Chapter Nineteen: Say Anything Else
(Three days later: February 6th)
Part 1: The god of healing
For the second time in three days, a frowning Draco Malfoy quietly asked himself why he had actually consented to Pansy's gift-giving proposal. And after much deliberation, he still hadn't come up with a suitable answer that didn't make his scowl deepen.
Sighing deeply, he looked down at the closed brown box on his coffee table in his living room.
Granger's gift.
He couldn't claim total ownership over the idea because it was just as much of his mother's idea as it was his. She had implanted the idea in his head two days before when she had told him to get her something that she needed, something that would draw some of her attention away from her losses. And after looking around all afternoon yesterday, this box, or rather, its contents, was what he had found.
The box itself was no wider than two shoeboxes put together and no deeper than two shoeboxes stacked on top of each other. It was covered with a top that fitted snugly. He hadn't bothered with any decoration. After all, it was just a useless box that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
Nevertheless, he picked up the plain brown box, grabbed some Floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and Flooed to Granger's little lake house.
He was forty-five minutes late.
Draco stepped out of Granger's fireplace and was welcomed to the sounds of music as it poured from the jukebox that he'd brought downstairs, per her request, three nights before. He figured the sheer volume of the music was the only reason he'd been able to come into the room, unnoticed. Draco looked at the jukebox. It was cleaned, polished, and sat along the bare wall in her quaint and simple living room that was adjacent to the fireplace.
Pansy and Blaise, who were dressed in Muggle attire, were crowding around it; the former was listening to the latter as he explained how it worked. And then he guided her hand as she pushed a couple of numbers – and then the song changed.
Thrilled at herself, Pansy gave off a little shriek of joy and wrapped her arms around him for a hug.
She'd certainly come a long way in the last six months, and he found that he was – pleased with her. Pansy smiled and laughed more, and cried less. She was doing well in therapy and progressing at an incredible speed. True, she still slept with the lights on and had had a meltdown when she saw her mother three days before, but not only had she gotten better (in the sense that she hadn't tried to strangle the woman), but it took her less time to recover from the meltdown.
As for the lights, well, they were working on that. Blaise said that she'd made it fifteen minutes in the darkness before the screaming began.
Draco had to hand it to him. The man's sheer level of patience and understanding with Pansy had been nothing short of amazing. He was really good for her, but that was something he'd known for years, now. He wasn't sure if he wanted what they had, but the idea was slightly more appealing, and not quite as impossible as he'd thought previously. Clearly there was someone for everyone.
He sat the box carefully on Granger's coffee table and took a seat on her tan sofa, looking around with a frown on his face. Her living room was so bloody dull and uninteresting that it made him a little annoyed. There were no plants, no paintings, no decorations, no pictures, nothing…just a couch, a loveseat, two bookshelves (that practically bled books), two end tables with lamps on them (and more books), a coffee table (with a few more books), bland walls, a pathetic blue rug that needed to be thrown out, and the bloody jukebox.
Her entire house was rather plain.
She lived like someone on the run, in the sense that she only lived with the essentials of life and owned only the bare necessities. It wouldn't take her very long to pack everything up. After all, there was nothing distinctive. Her house was so bloody boring! It wasn't that she didn't own any decorative items. He'd seen them. He'd seen the paintings, pictures, nicer rugs, and everything else when he had gone to deliver one of the boxes to the attic. She had very nice things, but why didn't she want to put them up in her house?
It was another one of those things that he didn't understand about Granger.
A feminine laugh rang out and Draco looked up to see Blaise smirking at his girlfriend.
The blond man chuckled at his friends. They really were nice together.
The smirk that was spreading across his face from the previous thoughts was pushed back down when he heard Pansy's half whispered, half shrilled scold, "You're late, Draco," He was amazed that he could hear her over the music. Well, then again…"I thought I specifically told you to be here at—"
For a second, he waffled between pretending he hadn't heard her and snapping at her. Irritably, his mind worked up and executed a compromise. He replied smartly, "Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" He settled back into the comfortable couch and drawled, "And it doesn't look or smell like I've missed anything."
"It's a charm that makes it so you can't smell what she's cooking," She informed in that snide, 'you idiot' tone that told him that they had been friends far too long. Huffing, Pansy frowned and advanced towards him while Blaise stayed at the jukebox, chuckling under his breath and shaking his head. "Not that it matters. You still could've showed up on time."
Draco gestured to the brown box on the table. "I had to gather the gift."
Pansy eyed the box as her eyebrow rose, "Is that a—"
"Where's Granger?" He interrupted, rising from his seat and picking the box up off the table.
Blaise turned down the music slightly and pointed at the closed kitchen doors, "She just went back in to check on the food."
The first time he'd had some of Blaise's grandmother's authentic Italian cooking was when he was fifteen. At the insistence of his mother, he'd spent an entire summer at Zabini's grandmother's home in Naples. Draco quickly learned that they were not the typical pure-blooded family – not like his. Blaise's mother, who had dropped them off at her mother's mansion and had immediately left with her latest husband, may have been the outlier, but the rest of Blaise's family was nothing like her.
There were always at least seven or right of Blaise's teenaged cousins and friends there. They liked to show off all the spells that they'd learned during their school year, play Quidditch and other games, and explore the grounds; he was never bored like he would've been had he been at home. Each day, Blaise spent a couple of hours with his grandmother. It was obvious that he loved her and in that summer, Draco grew to like her, as well. She was a rather funny witch with a low tolerance for bullshit.
Perfect.
After she had declared Draco as "too thin," she had launched a campaign to bulk him up by introducing him to foods from all over Italy. Merlin, even nine years later, he still remembered the smells and tastes of her cooking.
The second that he walked into Granger's kitchen, a tidal wave of nostalgia hit him so hard in the chest that he had nearly dropped the box.
If Italy had a scent, it would be this. It—Draco looked around, bemused.
How much food did she think they were going to eat?
Granger's modest kitchen table and her bar-counter were covered in finished dishes under warming charms. Draco just gawked. She'd cooked enough food to feed a small army. Six different types of fresh-baked breads, including panzarotti, ciabatta, pane casalingo, bruschetta, and two others that he didn't recognize; baked lamb, brodo di pesce, pizza napoletana, cape sante alla veneziana, pasta con acciughe, artichoke with potatoes, traditional lasagna, spaghetti alle vongole, salads, soups, and a few other dishes he didn't recognize. She had sauces, butters, Italian cheeses, dips, and other condiments. Bottles of wine and water littered a small portion of her bar-counter. And Draco just stared.
She had completely gone overboard.
And then he looked to his left and there she was, pulling a baking pan out of the oven. It looked like she was making a caprese cake for dessert. On the counter next to the stove were platters of tiramisu and custard cups full of Zabaglione.
Merlin.
Granger was so wrapped up in making sure her cake was done that she hadn't seen him standing there.
Draco didn't know what to do at the sight of her. She looked rather funny, but not in a bad way, just funny. Not at all what he'd gotten used to in the last six months, which was a good thing. She took care of her mind, which made her take better care of her body. Her appearance reminded him of the Granger that he remembered from school: wild and untameable.
