Chapter 9: Crash

"Rose, dear, it's time to get up. Your father will be here in a half hour."

The knocking on the door pounded in her tired head as she lay face down under the pillows. Waiting until her mothers footsteps carried her away, seconds that stretched like years, she gave no acknowledgement that she'd heard anything at all. It was only day 7 of being deprived of everything that connected her to the outside world, but it seemed as if all time had stopped to leave her forever confined to a bed.

Unquenched curiosity was a slow killer.
It was impossible to know what had become of Scorpius. Though angry at his actions, it took but a night to realize he was not the only boy who would've pulled something like it. And wondered why exactly he had wanted to get so high so badly. Of course she had ideas, but none of them very pretty.

With an angry slew of text messages after returning home, her phone had been confiscated before she could read his responses to them. Whether or not he was worse off than her, she was now certain she'd never discover. Her father would be the last person one earth to let Scorpius into her life, and now her mother was on the other side. There was possibly no opportunity to apologize, the guilt palpable anytime she thought of that day, which was constantly. Worse still, the more incessant part of her brain was filled with regret and feelings of longing she desired to suppress. There was no chance to fix all this.
"Love is so stupid."

Pulling herself upwards off the mattress, she threw on her clothes, a too big t-shirt and some tights, not bothering to brush her hair or check for any spots.
Nothing left to pack, she grabbed her knapsack and strode to the kitchen, where there were waffles with syrup and a steaming cup of chai waiting at her spot.

Falling into her seat, she dreaded the noises coming from down the hall, fainter turned loud, knowing Hugo the early bird was busy getting achievements on his game of the week in the den to be fussing about in his room.

In front of the vanity, the source of the sound, her mother was holding her temples with achy fingers. In all the years of her life, she wouldn't have ever guessed, within an inch of her intelligence, that she'd be here, during the summer, separated from her husband, shunned by the daughter she used to have no quarrels with, and with a quite large promise she'd made to someone she wasn't sure she even knew at all.
The world had certainly gone mental for Hermione Granger.

Suddenly her mobile buzzed, the loud ping making her jump from her skin out of the chair.
Be there in five.

It had been so long since he'd texted her; there were still hearts beside his name.

Heaviness in her chest all consuming, legs were the consistency of lead as she dragged herself to see her children off. Rose was sulking, Hermione could tell by the way she'd devoured her food, syrup dripping on the table, her tea completely gone. She was much like her father that way.

"Any plans with dad this week, sweetheart?"

Tentative. Weak.
Hermione knew her voice failed her again, the response she got expected. Rose staring straight ahead as if she didn't exist.

"Still not talking to me?" she asked, as the red mane of hair remained unmoving, her expression cold and defiant picking up her cutlery and thrusting it in the sink. "Rose, we need to discuss this."

"No, we don't,"she spat, in a perfect imitation of the way Hermione would have said the phrase, "I fucked up, I get punishment. That's fair. I'm still going to be mad about – "

"Don't curse."
That was the one vice she hated most, the one that the kids had inherited through Ron's careless dialogue throughout their adolescent years. Whenever so much as a 'bloody' escaped from heir lips it reminded her of him. Only him. And it stung.

"Don't interrupt me! Look, I feel terrible, alright? I am not upset about being grounded, but you're forbidding me to see my boyfriend, how the hell am I supposed to act?"

"Sweetheart, I want to have a chat about it. I know I overreacted."
Rose saw her brows curving inwards, eyes glistening to plead for some kind of truce. She chose to ignore it.
"I want to tell you something…about the other night. Friday." Mum was struggling. "Look, I understand – "

"You don't understand. At all. You don't seem to remember the reason I am actually furious. I'm to blame, Scorpius is to blame for what we did. Mr. Malfoy wasn't. You insulted him, went way out of line. It was embarrassing. It feels as if the sole factor in me staying away from Scorpius is because of him. Because you hold a grudge. How do you think they perceive us now? And me? Maybe forbidding me from going back was good, I doubt Scorpius even wants to date me anymore, though of course I wouldn't know, would I!"
A bell rang, but it muffled beside the tension suffocating this conversation.

"Rose – "

"Don't Rose me! You were a complete and utter cunt because of your temper!"
There were many things she'd been called, but none as bad as that, none as bad as that word.

