Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Cowardice
He had seen her, of course, across the room. She looked stunning this evening. He had seen her, also, lock eyes with him and then make a beeline in his direction. And he had fled. He knew the Lane Mansion as well as he knew Malfoy Manor, the fact that no lights were lit was not an issue.
He heard rather than saw a small figure running after him and picked up his pace, running into a corridor he knew she would run straight past. Sliding into the shadows just as she rounded the corner, he saw that burgundy dress flash past the alcove he had slipped into and continue down the hallway. He had avoided her. There was no way she would turn around. But then why couldn't he move?
He stood there, debating with himself, convincing his body that it was safe to move, that she was not coming back, but failed. Petrified for ten minutes, he heard soft footsteps on his left.
His eyes caught a glimpse of silvery grey fabric, and he realized his godmother, Elizabeth Lane, was walking by herself through the dim hallways of her home on the night of her daughter's engagement party. Intrigued, he began to move out of the alcove, but stopped mid-pose as a burgundy object came hurdling down the hallway and slammed into Elizabeth.
Draco froze. It was Hermione. Elizabeth stumbled backwards, nearly loosing her balance, and mumbled "oof!" The two women sized each other up, and Elizabeth lit her wand with a murmur of "lumos."
Upon seeing the identity of the lady in front of her, Elizabeth asked, in an anxious tone, "Hermione! What are you doing back here?"
The side of the wall obscured Hermione from Draco's view, but he heard the Gryffindor say in a haughty tone, "Nothing, Mrs. Lane." Draco cringed for the sake of Elizabeth; Hermione had just purposefully called her birth mother by the most formal title possible. Draco saw Elizabeth's weight shift, and start to turn away. Then, something stopped Elizabeth in her tracks. Draco suspected Hermione had whispered a question, as Elizabeth, not turning to face Hermione asked in a matter-of-fact tone, "Do what, dear?"
For the first time, Hermione's face came into view as she came forward to just behind Elizabeth's. Draco saw Hermione's lips move, but could not make out the words. He saw a shiver go down Elizabeth's spine as she closed her eyes. Elizabeth snapped, in a haughty tone, "I don't know what you're talking about."
Neither woman moved for a full minute, and finally Hermione spoke. "Yes, you do." It was now that Elizabeth rotated around to face Hermione. Draco felt shock jolt him. Elizabeth's face was ghostly white, and her eyes held fear. Hermione did not seem to pick up on this, and Draco could see a fire in her eyes. She continued, "I bought a villa in Sicily. I did some research in to its history."
Draco saw the fear in his godmother's eyes expand. She mumbled something, and Hermione gave a straight response. Draco was processing. Sicily, Sicily. A villa in Sicily… what had he heard about a family villa in Sicily? But try as he might, he could not remember the story. He knew there was something in the back of his mind, and that he should know the reference, but it refused to stick. By the time Draco resigned himself to not knowing the story, he heard a name that jolted his memory.
It was Elizabeth's voice that said it, "I was very young when I met Marcus," That was it. Now Draco found a story from his father embedded in his memory. Marcus Crouch had been one of Lucius' family friends, had resided in Sicily on the family estate and had eloped with Elizabeth Danforth. Which must mean that Marcus Crouch was Hermione's birth father!
"You must understand, what I'm doing for Anna, what I tried to do for you all those years ago; I didn't want you two to end up like me. Pregnant, eloped, then widowed. You can't begin to understand that pain, of not only losing the person you love, but in the process being disowned by your family. At least if you were married to good men, you'd be content and well cared for."
Draco felt his heart thumping in his chest. He hardly noticed Elizabeth leave the corridor, or Hermione stand, dumbfounded. Elizabeth had orchestrated him and Hermione years and years ago. It hadn't been spontaneous, nothing about it had been real. It had been his godmother trying to prevent her daughter from falling in love. If this was the case, had it all been fake? Had Hermione never felt anything for him? Had his own feelings be manufactured out of a lie?
His head spinning, he heard a gasp and a sob escape Hermione. The once proud Gryffindor was falling on her knees not five feet from him, head in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasn't a pretty crier, even in the semi-darkness he could heard her gasping, gulping breaths and imagine her blotchy red face. He found himself holding his breath, unmoving.