In the last couple of months, Draco had flippantly noted her steady weight gain, but it had become more apparent today, for some reason. The added weight had changed her appearance, for the better. No longer did she look like a bag of bones in loose clothing, she, instead, looked – better. Very close to what she looked like in that picture.
Hermione Granger wore dark blue Muggle jeans that had what looked like a flour handprint on the back pocket, a sweater that was carefully rolled up to her elbows because it was terribly warm in the kitchen, and an off-white apron that had seen better days. She wasn't wearing any shoes, just rainbow-coloured socks that looked utterly ridiculous. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy ponytail, but there was a piece that fell into her face.
And then he watched as she trekked downhill.
She took a deep breath as she tended to the fresh cake. Her focused eyes seemed to go hazy for a moment. Her bottom lip trembled; a sign of imminent tears, but she stopped herself by closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose for a few moments. The witch took a couple of shaky breaths and murmured something under her breath that sounded like, "Just get through the day, Hermione, just get through today…"
Granger then opened her eyes and focused all her attention back on her task.
She was blowing the tendril from her face when spotted Draco from the corner of her eye. Her eyes widened slightly as a look of shock covered her face. Granger tensed, stepped back, and blinked. Her greeting was subdued, but he had heard it all the same, "Oh, I didn't see you there."
It was the first time that she had greeted him with something other than the slightly frigid: "Malfoy."
But he really wasn't very shocked.
Things between them had been a bit interesting, in a weird yet oddly comfortable way, since his moment of temporary insanity three days before. The supposed moment of temporary insanity had stretched on for hours, well into the night, as he helped her move the jukebox downstairs, and sat next to her while she opened and went through two more boxes before deciding to call it a night.
"Granger," Draco greeted evenly, though his thoughts were elsewhere.
Before he had left by Floo that night, Granger had told him that she would be opening another set of boxes next week and the underlying, 'will you be here?' was painfully obvious in each word that she had spoken.
Though he had tried, the almost hopeful look in her eyes had made it impossible to ignore.
Draco had nodded rigidly before he impatiently dropped the Floo powder and found himself stepping out of his own fireplace.
He half-heartedly yanked himself from the memory and focused his attention on the woman standing before him. Granger eyed the box almost curiously and met his eyes quickly thereafter. "You didn't have to bring anything. I've got the entire meal covered, right down to the wine." She told him.
His face was tight as he explained, "It's a gift."
She looked even more confused and apprehensive, "Oh."
That night, his mind had screamed its blatant refusal to keep helping her, to keep seeing her, and to keep caring – but his bloody conscience, with its weak, 'she's your friend' argument, had won out in the end. By a bloody whisker. As he rested in his bed that night, Draco admitted to himself that he was more confused than ever.
If being Hermione Granger's friend meant having her inadvertently clawing her way under his skin and taking up residence in his skull, then he didn't want to be her damn friend. He was losing his precious control over his world of indifference and, worse, over himself. Draco had worked so fucking hard to gain that control and now, it was slipping from his fingers and into hers. Bloody hell, he was changing! Pansy had noticed, his mother had noticed, hell, Draco himself had even started to notice.
No!
Draco Malfoy just wanted to point out that, no, he didn't like any the changes or the loss of control. He didn't like it one bit – but it felt like it was inevitable. Cool, slate-grey eyes flew open. He had no idea that they were shut. Granger was regarding him with a look of concern and all he could do was frown.
"Are you alright?"
He shot back with a sarcastic, "Do you think you cooked enough, Granger?"
The witch cast a few warming charm on the dessert plates and sat her wand on the counter, "I made it all from scratch – even the bread. Measuring ingredients keeps my brain active, rolling the dough keeps me diverted, baking keeps me busy, and preparing a meal keeps my mind off of – things."
Draco tried not to feel bad for her, he tried not to feel, but the underlying meaning of her angst-ridden words had made it quite difficult.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Hermione Granger took a deep breath. In an attempt to starve off the tears (thankfully), she sighed and leaned against the counter. Brown eyes stared at the floor only moments before they met his gaze, "Once I started, I couldn't stop. At first, I made dishes that were more prominent in northern Italy, but then I realized that Blaise lived in southern Italy, so I made a few classics from—"
"I get the point. And if you're done," Draco lowered his eyes on the box, "It's yours to open."
The blond man watched as she cleared a space on the kitchen table. The kitchen was an organized mess, if that made any sense. He knew how her mind worked, everything was separated and categorized – but to anyone else, it was a mess. Granger sat in one of the two empty chairs and asked him to put the box on the table in front of her.
He complied silently and watched as her face twisted from confusion to joy to fear as she opened his gift.
The box contained a sleeping, four-month old kitten on a navy blanket.
"Oh my—Malfoy," Granger whispered in a shaky and choked voice as she lightly stroked the kitten's head with two trembling fingers. Her touch was reluctant and slow. She couldn't resist, but that was all that she wanted to do. Tears welled in her brown eyes and Draco knew why.
In one of their previous conversations, Granger had told him that her last cat had died in Australia and she had never found out why. She had found his grave in the backyard of her parent's home a week after their "funeral". Subsequently, she hadn't even entertained the thought of replacing him with another because she'd been too afraid to lose something else to death. Matthew's death had justified the reasoning even further. Granger didn't even own plants or flowers.
Ghosting her fingers over the kitten's fur, she murmured weakly. "I—I can't take him. I—"
Tightly, he insisted, "He's yours."
Draco could tell that she was close to tears that she didn't want to cry. The self-control of Hermione Granger was dispersing with alacrity. "I want him, but I can't." After covering the box, the witch put her head in her hands, distraught. When he didn't move to take the box, she yelled at him, "Take him back! I don't want him!"
Backing down wasn't an option, "He's staying."
Hotly, "No, he's not!"
"Yes, he is," Draco snapped back roughly, "He's staying and you're going to take care of him!"
Defiantly, "You can't make me take him, I can't—"
"Give me one good reason why you can't."
Her reply came after a minute of silence, and yes, there were tears, "I-I can't. What if I can't take care of him?"
"You can."
"I-I don't know what I'd d-do if he—"
"Died?" He hissed unsympathetically and scoffed when she nodded solemnly; those bloody tears still in her eyes. "You're scared about him dying? Then you're in dire need of a wake-up call, Granger: everything is born, everything lives, and everything dies. Nothing exists forever. Everything dies, and someday, you will, too. No need in fearing the inevitable."
Draco had almost cringed at that final word.
Inevitable.
Everything as of late had been the perfect lead-in to the inevitable.
Whatever that was.
The blond wizard uncovered the box. To his inward surprise, the kitten was still asleep. He ran a gentle hand down the back of the sleeping grey kitten and Granger, after a few moments of hesitation, did the same. The kitten purred in his sleep. Her touch was caring, albeit tentative. It was as if she were fighting an internal civil war. He hadn't anticipated that her fear would be so intense. However odd it was, he kind of understood her rationale behind it. She'd lost so much that the thought of losing anything again made her avoid anything that could cause her pain.
