut right down. It's the over-stimulation that does it... The unpredictability. I can control what happens here. Makes it easier to keep my brain focused."
Draco nodded. That made sense. The relief he felt at her comment about the Order raced through his body.
"So you're saying you're up for a chess game tomorrow?" he chanced, smirking.
"If you're prepared to win without lifting a finger," she deadpanned.
Draco snorted. He never thought he'd hear her joke again. "You're not that bad, Granger. Game after breakfast. No backing out now."
He stood up as a tiny smile crossed her face.
"Thank you for being worried about me, by the way," he said, not meeting her eyes. He hated thanking people for anything, but this seemed right, as long as she didn't get used to it. "I'm glad you woke up. Rose was useless. I'd probably be burned to a crisp right now if I had suffered through any more of her so-called care."
He could see Hermione's smile widen in his peripheral.
"You're so rude," she said.
"At least I'm predictable," he said with a shrug, and left her room before things got any friendlier.
She doesn't want to leave, he thought as he lay in bed that night. She feels safe here. He dreamt of her hands until morning.
The next day, Draco beat Hermione at chess, but he made sure to give her a fighting chance before he went in for the kill.
"Checkmate," he said with a grin.
"Predictable," she sighed. "Oh, Lucius, I almost forgot..." She stood up abruptly and walked over to the kitchen, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of magazines. "From your reading, I noticed you have an interest in astrology, so I ordered the back copies of the Wizard Astrologer for you. I guess they came in a few days ago when I was... Well... Out of commission."
She placed then in front of him on the table, and then went to work on the dishes.
Lucius stared at the stack.
Draco observed his father, curious how he would react to such a thoughtful gesture. Hermione didn't notice the strange tension, scrubbing away at the plates that she insisted on washing by hand.
"Miss Granger, these have been out of print for many years," Lucius said, carefully.
Hermione nodded absently, wiping down the counter. "Yes, but I've been curious about them myself, and I figured that if you might be interested, it would be worth ordering. I have some contacts who get me publications that are harder to find."
She hung up the dish towel, still oblivious to Lucius's struggle.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. That was very kind of you."
Her eyes drifted upwards and gazed amusedly at Lucius. "You can call me Hermione, you know," she said, softly.