Worse still, Rose merely shuffled away with malice on her face, flitting past her like she was made of dust, joining her very quiet younger brother who was greeting his father.

Great effort was exerted to drag herself from her spot, to fight the hotness that had evaded her will and warmed her eyes to tears.
Turning the corner, he was there.
Ron looked nice today, very nice. He stood there, the smile on his face caused from seeing his daughter. Business attire suited him, no doubt he was just about to go for a meeting at the office. He'd also cut his hair; she was always fond of it when he wore it shorter.

Before she could halt the thought, desire replaced the frustration, making her throat burn, her stomach twinge, a wetness between her legs. If she were in between sheets, it wouldn't be shameful, though maybe a bit sad. Funny how it must happen right now. Funny how this need had only started happening since he'd stopped writing her love notes.

"Hi," she murmured, leaning against the wall, toying with tendrils absentmindedly. It would be a sin to look at him now.

Ron was whispering to Rose, frown replacing the happiness and teeth; stern as her head was hanging. Hugo was paying a bit too much attention to his mobile. As the single word escaped Hermione's mouth, a grimace crossed his, and he told the kids to go wait outside in the car.
Rose barged through to the porch, Hugo scuttled up to say bye to mum, with a steadfast hug before joining her.

When they were gone, Ron drew to his full height, which was substantial over Hermione. Though she had braced herself for this, as she obviously had written him about it all, his tone managed to shock her stiff.
"I don't know what you're playing at, Hermione, but if it's to get back at me you better quit while you're ahead because I'm not taking anymore bullshit!"

"You're not taking any bullshit, Ron?"
The desire that flocked to her vanished as quickly as it came.

"Yeah! You don't respond to any of my letters, won't talk to me, what do you want me to do when something of this bloody magnitude happens? It's one thing to encourage our only daughter's infatuation with a damned Malfoy. It's another to allow her to actually visit a complete villain of a human being and give him charge of her. What were you thinking?"

The vein bulging in his head didn't aid in her ability to speak. But something in his conviction had made her blood boil.
"I don't respond to the letters because I told you I was done. Until you've learned to be peaceful and normal with me, I can't say anything that won't get your buttons pushed. And second, I'm not going to police Rose, Ron," she started arguing, staring at the ground as her voice rose. "Scorpius was very respectable and personable when he came over here. Rose really likes him. And I liked him too."

"I don't bloody care what his first impression was, he got her in trouble! She could've gone to jail! That's not exactly convincing me Malfoy is father of the year! "
His voice climbed like a furious chorus, the inflection echoing throughout the halls.

"She didn't though, did she? I understand your anger, I was exactly as livid as you were when it happened. Initially, Scorpius' father came to the house, and he apologized for all the past transgressions. He acted like a civil human being. And still has been since. It's been cold for years, this bad blood, and I wanted to let it go. I started the anger up again unwarranted because I was upset. It was not his fault that his son, and Rose, decided to go and be a delinquent. He lent them his trust, they broke it."

"You're taking his side?!"

"No. I'm reminding you that she's sixteen years old. She's a teenager, and not the teenager we both had to be. She's going to make mistakes, and we will punish her for them. But not for who she chooses to see good in. Not for one transgression."
Stern and composed, he had begun to flicker at her words.

"Unbelievable, you're un-fucking-believable!"
He'd become so dark he was nearly unrecognizable. She could sense the resolve slipping.
"The boy our daughter has fallen in lust with is a delinquent and has an incompetent piece of work parenting him for the moment. It's all bad news. You're trying to win Rose over by letting her go so she likes you better. That's irresponsible, have you forgotten about what he was like?"

Cool as she was, emotions are tenuous under pressure.

"What are you talking about? She despises me! Didn't you see? And you don't know what he's like because you won't ever him another chance to prove it otherwise," she replied with gritted teeth. "And his dad's name is Draco - we're adults now remember? I am not trying to win Rose over, I'm allowing her to live her life. How dare you suggest that? This is not a war, this is an arrangement, let's not make it anymore difficult than it already is!" she screamed to finish.

Flinching at her heavy emphasis, he turned on his heel, sharp intakes of breath the only sound he emitted as he simply marched to the door. Before he closed it he muttered, quite audibly: "If it's not a war, then why does it feel like it?"