"Mother once told me," He spoke up once Granger took control of the petting, "That the fear of losing in the future is a waste of the present. You'll spend your life alone if you let that fear control you. Do you want that? Do you want to be alone?"
She wiped her eyes with her free hand, but the tears kept raining down her cheeks. "No."
He pointed at the kitten, "Then you know what to do."
There was a heavy pause before he heard her finally whisper, "Thank you, so much."
Draco wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, but didn't ask for any clarification.
Her brown eyes were still heavy with tears, "W-what is he?"
"Half-kneazle and half-Himalayan," He informed her.
She continued to stroke his soft fur lightly, careful not to wake him from his nap. Draco stared down at the little bugger. He had a slightly fluffy, dim-grey coat of fur, but his belly and paws were off-white.
"What's his name?"
"Apollo."
As if on cue, one of the kitten's little pointed ears perked up. A cerulean blue eye opened almost grudgingly, as he gave Draco a pretentious look that could be interpreted as 'oh, it's you' and shut his little eye, purring softly as he covered his face with his paw.
His message was clear: he didn't want to be disturbed.
"Apollo," Granger repeated, "The Greek god of the sun, prophecy, music, and h-healing…" She trailed off, a bit stunned by the meaning of her gift's name.
It wasn't a question, but Draco gave a stiff nod, "The witch who works at Magical Menagerie is completely fascinated with Muggle Greek mythology. The crazy bat said that she talks about mythology to the cats all the time, and every time she mentions that particular god, he'll perk up. The last owner was a girl who wanted to name him Orion, but was frustrated that the cat wouldn't respond to the name she'd given, so she brought him back. I thought that Apollo was a perfectly suitable name for the cat and bought him."
As if he wanted to prove the truthfulness of his words, Apollo opened his eye again, meowed, shot them both a look, but didn't return to his nap. Tentatively, Granger picked Apollo up and cradled him in her arm, his head resting where her arm bent. He took to his new mistress rather quickly, purring affectionately as she petted him gently. Everything between them was silent and still, save for the soft purrs from the grey kitten.
Truth be told, he was glad that Granger had accepted the gift. After having had it in his house for one night, Draco found that he was glad to be rid of the kitten. The witch at Magical Menagerie said that he should probably keep Apollo in his room for the first night if he didn't want the kitten wandering around his house during the night. Before he went to bed, Draco, figuring that the batty witch knew more about kittens than he, had allowed the kitten sleep at the foot of his bed under the blue blanket that was currently in the box.
What ensued was probably the worst night's sleep that he'd had in at least a month.
Not only was he afraid of kicking it in his sleep, the bloody thing purred and made other assorted noises all night. Oh, and waking up to a pair of little, curious, cerulean blue eyes located about two inches from his face had to of been the worst 4AM wake-up call of his life. He had thought that he was dreaming – until the bloody animal meowed.
His frown deepened as he remembered his reaction.
It would've been a very un-Malfoy moment had he not controlled himself. Draco had nearly yelped and chucked Granger's gift across the moonlit room. Too many times had he awoken in the dead of night to find strange eyes on him. Somehow he had caught himself before he caused the kitten bodily harm. It was just a kitten, he had told himself. Sure, Apollo was a bit disinterested, too curious, and a little pompous, but he was innocent. Exhausted from the lack of sleep he had gotten in the previous days, Draco found that he was too tired to make a case when Apollo climbed on his pillow, curled up, and quickly fell into a purring slumber.
Bloody beast!
Draco was pulled from the memory as Granger arose from her chair, still holding the kitten.
She looked like a new parent: worried yet determined.
"Is everything okay in here?" Blaise's deep voice rang out in the silence. His voice alone told the blond everything that he needed to know.
They had heard them.
"Everything's fine." Draco observed his two best friends.
Pansy didn't bother to hide her alarm, but her boyfriend's face was an incomprehensible mask of poise, as usual. Blaise had always buried his emotions under calm words rather than showed them. In the near eleven years that he had known Blaise, he'd only seen him yell twice – at Pansy.
Granger turned and approached the couple standing in the doorway of the kitchen; her eyes were locked on the kitten in her arms, "Malfoy got me a kitten. Meet Apollo."
Both of the kitten's ears perked up with recognition and he purred, licking his paw.
"He's adorable!" The black-haired witch swooned, petting his head lightly. Apollo gave off a low purr, clearly loving the attention from the two women.
"Thanks – if you all are ready to eat, you can go into the dining room." Hermione told them after transferring the kitten to Pansy, who was talking to it in a baby voice as she held it in her arms.
A few minutes later, the extravagant dinner Granger had dutifully planned was underway. Blaise had volunteered to help her carry out the appetizer dishes, leaving Draco and Pansy to quickly find their way into the plain dining room. The table was nice and the little chandelier was decent too, but like the living room, the dining room was dull and bare. Apollo was sleeping in his box by the dining room's entrance.
"I have to admit, the kitten idea was shockingly thoughtful." Pansy poured herself a glass of wine.
He knew what she was doing. It was wise to keep his mouth shut.
"You know," Pansy showed her impeccable etiquette skills, that stemmed from years of lessons and parties, in the moments after she set the bottle back into the ice bath. She swirled the wine in the glass, sniffed it, and made an approving face before she took a prim sip. Nodding, she set the glass on the table and eyed him. Her voice may have been light and dainty, but the underlying venom proved to him that she was no innocent princess. "After years of friendship, I'm really starting to realize that there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't take back what I said before, Draco – you've changed. I can't put my finger on how, but you're not the same man who accosted me in your living room on August 15th." Pansy shook her head meaningfully and her eyes shone with apology, "I was so wrong about you that day, you're nothing like your father. You're better."
He wasn't sure what he should say, so he said nothing at all.
"You know, she's really come a long way and," her voice caught slightly, "Thank you for being there for her."
Draco fixed his lips to reply when the last two emerged from the kitchen. Blaise was carrying two plates, while Granger carried a bowl.
And dinner began.
He could honestly appreciate just how strong Granger was, as a person. She was hurting, it was plainly written on her face, but not once did she crack. He admired her for that reason alone. True, she'd come close, more than a few times, but she took a moment, sipped some of her wine and took a few deep breaths. Blaise was good about keeping Pansy from babying her. They never stopped talking and Granger always hopped right back in when she felt better.
Furthermore, he also found that he could fully appreciate just how bloody organized she was, as well. Like in Hogwarts, when she set her mind to something, she did it to perfection; taking it above and beyond the call of duty. So when she said she was going to cook them dinner, she'd cooked them dinner, but made it infinitively better than a typical dinner.
