Chapter Twenty-nine: Home sweet home


"Sometimes, I wish I'd learned a more casual instrument."
"Too formal for
you, Draco?"
"Just because I was born a Malfoy—"
"Fine, fine..." she smiled at his mock defiance, "Do you know what a guitar is?"
"A... what?"
"I think you'd like it."

The last full week of April arrived with a sultry breeze, foretelling an early summer. Hermione had stayed with Draco for a little under a week now, getting used to her new surroundings and company that didn't seem all too unfamiliar to her. Though still uncertain as to whether she was overstaying his hospitality, even Hermione couldn't deny that they were beginning to fall into a daily routine that was slowly becoming the new norm.

Every morning, a refreshing fragrance of blooming flowers would invite her to a stroll in the garden, and she certainly enjoyed her restful afternoons in the library every day. On days when Draco stayed at home, they'd have supper together, often unwinding in the music room afterwards as he played a song or two while Hermione listened. The music was soothing for her and cathartic for him. It was a time of the day that neither felt the need to speak. Any awkwardness between them suddenly seemed trivial, and they felt at peace in each other's company.

There were aspects of her stay that did frustrate her though, particularly as she became more aware of Draco's questionable errands. He was awfully secretive about his trips away from the manor, and when Hermione asked, he simply shrugged off her concerns. As the week progressed though, and as Hermione felt strong enough to walk all day in the forest and back, she became visibly more unsettled. Draco noticed this over breakfast one day as he sipped coffee and watched her from behind the Daily Prophet.

There, again. She'd glanced up at him momentarily, and then down at her ham and eggs, picking on the yolk absentmindedly with her fork. It was clear that she wanted to say something, but she was holding back. It was so unlike her. Giving in to curiosity, Draco folded the newspaper and laid it on the table before him. Apparently she had realized he was watching her too; she was no longer prodding at her plate.

"What is it?"

Hermione looked up from her food uncomfortably, but she didn't respond. The troubled expression on her face told him what was on her mind though, and Draco realized why he was so agitated. He had been deceiving himself that they could continue to ignore her life outside the manor, that she would stay forever with him. She hadn't been outside – the real outside – in a week.

Of course she wanted to know what he did away from the manor. She wanted to go out there, too.

Draco carefully chose his words to conceal his turbulent emotions, though his body betrayed his disquiet by leaning too close to the table.

"Do you want to visit Potter?"

Hermione nodded and smiled a little, thankful that she hadn't needed to ask, and that he had put it so gently for her. Draco nodded too as he looked down at his hands to hide his disappointment. Of course. She had been at the graveyard day and night for two months. She was healthy enough now to go there alone if she wanted to. The only thing stopping her was... well, him. He'd put the fence up there.

The topic had been sensitive, and Hermione had had a hard time bringing it up. Draco might have thought that he was hiding it well, but the pain was evident every time she talked about her lost husband. And as frank as Hermione was, mentioning Harry's grave wasn't the most cheerful thought either. It reminded her that he was dead and gone. Yet it was about time that she got a hold of herself. She needed to go. Draco understood that.

But dammit, I wish I didn't!

"Are you leaving then?"

She looked up at him again at his question, surmising that he meant "leaving" as in "leaving permanently." He didn't reciprocate the gaze even though he knew she was looking at him. In fact, his eyes were still fixed on his hands at the table. What she should say wasn't what he'd want to hear. Draco gathered her lack of reply meant that she would, indeed, leave the manor, but he also remembered how reluctant she was of returning home. Where would she go then? Her avoidance was not sustainable, that was clear. Hermione was wondering the same thing too as she sipped from her glass of milk to evade the awkward atmosphere.

"I have one request," he said presently.

"Anything," she said, putting down her half-empty glass with a clink. She thought she might have sounded too eager, but he did deserve her honesty.

"I want to take you somewhere afterwards, and you have to promise to come with me, wherever it is."

It wasn't what she had expected. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You're not going to tell me where?"

He shook his head and sat back in his seat, grinning a little, "It's a surprise."

xxx

"I'll wait here."

Draco said as he fell back a few steps behind her at the gates to the cemetery. They opened up with a loud rusty groan, beckoning them to enter. Hermione looked back at the gateway and turned back to him again, hesitating to cross.

"It's okay... I don't think he'd want to see me." He smirked, just a little. She smiled slightly too at his sarcasm, knowing he'd only said so because he knew that she wanted to be alone.