As he left, her heart slid down her throat to her stomach. And then she was empty.

{}

The ping startled him as he lay on his duvet, edging his way slowly through a book about Russian politics he found in the library.

In the dim light evading curtains he could see his laptop, screen a glowing black from leaving it on all day long. Sitting up he slid off the mattress to flick the mouse.

One browser was flashing; it was Alice Crowley, one of Rose's good friends from Hufflepuff, messaging him about his welfare.
'Hey, heard there was some drama with you and Rose. How you doing? :)'

The only time he'd spoken to her in the flesh was in the halls one day. Nabbing Rose so they weren't tardy for Herbology. Different periods, you know.
All he'd gotten from her was a shy smile, blond hair and sepia eyes alight. A 'hey, see you later'.

She knew. She was mysterious.

So he responded.
I'm ok.

Immediately he got another beep of life.
'Upset? Have you talked to her at all?'

The click of the keys resonated in his room as feeling flooded him.
Yes. No, I haven't talked to her. Have you? I guess you know what happened? I haven't talked to her at all since she came over.

Waiting for the reply was excruciating now.

'She called me yesterday for a minute while her mom left. Said she felt really lonely, pissed off because of her mum. That's pretty much it.'

Nothing about me?
He could feel his insides shrinking.

'Not directly…I'm sure she misses you. Just a bit fussed about it all, you know?'

She was probably right.
Yeah, totally.

'If you're lonely we can talk some more. I wish we could have during school, the way Rose describes you is so sweet :)."

His chest flipped, but he wasn't sure why. This was all a bit strange.
Thanks ha ha. Next year we totally can! I hope Rose is ok though, and can forgive me.

'Forgive you?'

Well I was a bit of an arse, I suppose. Wasn't intentional.

'I'm sure you weren't. Rose will be alright. I'd consider myself lucky to spend time with you ;).'

Flushed about the collar, his fingers paused before typing again.

Thanks, Alice…um, I should probably go, I'm not really allowed to be online strictly speaking. Ttyl

Logging off, he didn't wait for her answer, tipped the screen over to close his computer and furrowed his brow. Exiting the room he stepped on down to the main floor where dad was working away in the study, head down bent over the desk, scribbling.

"Dad, can I ask you something?…"

Rigid, feline, Draco twitched upwards and spun round with his glasses on, staring at his son quizzically; his son who had been solitary since the night before.

"Yeah, what's wrong, Scorpius?"

"Nothing…just….I….," It is very difficult to speak when such intense focus was given to you. "Er, never mind it's dumb. How are you today, dad?"

Then he walked over to him, wrapping arms around his father, almost sitting in his lap like he may have been five years old again. Gently, Draco pushed him a few inches away.

"I am going out tonight, Scorpius. And I don't know how to feel about it."

Grabbing his frames, he tore them off, rubbing the space between his eyes with tired fingers.

"Going out? Where?"
It had been a solid two days since Draco had spoken candidly about anything. Since Scorpius had returned from Gavin's, he'd seemed like a locked up time bomb.

"Doesn't matter. I'm just trying to be in better spirits, that's all you need to know. For you and I."
Patting his sons back once, he then stood up and began walking away.

"What time is it? Quarter to five? I'm going to go take a shower."

"Dad – where are you going?"
Curious now, perhaps slightly worried. At his father's dismissiveness, he was calling along as he followed him up the stairs.

"To the bathroom."

"Dad."

"I'm meeting up with a…friend, I suppose. Yes, a friend. Look, Scorpius if you want me to be straight," he turned to him, as he was gently pulling at his bedroom door, "I need to talk to an adult about certain things concerning myself. And you."

"So…you're going to therapy then?"
Puzzled still, as Scorpius was, Draco drew a breath slumping his shoulders. Realizing that though technically incorrect, his child was, in fact, still right.

"In a sense…yes."

"Well why didn't you just say so? I won't ask about it then, you're not supposed to, you know. Confidentiality and that," Scorpius insisted, turning around and walking away waving hands.

"Are you sure you don't have anything you want to tell me, or ask me?"
And Scorpius spun round again, hearing the gentleness in his voice.

"I'm fine, dad."