Dinner came from two regions of Italy: Veneto, where she had lived, and Campania, where Blaise's grandmother had lived. Granger had smartly rationed their portions so none of them would be too full to continue, took short breaks, explained why she had fixed that particular dish, and showed the difference between wine from Venice and wine from Naples. Also, she included a storyline of Italian history with each dish that she served. The blond man found himself not noticing the blandness of the walls as he listened to her and Blaise work through centuries of Italian history over the course of dinner. They talked about wars, rulers, and revolutions; times of peace and times of turmoil. They had even talked about Wizarding history, as well. Draco honestly couldn't think of a time when Granger had looked more alive. She immersed herself into the diverting conversation and he saw glimpses of the know-it-all that had been lurking underneath the surface.
Each of the three appetizers, the four first courses, four main entrées, and three desserts were served with its own wine, breads, and a brief history lesson.
It was all bloody fantastic.
They talked and listened, Pansy laughed and Granger cracked a few sad smiles, Draco worked on his Italian and Blaise looked content. It wasn't until the conclusion final dessert, when everyone was full and sipping the last of their wine that Granger spoke humbly, "Thank you, for coming…" She sighed, letting some of her emotional exhaustion show, "It really means a lot to me."
Pansy guffawed as if to say, 'you don't need to thank us,' and Blaise shrugged and told her, "We're your friends," as if it were the most obvious thing on the planet.
Draco gave her a quick nod, but only when she met eyes with him.
Granger just smiled weakly and rose from her chair. "I should probably start cleaning up before we watch the videos."
The videos…
Pansy Parkinson was going to get a killing curse to the chest and Draco Malfoy was determined to be the one to do the job.
Fucking videos.
The second box that they had opened on his night of temporary insanity contained a few home videos of Granger with her son. She had them all labelled and in order, starting from when he was a few months old. He watched as she separated one tape, labelled 'HJP', from the rest. She didn't explain, he didn't ask. When Pansy had dropped by the following morning, Granger showed her the tapes. She told the other witch that they'd watch them with her. If she wanted.
There was nothing in the world that Draco wanted less than to sit next to Granger as they watched home movies of her dead son.
Blaise put up a hand, "Let us. Draco and I can handle it."
Draco scowled. First the videos – and now the – he didn't sign on to do the bloody dishes!
Apprehensively, the witch looked at them both, "Are you sure?"
He fixed his lips to argue otherwise when his best friend kicked him in the leg. As he fired a surly glare at Blaise, he mumbled something very nasty under his breath as the kicker replied with another shrug, "We're sure. Give us a few minutes. We'll spell everything clean and join you both in the living room in, say, ten minutes?"
"That's fine." She gave them all meaningful glances as she turned, padded across her dining room (still wearing those ridiculous socks), picked up a purring Apollo out of the box, and left the dining room. Pansy quickly rose, kissed her boyfriend's cheek, and whispered a small 'thank you' before following Granger.
"Did you have to kick me?" The blond wizard sneered once the two witches were out of earshot.
Blaise gave a half-hearted shrug, but Draco could see the humour in his eyes.
Wanker.
"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Draco asked minutes later as he and Blaise Vanished all the empty plates, glasses, platters, and silverware, into the kitchen.
"Pansy wanted to have a chat with her."
And while Blaise had decided to stay out of their business, Draco had decided he was too curious to be noble. After receiving some words about not being a snoop, the wizard cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and stood against the wall in Granger's living room, silent and still. Granger was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, Apollo was exploring his new surroundings carefully, and Pansy was sitting on the couch with an apprehensive look on her face. Soft music trickled from the jukebox and all appeared to be too quiet, but he didn't have to wait long.
"I wasn't going to lie. I was going to tell you that I haven't slept in two days and that I've been dreading this day for weeks. I don't know what I would've done if I'd been here by myself. I was going to tell you that I really, truly appreciate everything that you've done for me."
Pansy shook her head, "I haven't—"
"You let me into your circle of friends, you've made sure that I'm not alone on days like Christmas, New Year's, today…and you've stuck by me, even when I pushed you away, even when I lied…"
The black-haired witch shrugged, "You're my best friend. At least, in the way that I define the word."
She looked confused, "I am?"
Pansy nodded, "Even though I just get the feeling that you want me to take the words back."
Granger just sighed and used her wand to conjure up a ball of yarn for Apollo to play with. The kitten pounced on it playfully. After a few moments of watching the sight before her, she replied, "I want to go back to six years ago when I could see the definition of a friend. I wish that I could be a true friend to you. I wish that I could follow Malfoy's suggestion and change my mindset. I want to, I want to consider you as my best friend because you've been better to me than I've been to myself, but my mind—"
"Your heart, Hermione," Pansy practically whispered, "What does it think?"
"It's still too weak, it's still too bruised and—"
"Broken?" She interjected.
"Yes, but mending…" She trailed off and looked over at Pansy.
"How can you heal when you still hide things?"
Granger looked thrown.
"You hide things from me."
There was no shame in her voice when she confessed, "I do."
"Why?" The song on the jukebox faded into silence and Apollo, though initially entertained with his conjured gift, started to move away from it and explore more of his new world.
Granger rose to her feet and scooped up the kitten that was treading towards the fireplace. "You're doing so well, Pansy. I-I just don't want to hold you back with any of my drama."
Pansy crossed her legs and leaned back against the couch, "It still doesn't explain why you kept things—"
"Because – I don't want to disappoint you," Granger confessed in a rush as her face flushed. Petting the kitten for comfort, she sighed harshly, "I just, sometimes, I can see it in your eyes. The hope. You want me to be happy and you want things to be normal; you're desperate for it. But, they're not, and I don't know when they'll be normal again. And, sometimes, when my façade starts to slip and I show just how sad I really am, I see it there; the disappointment." She ground out coldly, "I just keep thinking that if I keep disappointing you, that you'll abandon—"
"Never—"
"So, I fake it. I keep my mouth shut and I lie. 'I'm fine' and 'Everything is just great'. I breathe, I talk, and I listen to your ridiculous stories about your job. I do everything to keep up a façade around you when on the inside all I want to do is scream and cry."
Draco felt uncomfortable. Pansy wasn't much of a crier, yet some tears had built up behind her blue eyes. "I-I-I didn't know. I don't want you to think that—"
Sadly, she set Apollo down on the floor and watched as he went back to playing with his ball of yarn. Granger stood in front of the fireplace, "You're so proud, Pansy. You're comfortable with sweeping everything under a rug. When you're having a bad day, I can't tell. When you're sad, you don't show it. I can't be like you. I can't ignore how I feel. Ignoring everything is the reason I haven't healed, it's the reason I waited so long to tell the truth, it's—"
"I never asked you to sweep your feelings under a rug, Hermione. That's just how I deal with things. Another curse of my upbringing," She gave a rueful chuckle, "You have to understand that I'm still working on me, just like you're still working on you. We're both a work in progress." A rare, honest smile broke across her face as she ran a hand through her black hair, "And since we're works in progress, I'll be more open with you so you can be more open with me."
"Even if I have to admit that I'm weak—"
"You're not weak. I would've died if I had to go through the things that you went through, but you—you lived."
