Chapter Twenty-One
From the manor he had been able to see the stars, but Draco wasn't able to from Hermione's window; the streetlamps covered them in their harsh glow. He tried covering the window with special drapes, but Hermione couldn't sleep without the lamps. He wondered how she slept in Hogwarts where the closest they had were candles.
She slept on her side, her hair in a messy bun. Feeling her even breath against his chest, he gently pressed a kiss to her hair. Slowly he slid out from the covers and pulled on his boxers. There was no use sleeping that night but he could hardly blame the muggle lights. He couldn't stop thinking of his parents.
Draco couldn't help but be infuriated that his parents didn't bother to tell him that someone faked being him at their party. It was typical of the Malfoy clan. Blood was only as thick as their values and when you failed to meet them they literally burned you out of the tapestry.
Hermione risked a lot going there. Her intentions may have been good, but his father was not one to be trifled with and the life he had with Hermione was everything to him. Their house was too small, the woodblock creaked, the sink clogged, but how much he loved it all. He loved how he woke up to her every morning, the Saturday dinners at the Weasley's, and the morning paper over coffee.
Quietly he dressed and he left the house. A few streets down was a pub he frequented. It was tiny and dank and the beer was substandard, but it was something to warm his insides, something to dull his overly-loud thoughts.
He sat at the bar and ignored the box in the corner that was yelling out number and statistics. He forgot what the muggles called the sport, but he overheard enough to know that it was a lousy version of Quidditch.
A man sat next to him, slouching in a familiar manner.
"Hello, Theo," Draco greeted, taking a swig of his drink.
The corners of Theo's lips turned up in what was a facsimile of a smile. Draco supposed he never had a real one. Theo's life was much like his own, but unlike Draco, the sandy-blonde man never found happiness.
"Life not so good with the muggle-born," he asked offhandedly.
Draco clinched his beer tighter. "It's not her."
"C'mon, you used to tell me everything before you decided to live life as a muggle."
"I'm not living as a muggle."
"You're not living as a pure-blood."
"Keep your voice down." He surveyed their surroundings to see if they had captured the attention of any customers, but they were all watching the game. He turned back to Theo, "what are you doing in a muggle bar, anyway?"
"Your girlfriend gate crashed your parent's party. I know you come to the nearest bar so here I am. Been waiting a while, too. Big argument?"
"There wasn't an argument," he lied.
"You're not a bit mad that she impersonated you, mate?"
"How can I be? I'll never be good enough for her."
"That's sad."
He was not in the mood for insults or harsh truths. He dug out the small amount of muggle money he carried and dropped it on the counter by his empty glass. "I should go."
"Wait!" Theo turned toward him, his voice suddenly serious. "Listen mate, you are good enough for her."
"I was a Death Eater -"
"You were human and by the end of it you were trying to save your family. You've cut yourself off from them now and living among the people you hated. I have to wonder if you are punishing yourself."
"She is not a punishment."
"But she's not your redemption either. It's time to come home. Even she knows that. That's why she was there."
"They hate her - "
He shrugged, "let them. Granger can handle it. After all, she's forgiven you."
Draco then remembered why Theo was his closest friend and it gave him that ache for home. He clapped him on the shoulder and then he left to return home to Hermione. When she woke, he would tell her he was visiting his family that weekend.
Theo was right, it was time to return home.