Draco watched as Scorpius returned to his room, before walking to his shower. He then found himself, as he pulled off his shirt and his pants, wondering what his son was going to say before he cut himself off. If he really was fine.
Because now Draco could admit to himself that he himself wasn't.

Two hours later, with a change of clothes and a glass of wine in his stomach, he knocked, putting his ear to the wall to let Scorpius know he'd be back later.

"Bye, good luck," the muffled encouragement came through, then still silence.

Wanting to find words to say something more, nothing came, so he ran hands through wisps of hair, slowly treading down steps into the warm air, apparating with a crack into the sky.

{}

"So when did these feelings start? Have they always been so prevalent like they were the other night?"

Work had been brutal, a long haul of endless paperwork, and the remaining pounding repeat of words in her head from her daughter only hours earlier. Combined with the anxiety of playing dress up tonight, there was no time for relief, no time for a break between her wave of emotions. For he was here, in her house, willing to allow her an entry into his life, but most of all vulnerable and sad ; her ultimate weakness.

Yet, Hermione's passionate exhaustion was diminutive, non-existent, compared to Draco's surmounting nausea and humiliation having to sit across a very small table from a girl he used to taunt, no ridicule.

Aside from the fact that her demeanour was professional, as if he were a client, his eyes kept flickering from his clasped hands in front of him to expressive pink lips covering a pink tongue and perfect teeth; from focusing on the blonde hairs cast in front of his vision to copper eyes lined in black.

Then he forced the focus down, in an attempt to stop the wandering, to her arms.

"Why do you have a notepad?"
Clutching a regular old blue pen, the spiraled book was open and ready to be used.

"If you want me to help you, I need to remember all of your words. Now answer the question."

"But can't you simply speak to me? Why do you need a record of it?"
She may have lashed out at him, her strings wound tonight, had his voice not been filled with tiny trembles, scrunching his features together.

"Look, Draco, I'm not a therapist," she began, softer, putting down her tools. "I have a tumultuous grasp on the subject at best. You gave a cry for help and I'm answering it. Depending on what you're willing to say tonight, I might need to refer you to someone better equipped. For your own sake," she stressed, staring him right in the eyes. "So if I need to search for a suitable person, I'll need a reference."

And she patted her papers gently.

Moments passed; he heaved a deep breath.
"I've felt this way on and off since I was 16."

"Sixteen," Hermione repeated, jotting it down as her stomach tightened. Unable to swallow, she spat out. "Care to elaborate beyond that?"

"You probably know why it started, I was sentenced to murder or be killed. I had to watch my back and hatch and scheme for an entire year for nothing. I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want my parents to suffer. And like a bloody fool it wasn't up until the fear consumed me whole that I realized I was just a pawn in a stupid game of revenge."

"Obviously you resent that,."

"Obviously," he snapped, then muttering an apology before continuing, holding up his palms. "But it goes way beyond that. Even if anyone could've forgiven me for being juvenile, young, I was now a Death Eater. I hurt people, I stood by while people were hurt," he whispered, flashbacks of what had been flooding Hermione's brain. She flushed them back out.
"I was sucked in it all, but was too scared to really fight. I would have died with the meagre safety from my family rather than doing the right thing."

The right thing.
It echoed through her head, freezing her blood before she could continue with numb fingers.

"So you don't think you were doing the right thing? What would've been the right thing to do in your situation?"

"No, fuck no. The right thing would've been to help kill that bastard. It would've been to try and flee, try and help other people in our situation anything other than hold up our fragile broken egos to try and salvage some respect because it appeared like there was a good chance he'd win."

"It's not your fault that your father made the decision to get involved with dark magic in the first place, Draco. It is not your fault you were then punished for his failures. You were caught in a crossfire and it is very difficult to control the situation when you have little to no knowledge of what is going on. Plenty of people would submit to a terrorists orders instead of seeking aid out of fear."

"Terrorists orders?"
He singled out the words, as if they were foreign, and Hermione regained feeling in her veins as their insides began to heat.

"Yes, a terrorist. Killing innocents, having others go on suicidal missions, having others go on murdering sprees, and aiming for a society of few rulers and many slaves for a faulty cause; what name would you give him?"
She had lost herself. Her face was shining, mouth open and teeth bared as she cast a barrier of tension between them.

"Evil."

Silly almost how one word can shatter worlds.

"Psychopathic would be too kind."