Bitterly, "I may have lived, but it wasn't a life worth living." Granger sighed and whispered the spell that started a low fire. "You might as well have buried me next to Matthew that day. He took me with him when he died." Pansy remained silent and the brunette continued, "I look back at myself from six months ago and I don't even recognize who I was. And I look at myself now and I still don't know who I am, but everything – everything is a little clearer."
The other witch smiled. "And things will keep getting clearer."
With another look over her shoulder, Draco saw the almost hopeful gleam in her eyes. "You think?"
"I know. You don't have to carry those burdens alone."
The brunette's look turned from to anxious as she face away from the fireplace, "I-I need to tell you—"
"That Harry is Matthew's father? No need."
It was obvious to Draco that Granger didn't expect those words.
Pansy continued, boldly, "Don't look like that. I've known for a long time. I knew the instant I saw him. His eyes and his apparent aversion to brushing his hair were the giveaways…although," She paused dramatically and put her finger to her chin, focusing on the table as if it were a hard Divination assignment, "He just as easily could've gotten that last one from you."
Draco witnessed an honest Hermione Granger laugh. It came out rough and very slow, but it was a laugh. Even though it didn't last very long, Pansy looked pleased.
Granger's laugh turned into a sad sigh, "He really did hate brushes and combs. I charmed them, I turned them into his favourite colours, I made them zoom around the room, I showed him how I brushed my hair, I made him watch fun videos about how fun it was to brush his hair – I did everything and the second I went to brush his hair, he started screaming like a bloody banshee and didn't stop until I finished. And then he'd pout for ages." She shook her head at the memory, smirking ever so slightly. The smirk slowly turned into watered eyes and sharp breaths. Despite himself Draco felt badly for her. Granger covered her face with her hands, sobbing lowly. "I miss him," She cried softly, sniffling, "I miss him so much."
Pansy rose from her seat, abandoned her heels, and approached her friend, taking her into her arms. Like she had done to him three nights before, she clung to the other witch tightly and sobbed freely, but Pansy didn't seem to mind a bit that she got tears on her cashmere sweater. She just patted her back and placated her as best as she could.
The knock on the door broke up the moment.
Granger lifted her head off her friend's shoulder, wiping her tears quickly. "W-what was that?" She asked with a broken voice.
"I think it was—" The persistent knocking cut her off.
Blaise emerged from the kitchen as Pansy released Granger and headed for the door. Draco quickly went into the kitchen, removed the Disillusionment charm, and emerged – where Granger was standing there, waiting for him. Her eyes were still red, but she didn't look angry when she said, "Eavesdropping." It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of the fact.
He would've allowed his cheeks to take on a slightly pinkish hue, but Pansy's admonished, "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" and then her, "Silencio!" followed quickly by Blaise's "Expelliarmus!" had kept his face just as pale as usual.
Both their eyes narrowed in confusion and he silently followed her out of the living room and into the foyer.
Pansy kept yelling at the top of her lungs, completely irate, "Today, of all days, you have the nerve to show your face! If Blaise hadn't taken my bloody wand, I'd curse that face right off of your body!"
The front door was wide open, but they couldn't see who was there because Blaise, who was holding his girlfriend back, was blocking the view. Granger went left around the couple, he went right, and Blaise pulled the enraged woman back further. Draco only heard one sound: Granger's small gasp as she identified the man at her door. She stumbled back a few steps, her face a mask of shock and borderline anger. Unwittingly, he covered her fist with his hand before she could back away any further.
A flash of lightning lit up the darkening sky, followed quickly by the rumbling of thunder. A storm was coming – how appropriate.
Draco stared at him with narrowed slate-grey eyes and a fixed scowl. The man looked as if he'd gone ten rounds with a Muggle boxer – and was defeated. A black eye, broken glasses, a swollen cheek, a bleeding lip, and what looked like a broken nose. Did he even feel it? His injuries didn't seem to bother him. His eyes were focused on Granger and hers on his. Speaking of Granger, her voice hitched as she half-whispered his name, "Harry?"
ooo
(Moments later)
Part 2: And all hell broke loose
Pansy's solution to the 'Harry problem' was a callous: "Let the git bleed on the welcome mat…outside."
It earned her a silencing charm.
It was a bloody brilliant idea, but counterproductive. Hermione knew that she should've shut, no, slammed the door in Harry's face the moment she broke the silencing charm with a shaky, "Finite Incantatem." She could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as anger rose in her belly and tears rose behind her eyes. Her fist trembled inside Malfoy's bigger hand. She wanted to hex him.
Out of the 365 days to talk, he chose today. Today. It made her blood bubble. She couldn't hide the bitterness or the anger on her face and in her chest. Hermione felt as if her brain was being compressed inside of her skull. He wanted to talk? Well—no! Did he want to listen when she talked? No! Why the hell did he think that he could show up and beg her to listen to him? He didn't get every thing that he wanted, now did he? She didn't need or want him there. She couldn't breathe with him there. All she could remember was the pain, the denial, and finally, the refusal. He had no business coming to her house! Not today!
Hermione knew that she should've ignored his silent, pleading eyes. She should've ignored his hand that touched the invisible wall of her strong wards – wards that kept him out of her life and out of her house. She should've let Malfoy guide her back to the living room. He had her fist; all he had to do was lead the way and she would follow. But he just stood there as if he knew what needed to be done.
"…you've been the bigger person all along, keep it that way."
"Malfoy, please take down the admittance wards." It came out in a whisper. She knew that she was too emotional to remove them.
His face was as a blank mask of diplomacy. "What—"
"Take down the wards!" She screamed at him, the emotions heavy in her words. Immediately, she regretted them. The mask of diplomacy was gone in an instant and replaced with a silent fury that made her blood run cold. He released her hand as if touching her disgusted him. The wizard started to back away when Hermione grabbed his hand, apology on the tip of her tongue. "D-don't go. I-I didn't meant to lash out at you."
As usual, Malfoy stared at her. His face showed absolutely no emotion, his lips were taut, and his body was just as rigid as it was when she had hugged him. The witch held his gaze. Hermione could literally see the wheels turning in his head as he fought an internal battle. She knew that he didn't want to stay, that he never wanted to stay, but he did for reasons she was finally starting to understand. He stayed because she asked him to. Their alliance was, well – she always got the impression that Malfoy didn't want to be bothered with her. That didn't change the fact that she didn't want him to leave.
Hermione didn't relax until Malfoy extracted his wand from his pocket and carefully, following each of her directions, took down the wards of admittance. She turned her back on him when Harry stepped into her house, cautiously looking around. However, when she turned around again, he was walking away, through the foyer, and back into the living room. She wanted to call out for him, but she knew why he had left.
There were other things that she had to deal with at that moment.
"How did you find my house, Harry?" Hermione asked coldly.
"I asked Molly for the address. She told me that you gave it to her a few months ago. I thought that we should talk."
Evenly, "We can talk until we're blue in the face, but that doesn't mean that you'll listen."