If, indeed, all the unsaid feelings between them had been painted by their parents, created when they didn't really exist, he couldn't go comfort her now. He closed his eyes, and tuned her out. She would stop crying soon enough, and leave. Then he would return home. There would be no more socializing for him this evening.
He bit his lip and thought of stories: of family histories, of children's tales, of the War. He filled his mind with daydreams to escape the reality. When he ran out of stories, he began to remember his school lessons. He listed potions, spells and charms; thought through lessons and exams. Finally, when he could think of nothing else to list, to distract his mind, he let it wander back to the present. The crying had stopped. Peering through the tapestry, he saw the figure in the red dress was gone. He could leave.
Tentatively, he stepped out of the alcove. Choosing not to go back past the party, he walked instead to the library. He would be able to take the ground-level exit from that grand room. He could apparate from the lawn. His pace quickened, he needed to leave. Choosing speed over stealth, he threw the door of the library wide.
There was a shriek from below him, and in the moonlight on the first floor of the grand library he saw two figures spring apart. He knew that shriek. He ran down the spiral stair to his right and drew up next to Asteria Greengrass, clutching the hand of Blaise Zabini.
"Oh! Draco!" Asteria seemed incredibly startled, and Blaise looked sheepish. Draco felt the emotional center of his brain shut down in an effort to not have a bizarre reaction. He nodded stiffly to Blaise, and went off to the right of the couple, taking the glass ground-level exit in an effort to get home.
Blaise dropped Asteria's hand and went after Draco, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, I…" Draco turned around to face his friend briefly, not knowing what to say. Blaise glanced back at Asteria, who nodded to Draco, then hoisted her skirts and left the room.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Draco shook his head and turned to leave, not wanting an explanation. Blaise, however, grabbed Draco's upper arm and prevented him from leaving.
"Give me a chance to explain," Blaise said in his deep voice.
"Nothing to explain," Draco muttered, not turning back. Blaise did not relinquish his grip.
"Yes, there is. You were engaged to her until quite recently. Of course there's explaining to do."
Draco whirled around, looked Blaise directly in the eyes, and said, "No. There is none. Now will you let me go?" Draco's insides were in turmoil. He did not care a wit about Asteria or Blaise at this moment. If he had been more sane, he would have been wondering how long this had been going on, and why it was secret. If, indeed, it had been going on during his engagement to Miss Greengrass. But he was not sane at the moment, thus his thoughts did not turn to questioning his friend and ex-fiancee. The rage which would have normally bubbled up in him during this sort of situation was empty. That's all he felt right now… empty.
Blaise mistook the confusion and hurt in Draco's eyes. Blaise believed he had harmed his friend by messing with his ex-fiancee. He had no idea that Draco's thoughts were light years away from that room.
"Draco, you will hear me out; I will not let this turn in to a mess." Again Blaise elicited no response from Draco, so Blaise continued, "I'm not just messing around with Asteria, like I do with other women. She's been my friend for ages, and well… we're going to try and make it work. We thought it would worry you."
Again, there was nothing but a blank stare from Draco. Frusterated, Blaise defended himself more vehemently, "We've been friends for so long, looking out for each other, that we realized we love each other. We didn't actually have this conversation until after your engagement was broken off. The night of Pansy Parkinson's party."
Draco's thoughts wandered back to that party. That had been the day Asteria had so politely returned his ring and told him to go after the girl of his dreams. A girl, whom it seems, he only loved because he had been told to love her.
Blaise was searching Draco's face. Seeing the dismay upon it, he added, "We were going to wait to make it official until you were ready; so as not to hurt you."
Something about the last sentence snapped Draco to the present. "Official? What are you making official?"
Blaise took a breath, and released Draco's arm. "Our engagement. We're going to be married. I love her."
Draco was dumbstruck. "When?"
"December Twenty-Eighth."
"The day that I was supposed to marry her."
"Yes." Blaise awkwardly patted him on the shoulder, and then withdrew his hand, leaving the two standing with nothing to say. Finally, Blaise said quietly, "I know this is bizarre… but I still need a Best Man."
And right there, right then, Draco Malfoy burst out laughing. The absurdity of the situation struck him all at once. And after a split second of confusion, Blaise Zabini joined him.