Monotone and firm, still in his seat, Hermione breathed to calm.
"I'm sorry, I – that was really uncalled for, I didn't mean to -"

"Get so angry? It's alright. I'd just never heard terrorist used for something not Muggle-related."

"No, I shouldn't have reacted so badly. It's been too long for me to go off like that."

"Some wounds don't heal."
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then shut it slowly as she noticed he was studying his left arm, the faded snake and skull still very visible.

"So…you were saying that you were upset how you handled – oh."

Tiny tears had begun to tread down his cheeks, no sobbing or other movement. Just pure release of pain.

"I'm fine," he said. "I'm – I'll be fine."
He didn't wipe them away. His fingers were shaking. His voice was rising higher.

"Are you sure? We can talk about something else..."

"No. No, I need to talking about this." As his eyes were now brimming, as he began to sniff.

Hermione, unaware of his normal progression of sadness, began to shake too.
There was loss of control.
She needed some control.

"Do you want some tea?"
Tea fixes everything ran through her cluttered mess of thoughts.

Draco, whose thoughts had gone from regular to progressively more negative found himself releasing a rather loud chuckle, before replying, "No. No, I'm okay."

"Wine?"

"I don't – "
She was already springing up from the chair, flinging open the fridge for ice.

"Whiskey? It's been sitting in the cabinet untouched for about three months."
As his inflection evened out, hers became his, high strung and frantic.

"Um…is six thirty a bit early to drink? Is that appropriate in therapy?"

"Were technically not in therapy, we're two acquaintances talking to one another about personal issues."

As she grabbed two glasses, he clung to the only sober passing thought he could hold onto, before all of his bravery dissolved.

"I understand, it's just I sort of get the feeling you are only doing this because you feel obligated after I broke down…because you made a commitment. That you're actually really uncomfortable and don't know how to speak to me unless it's not under any influence."

"What?"
She was cold stone, spinning around slowly to face him across the room.

"I'm not trying to be rude, I just get the inkling you don't want me to cry. You don't want me to act any other way except formally. Like I may fly off the handle or something. If we have to talk about my inner most insecurities, the darkest periods of my life, the darkest places inside my head, it's inevitable. I've slowly been spilling my thoughts onto my son, and he shouldn't have to hear it. I'm leaking, I have nobody to speak to. I assumed you offering given how I acted in the past was some kind of sign that isn't there. I thought because you seemed genuine on Friday that you might actually care. But I think you just feel bad about yelling at me and this is your tit for tat. To make it up to me so you don't feel guilty."

The sound of Hermione placing the liquor bottle onto the counter resonated throughout their surroundings.

"I just thought that maybe you wouldn't treat this like it's a chore."

Now there was only breathing.

"That wasn't my intent."
She said this all empty, her heart was in her throat. No other words were coming to her, they got strangled in her mouth.

They sat in that horrid silence for longer than they both could bear until Draco broke it,

"Would you mind if I smoke? I can leave and come back or –"

"The porch is fine," she insisted, pointing to the front yard.

Draco was looking at her until he turned a corner, pouting lips on such a kind face. There was a pressure that had formed since he laid his gaze on her tonight, like he might explode with one flick of the wrist to his flesh, and though he escaped into the fresh air, and the idle summer noises of cars and wind, there was no break from it. Even as he lit his cigarette and took a long drag, this unnerving sensation lingered.

He was stubbing the end of his first, going on his second as the door creaked, as she came out, glass in hand filled with spirits and ice, plopping down next to him, too close, as if they were teenagers taking a break from a raging soiree.

"I'm sorry," she said, after a minute or two of them both staring across the street at the neighbour's daughter chasing her kitten. "I don't want you to cry, but it's not because I don't care."

Turning to look at her, she put her head down, gaze on the contents of her drink.

"I was trying to be professional, and not get involved with my opinions too strongly on what you've done or how you should feel. When someone cries, I feel terrible for them, I just want to give them a hug or some words of encouragement. You don't need that, you need advice that's tangible and real. It's just difficult to hear the recall of what has been finished for so many years. Maybe It would've been easier to start with what happened after. I suppose it was silly of me to think I'd be good enough to do this."