"Well, now I am," Harry told her firmly. "I'm ready to listen. I'm ready to get to know my son."
Hermione rubbed her temples, "Why today?" She moaned, "Why now?"
"I messed up. I messed up so bad with you and with Ron, and I'm—" he took a deep breath, "I want to fix it."
Frankly, "You can't."
He nodded, "Can't I try? I just want things to get back to how they used to be, when we were friends."
Visibly, she stiffened. Friends. She couldn't believe how angry she was. Friends? He wanted them to go back to being friends? After everything that had happened, after his words and his callous actions and his—no, she wouldn't let herself be dragged back into that. "I hate to burst your bubble, Harry, but things may never get back to that point."
"We can at least try, can we?"
Her reply was cold, but honest, "I don't know if I want to."
The words stung and she knew it. Harry flinched and he looked rather hurt, but he didn't reply nor did he look her in the eye. No, the wizard stared at his feet. She couldn't tell what was on his mind, but she had to ask him about his face.
"What happened to you?"
"Ron."
So, he was back from Romania.
Words were no longer needed. She knew what had transpired. Ron must've come back around the same time that Harry went to ask Molly for her address. What had taken place in the following minutes must've turned the Burrow upside down. Poor Molly.
Hermione led the way into the tense atmosphere of the living room. It was obvious that there was a temporary rift between Blaise and Pansy because Malfoy was sitting between them. The silenced (and scowling) Pansy was petting Apollo, a calm Blaise was pilfering through one of her books, and an expressionless Malfoy was staring at his hand. "Malfoy, can you do me a favour and heal Harry's nose?"
Every head had turned sharply at her request. Pansy clearly had something to say about that – and chances were high that her words weren't pleasant. A reluctant Draco Malfoy rose from the couch and picked his wand up off the table after traitorously muttering something vicious under his breath. Obviously, he was going to be the bigger man and heal a person that he clearly didn't like and she really respected him for that. He only took three steps towards the pair before Harry's unease was made known. "I-I'd prefer if Blaise did it."
A blond brow cocked slowly.
Harry reasoned, "You did break it in Sixth Year."
Malfoy rolled his eyes and Hermione silently agreed. He was being ridiculous. "Do you ever let anything go?" The blond wizard sneered.
After Blaise fixed his nose and Pansy practically threw a conjured icepack at him, Hermione decided to cancel the rest of their plans. She started to apologize, but there was no need. They understood. Pansy and Blaise were the first to leave by Floo. They both gave her hugs and Pansy shot silent death rays at the raven-haired wizard. Malfoy was the last to leave.
"If I need anything," She began nervously, stealing a glance over her shoulder where Harry stood, watching them intensely. He was out of earshot, but looked determined to hear their conversation. "Can I come to you?" Pansy, her other option, was out of the question; she'd hunt Harry down and hex his limbs off if she even got an inkling that he'd done something wrong to her.
After a few moments of mental deliberation, he gave a very stiff and reluctant nod before dropping the Floo powder and disappearing in a burst of green flames.
He did nothing to hide the disapproval in his voice, "I didn't know that you and Malfoy were such good friends."
There was that word again. Friends. Could he stop saying that word? Merlin! Her nostrils flared. Her reply was very formal, but the anger laced in it was evident, "There's a lot that you don't know about me, Harry, and I'd appreciate it if you left his name out of your mouth. Whatever is going on between us has nothing to do with why you're here, and if it is, you know where the door is."
"Merlin, Hermione, you know that I'm not here because of that lousy prat. He—"
Simply, "Get out."
He looked as if it were the first time she was kicking him out. It wasn't. "What?"
Clearly, "I said, get out."
"Why?"
"Because I thought you were here to learn about your son, but it's obvious that you want to be an immature arse—"
"I am here to learn about him!" He exclaimed, angrily. Harry never took an attack on his person very well.
She quickly shot back, "Then prove to me that you are capable of being mature, and shut up about Malfoy!"
Harry put a determined look on his face before he nodded seriously. "Okay. Fine."
She calmed herself down with a few deep breaths and invited him to sit on the couch while she went through the cabinet under her television, searching for the tape. When she found it, Hermione put the tape in her modest VCR, "I thought that it would be better if I showed you, rather than told you, about Matthew." Apollo rubbed against her leg and she picked him up.
"When did you get a new cat?"
"Today." She didn't think it was wise to tell him that Malfoy bought it for her.
"What happened to Crookshanks?"
Sadly, "He died sometime during the year that my parents were in Australia."
"Oh…I'm sorry."
Hermione didn't want his pity and before she could tell him, Apollo started purring rather suddenly, snuggling in her arms and pawing her affectionately. His purring reminded her that she didn't want to fight today, that it wasn't about her and Harry; it was about Matthew. Intuitive kitten. "It's his birthday today, you know. Today."
With a slightly strangled voice, he replied, "I remembered."
He remembered. "I," She picked up the remote off the floor and rose to her feet, Apollo still in her arms. Hermione chose her words carefully, "I hope you don't think that I deliberately kept you out of his life."
"I don't think that." Harry looked at her, his eyes were so open that she felt that she could plunge right into his soul. Yet, she didn't, afraid of what she would find and what she would see. "I mean, I did, at first. But then I sat down and thought about it. I thought about what you had said and what Malfoy—"
"Malfoy?" Hermione interjected. "When did you talk to Malfoy?"
"The same day you told us."
Well, that was news to her. She wasn't quite sure what to think because her heart and pulse were racing out of control. She couldn't concentrate. What did Malfoy say to Harry? What—did he tell him about Matthew? Did he tell him anything that she had told him? Did he betray her? A panicking Hermione berated herself. Damnit! She should've known better than to trust him! He had never given her a reason in the past. She should've known better than to tell him everything. She—she stopped herself. No. Hermione knew better than to damn him before she could prove anything.
She wouldn't damn him like Harry had damned her.
"W-what did he say?"
"He told me that I didn't know anything about you and I argued with him. I thought that I knew you – looks like the prat was right." Harry shook his head at the irony of the situation. "He told me that I was an immature prat and that if he had friends like me, he wouldn't need enemies. He told me that I had no idea about what you were going through at that time – he was right about that, too." And then something dawned on him and his words were half-whispered, "He was right – he was right about everything."
She tried not to sound so anxious, but failed miserably. "He—he didn't tell you about anything else, did he? About my parents or Matthew?"
"No."
Hermione released the internal breath that she had been holding. He didn't betray her trust by telling. He—she almost smiled. He could've told Harry, he could've told him everything, but he didn't. He probably wanted to, but he didn't. Her lip trembled because in that moment, she permitted someone else into her world. With all her heart, she believed that she could rely on Draco Malfoy. She could go to him, talk to him, stand beside him, open up to him, hold his hand, sit with him, hug him, and put her faith in him. He wasn't perfect, no; he was perfectly flawed, like her. But his flaws made him all the better. He wouldn't betray her, stab her in the back, or hurt her. The realization was exhilarating, scary, and muddled, but it was there. And as more realizations fell on her, Harry had a few of his own.
"I didn't give you any option, did I? I wasn't fair to you, was I? I didn't think about you, did I? I didn't—Malfoy's right, I'm an idiot."
He was realizing everything that she'd waited five years for him to realize, but she raised her hand and stopped him, "Harry."
"I'm sorry." He was sincere; she could almost feel it radiating from his skin. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you back then and I'm sorry for how I treated you in the last six months. I should've never said the things that I said. I should've never abandoned you. I shouldn't have tried to bully you into forgiving me. If you never do, I—"
"I forgive you."
The wizard looked stunned. "You do?"
Hermione nodded, "I forgive you, so you can forgive me, so I can forgive myself. I need to forgive myself."
"I forgive you."
Three words that nearly made her cry in relief. As absolution showered over them both, it permeated their skins and their hearts. They had forgiven each other, but they hadn't forgotten. Though they could move on, things between them were no different. It would take time and patience, understanding and strength. It would call for him to listen and her to put her memories aside. They had, however, both jumped a major hurdle with three little words.
Harry broke the silence, "Did he—did he ever ask about me?"
The witch smiled sadly and nodded. "All the time. He whispered your name in his sleep…" She trailed off, voice suddenly thick. Hermione cleared her throat and continued hoarsely, "I showed him pictures of you and told him stories about you, about us and R-Ron, at Hogwarts." She watched as he winced painfully at the very mention of his best friend. She didn't linger. "I told him a little bit about the war and how you were a hero; that you saved us from Voldemort. I didn't keep you from him. I didn't hide you from him. H-he was—" she choked up again, "Harry, h-he loved you, very much." She had to sit down because her knees buckled and threatened to give out on her. Tears welled in her eyes at the very thought of all the conversations they had about "daddy".
Harry Potter was torn between sadness and happiness. His son knew of him, but it didn't change the fact that he didn't know of his son.
"I always had plans to tell you, I always had plans to come home and face my demons, but when he got sick…"
Staring directly at her with confused, narrowed eyes, he murmured, "Sick?"
"Yes. He was sick. First, he had leukaemia. I was about a moment from contacting you when we found a donor."
"You should've contacted me, anyway."
"I know, Harry. I made a mistake and words can't express just how sorry I am. I kept you from him and that's something that I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life."
There was nothing but silence for a long time.
"Hermione, how did he—"
Numbly, she cut him off, "An undiagnosed, malignant brain tumour." She stroked the kitten's fur gently as she tried to retell the story without tears, "It had been growing in his brain for at least two years, one doctor said," A tear ran down her cheek and she was powerless to stop the rest. So much for a tearless story. "We tried to treat it, tried to stop it, and tried to control it, but it just kept growing and growing. It never stopped."
"And Magic—"
"Magic can only do so much, and you know that. Magic kept his hair on his head and kept his symptoms in check, but other than that, magic was powerless to heal him. Soon, they were telling me to make arrangements. I knew that I should've contacted you then, but I was out of my mind with grief. I was losing my son. I-I didn't."
She felt his arm snake around her and pull her against him. Harry whispered four words that, with the combination of her emotional level, made her release a choked sob: "I don't blame you."
The kitten in her lap was long forgotten as she broke down. All day, she'd willed herself not to cry, she played the part of a strong mother, she diverted herself with cooking and conversation, she'd smiled smiles that didn't reach her eyes, she'd laughed empty laughs, but she couldn't help herself nor could she deny herself. The sheer pressure of the emotions in her head was extremely high. Hermione just couldn't take it. She was so tired of being strong. A few of his tears fall on her head and she was shocked by them. He didn't even know Matthew – but neither had Pansy and she had initially cried more for him than Hermione had.
For nine minutes, she allowed herself to cry and grieve for her son, who would have been celebrating his fifth birthday.
By the tenth minute, she was all cried out.
Hermione slowly raised her head, wiped her eyes, and looked at a teary-eyed Harry. Apollo had somehow made his way on the coffee table and was just watching them with almost sad cerulean blue eyes. She really liked this kitten.
"H-he died at 4:21 in t-the afternoon on February t-the nineteenth. I let Pansy c-call for help while I-I just h-held him…" There was no more that she could say.
Surprisingly, he said nothing about Pansy.
Back in Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy had always accused Harry of wearing his heart on his sleeve. And he was right. Every single emotion, every bit of sadness and grief that he felt was evident. And it hurt her. It hurt her more than she ever imagined. She tried to stop herself from thinking 'what if', but she couldn't help it. What if she'd talked to him? What if she—no, she had to stop. She had to move forward. The past was the past. It wouldn't change anything. It would only stop her from making the same mistakes again.
Hermione reached for the remote and turned the television on, "I made this tape for you, just in case you ever found out about Matthew or if something were to happen to me or him. Each year, on Matthew's birthday, we sat down, and added to the tape. I didn't want you to miss out – and I confess I never thought that you would ever see it, but—but I'm glad I get to show it to you."
She pressed Play.
The screen was black for a few seconds as the date flashed on the bottom of the screen: March 4, 1999. Hermione remembered the day as if it were yesterday. After all, it was one of the best days of her life: the day she brought Matthew home from the hospital. The camera moved a little as it was set down on its holder and the lens cap was removed. The next thing they saw was Hermione's living room from her home in Venice. It was filled with plants, paintings, and life. And then the nineteen-year-old Hermione came and sat on the couch, right in front of the camera. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing a white shirt and grey lounge pants. She looked exhausted and thoughtful, but happy.
"If you're watching this, Harry, then you know why I left. I hope that I'm sitting with you as you watch this, but if I'm not, then I want to apologize. It wasn't my intention to hurt you or Ron, but I had to leave, for both your sakes and the sake of our son. You told me in Australia that I was making a mistake by having him and I just want to show you just how wrong you were."
The teenager rose from the seat and walked away, returning with beautiful, peacefully sleeping baby in her arms. He was wrapped comfortably in a maroon blanket. He fussed a little in his sleep, but she shushed him gently, rocking him in her arms. The newborn almost had a head full of dark brown tore her eyes off her younger self and looked over at Harry – to find him completely enamoured. He was leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and just stared.
"He's beautiful, isn't he?"
"Yes." She heard Harry whisper and it tore at her heart.
"His name is Matthew Caleb Granger and he's just come home from spending the last month at the hospital. He had a heart murmur. They say he won't be able to run or play without being winded. We'll show them, won't we, Matthew?" She looked down at her son with pure affection shining in her eyes, "We'll show the world that anything is possible." She kissed his forehead. "And even if you never run or play, I'll still love you."
The screen went black and the date changed to February 6, 2000. Matthew's first birthday.
Hermione's hair was swept out of her face and she looked flushed, but she was holding a squirming one-year-old, who was banging two blue blocks together and repeating the word "vroom" over and over again. Dressed in a green long-sleeved shirt and pants, his hair was freshly cut and his greenish-hazel eyes were open and playful.
"Matthew, want to say hi to daddy?"