"No, it was ridiculous of me to expect that it wouldn't be difficult for you." Leaning back on his elbows, he was inspecting the sky, the setting sun turning it a blood orange, tossing the rest of his cigarette to the ground. "To assume that you'd be over it because I'm a wreck. And telling you you don't care…tell you that it's because you feel bad, that's rubbish. You don't owe me a thing."

No, she didn't, and she wasn't sure how to communicate she knew this without sounding foolish.

"It doesn't matter Draco, whether or not I owe you something. I would like to help either way."

Taking a sip, she closed here eyes before there were arms winding round her body. His nose in her messy hair, lips so close to her neck.

"Thank you."

Pulling away after a lingering moment, he glanced at her then, looking her up and down, hands still gently laying against her bare skin. He meant to remove himself from her quickly, but she grabbed at his retracting fingers and held onto them.

"You're welcome."

He smelt like smoke and clean laundry, a big contradiction. And that's what Draco was to her. A strange enigma of something that used to be her enemy, and now from his communication to her, he'd somehow transformed into a human being. Even if his grip was strong, he still needed her, needed anyone, to help him.

She reminded him of the summer days they were having. Warm, light…beautiful, even. Whiskey on her soft breath, her messy curls had a citrus scent. It was a strange way to feel, he hadn't expected any comfort tonight.

But a deafening crack filled the void.

The intimate calming moment was interrupted by a red-headed figure.

"What the fuck."

It was her husband, her ex husband, apparating in at a most inconvenient time. Standing above them, as they tore away from each other. Slowly, not full of guilt.

"I knew it."
Ron was so adamant, so confident, in this assumption.

"Oh for god's sake, knew what Ron? What are you even doing here?"

"Hugo forgot his sketchbook. Don't change the subject. You and this one are fucking. How else would that explain your sudden affiliation with the Malfoy family? Letting Rose see his son. Were you cheating on me before?"

"God, no!"
Thrusting herself off the concrete steps, she shoved her face in her hands, a blush spreading from her forehead to her chest.
"How dare you? No, I would not cheat on you. I don't want to have this conversation right now, Ron. It doesn't matter why Draco is here. But he's my guest and you're being rude."

There was no use for words, the anger was there and it wasn't going to go so gladly.
"What do you have to say, big man, eh?"

Draco sat still, unengaged, caught in the middle of a gun fight, the bullets their mouths. Not daring to put his head up.

"What do you have to say?"
He heard a low whimper escape from Hermione at the surmounting rage, felt the presence of his biggest victim lashing out in revenge.
The high road was what he should've taken. Driving was never his strong suit.

"Maybe you should actually listen to what she's saying instead of blowing up like an arsehole," he replied, no emotions, peeking up with his very best bored expression in place.

There was a hefty growl, and then Ron was so close he was almost touching him.

"Don't tell me what to do! Are you happy you managed to convince my woman that she should have sex with a piece of trash like you?"

Open palm to the jaw, the slap was harsh; Draco winced, peeking up to see the man rubbing his face, positively shocked as Hermione stood with fire in her eyes and a pink hand.

"Stop it. Stop it. You don't get to come back into my life any time you please. Judging me, arguing with me this morning about my parenting and then acting like a jealous idiot for no reason. I am not your girl anymore. Now leave."

"Hermione, I – "

"LEAVE."

She was shouting. Years of experience told him that he must back off before the bubbling volcano turned to an inferno.

Before Ron turned on his heel, there was a lunge, a fist, and Draco found himself hot in the face, red dripping from his nose, flooding and staining his white shirt, the pain sharp and throbbing.

"God, I'm so sorry, I'm so – so – "

She was crying now, shaking like a leaf, bending down and trying to pull out her wand to clean the mess. Waving her away, he was wiping his face with his hand.

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault, really, I am okay."

"No, you're covered in blood. Does it hurt? Of course it does, why am I asking you that, Christ."

Leaning in, she enchanted a spell so the remaining dredges went away, wiping a little spot she missed with her thumb. Inches from his body.

Moving away her hand from his nose, he grabbed it, though he wasn't sure why, holding them together as they lowered to their laps.
"Are you okay?"

Her breath caught, as she met concerned silver eyes; he was looking at her, really looking at her.

And it felt so simple, natural even, to drag her lips to his, somersaults in her stomach as he moaned from surprise, groaned from delight.
"Fine."