The baby on the screen shook his head no and continued banging the blocks together.
"He shakes his head at everything. Watch." She smirked and sang his name, "Matthew, want to take a nap?"
He shook his head no.
"Want some cake and ice-cream?"
He shook his head no. The Hermione on the screen laughed.
"Say goodbye to daddy."
The block-banging stopped and he looked at the camera curiously.
"Da-da?"
Harry looked close to tears and Hermione was right behind him.
By the end of the second birthday where Hermione had to literally chase the laughing toddler around the living room before she could get him in front of the camera, they both were in tears – of laughter.
It started out as a chuckle from Harry and ended with Hermione bursting into a fit of laughter.
She remembered that day very clearly. It was later that year that he was diagnosed with leukaemia, but she couldn't tell. He showed off all his teeth with each of his grins. Merlin, it had taken an hour and a few prompts to get Matthew to speak, but as soon as he had started, Matthew hadn't stopped. For over an hour, he talked about everything, from the "boo-boo" on his elbow to the cake his mummy had made for him. He talked about liking "cahndy", "buks", and "Kittich" (candy, books, and Quidditch as video-Hermione corrected in the background). He cheered, laughed, told stories that were barely understandable, talked about his favourite television shows, and blushed. He then got really close to the camera, knocked on the lens with his little finger, and asked:
"Is ne-one dere?"
His father grinned.
On Matthew's third birthday, he had decided to sit "like a big boy" and talk. He "didn't need mummy" to help him. They had found the tumour two months after this video was done, but she still couldn't tell that he was sick. Matthew slowly counted his numbers in English and Italian and told his daddy that he loved him, in Italian. He was such a smart little boy. He talked about his toy broom, his best friend named Zak: the lion, how mummy took him to the park every Saturday to play with the other kids, story-time Fridays, and lasagna Wednesdays.
Hermione realized that that was how she remembered Matthew: smiling and happy. She didn't remember his fainting episodes, post-radiation vomiting, or his extreme fatigue. She remembered him either before or after, but never during.
Matthew was in the middle of the birthday edition of 'Show and Tell' when there was a knock on the door.
Harry hadn't noticed. He was too busy smiling and chuckling at his son.
He looked so proud and content that Hermione felt a wave of troubled peace overwhelm her faculties; they had signed an armistice. Still, she wondered if Harry would've been so receptive of Matthew in life. She had a feeling that, yes, he would've been. And though she immediately felt horrible for keeping him out of it, she had to remind herself that he harboured no ill will. As she left him alone in the living room, Hermione cast a few lingering glances at the man on the couch and the boy on the screen. Father and son, united by a television.
It was strangely moving.
The persistent knocking tore her away.
She opened the door to a sight she didn't expect to see.
Ginny Weasley.
A deep, harsh sound of thunder bellowed in the heavens as the first raindrops fell to the Earth – how fitting.
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and fixed a cold look on her face. This wasn't a courtesy call or a friendly visit. There was a gleam of anger and distrust in the other witch's brown eyes. Nothing was out of the norm. "What are you doing here, Ginny?"
Bluntly, "My boyfriend is here."
"And how exactly do you know that snippet of information?"
The redhead opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut suddenly. Hermione cocked a brow, calmly standing her ground against the other woman. She knew why she'd shut her mouth so suddenly. Since there was no way in hell that Ginny knew for a fact that Harry was there, she'd have to admit that she had either followed him magically or physically. Harry wouldn't appreciate either. As far as Hermione knew, stalking was still illegal in all of Britain, Muggle and magical. Besides the fact that the youngest Weasley was stalking her own boyfriend, she'd also have to silently admit that their relationship wasn't as perfect as Ginny had made it out to be in her letters and during her previous threats.
And that wasn't something that she wanted to admit to Hermione, of all people.
"Well, since you can't answer the question—" And she shut the door in her face.
Hermione paused for a moment, looked at the shut door, and smirked. That had felt good – no, brilliant.
She turned on the heels of her rainbow socks and decided to rejoin Harry in the living room. She was halfway down the hall narrow hall when she realized just how silent it was. Surely, he wasn't finished watching all of the tape. Cautiously, she peered around the corner and spotted Harry. He was removing the videotape from the VCR.
"What are you doing?" She asked him warily.
Harry rose to his full height and turned, video in hand, "I should be getting back. Ginny's probably going crazy."
Too late for that.
"I kind of just walked out after Molly gave me the pain potion and your address."
Explained why he didn't seem to notice his injuries. "Oh."
"Do you mind if I kept this?" He held up the tape.
She shook her head, "No. It's yours." Walking past him, she scooped up the kitten off the floor and cradled him in her arms. He would probably be hungry soon, if he wasn't already. "I-I have other videos and pictures, if you want to see them sometime. I think I filmed and captured every major and minor event in his life," she chuckled ruefully at her obsessive picture-taking. Matthew could hardly sit still for most of them.
Harry flashed a small smile. "I think—I think I'd like that." There was a small noise that neither had noticed because Harry was preparing to say something hard, "Look, Hermione, about Australia—"
"I think its best that we leave that in the past, where it belongs." She didn't want to dredge up old, painful memories.
Not today. Not when they had made such a great improvement. They had too far to go to trifle themselves with looking back.
A nod of understand was what she got in return as a pregnant silence fell between them.
"I can't help but wonder what would've happened if you'd never left."
"For a while, I did, too – but I've come to the realization that I can't keep torturing myself like that. You shouldn't either. Just like I have to forgive myself, you'll have to do the same. It'll take some time, but in the end, you'll be a better person—"
"Like you?"
Hermione cuddled with her kitten as he pawed her affectionately. Truthfully, "I never said that I was a better person."
Gently, he stepped closer to her. He was so close that she could smell his cologne. "You are, you know?"
A bit uncomfortable with his closeness, "There are those who would think otherwise if they knew the truth."
Harry paused, adjusted his glasses on his face, and sighed. "I just need to be honest with you, Hermione, but I don't know just how."
She shot him a wary glance, "Then don't. Wait. We'll talk about it another—"
"I'm still—"
"Harry, don't say it." Hermione pleaded desperately, "Don't say what I think you're going to say—"
"Hermione—"
"Say anything—"
"Damnit, I'm still in love with you!" He blurted out, clearly frustrated.
"Else." She whispered.
There was no time to speak, no tome to move, and no time to breathe. Hermione was even denied the chance to fully register his words. All she heard were the angry and hurt words of Ginny Weasley. "You're in love with her?"
A bolt of lightning lit up sky and on its heels was a ruthless, bellow of thunder that seemed to last forever. Hard rain started to fall. It was as if she could hear each droplet of rain as it collided with her rooftop. Perfect. The storm that had been brewing for hours had finally arrived; and with good timing, too.
It would've been a great time for a sudden and violent earthquake.
Something to swallow her whole as all hell broke loose.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except my plot and characterizations: JKR owns the rest.
A/N: Thanks to kazfeist for being an awesome beta and helping me out with the Italian dishes.