Hermione wasn't so sure herself though, whether she wanted to be alone. After having been away for so long, the graveyard seemed so forbidding and lonely. She was brave enough to go without anyone before, why feel this way now? A week or so with Draco, and suddenly things didn't seem quite the same anymore. She was growing soft, she knew.

Or maybe it was because Draco and Symon had reminded her how it felt to be cared for. It was hard to go back to being alone after that.

But that was where Harry dwelt now, wasn't it? Somewhere lonely and lifeless.

That thought gave her the courage to take a step forward, and another, and another... And as she slowly climbed the hill, Hermione noticed the blooming flora and buzzing summer insects that weren't there before. The cycle of life was revealing itself before her: vegetation growing from the remains of those who have passed, fauna feeding on the plants that have grown. She stood for a moment in the murmurs of nature, soaking in the reality that life goes on whether she moved on from Harry's death or not. The flowers and grasses were all growing so happily on the hillside, the bugs busily going about doing their business... Was there a blissful heaven for those who have left too? Hermione hoped so, for Harry's sake.

As she drew closer to his tombstone, she was surprised to find that it had been recently weeded and wiped clean. She even brought a cloth and a bucketful of water for the purpose, but now she could see that someone else had recently visited and did her job already. There were daisies and an assortment of freshly picked flowers on the gravestone, and she recognized that they were from the Burrow's beautiful garden. Ron and Jenny must have visited recently. It made Hermione smile a little to know that she wasn't alone in this struggle, and it surprised her that she had never thought of it that way before. Maybe her ability to see things in a positive light now, however little, was a result of spending time with Draco, and she smiled to herself again.

If you let yourself, yeah.

She knelt down and touched the new grass growing at the feet of the tomb. For better or for worse, in the short time they had lived together, Draco had spurred the change in her attitude towards her life without Harry. It made her sad, to think that she could possibly move on. But she was grateful too, even if it were just for her mental health's sake.

At the foot of the tomb was also a single white tulip with a red ribbon tied to the stalk - red like the one streak of highlight in Layla's hair. Though Layla never told anyone, Hermione knew the meaning behind the single flower. The young Auror never forgave herself for having lost sight of them in the last battle.

Despite her empathy for Layla, the flowers Hermione brought today didn't have meanings of grief or sorrow as they had in the past. She had many a times brought marigolds, purple hyacinths, white poppies and others she could think of that represented her bereavement. This time, Hermione wanted to be hopeful, hopeful for a peace of mind that was still not entirely conceivable to her. She laid down roses with the most delicate blush of pink, a bouquet blooming with gentle gratitude.

Not for killing himself, no, she would never thank him for that. It was for having been kind to her, despite the miserable lies they'd told each other and themselves for so long. A marriage of lies, but a sincere friendship since childhood nonetheless. She had loved him. Whatever that meant to her, Hermione kept it to herself.

From across the cemetery, Draco watched as she closed her eyes and quietly spoke to the departed. He suddenly had a strange thought, wondering whether she would mourn for him so attentively if he were to die one day. He wasn't sure whether he pictured himself dying old and happy, or prematurely, but the thought sent him shivers all the same. For some people, dying young was the unthinkable, always a surprise when it'd happen. For Draco, getting killed was a possibility too real to ignore. Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he jingled the gold locket that was still sitting there, and he became lost in thought. He'd been reading a lot about heirlooms lately, including the one that was currently in his possession, and he frowned at the memory of having failed at saving his closest mate despite his best efforts. Would he ever do anything right? Looking up, he saw that Hermione was walking towards him now, looking... content? Possibly? He knew it was just his wishful thinking, hoping that the smallest things he could do for her would ease her pain, and possibly, just possibly, have her fall in love with him. It was such a foolish thought, he knew, but Draco was too arrogant to admit that. She'd loved him once, why wouldn't she love him again? But then he was worried, worried that there was no space for him in Hermione's heart, or why would she leave him right now?

"You ready?" He presented his arm to her, concealing his discombobulated thoughts with a stern face.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she placed a hand on his arm.

So observant. The way she was peering into his face told him so. He'd really done a poor job at disguising his glumness. Draco dismissed her concern quickly before she could ask further.

"Nothing. Now close your eyes."

She reluctantly complied, still uncertain as to how pleased she would be with this surprise destination. And then, they disapparated.

"Where are we?" she asked as soon as she felt solid ground. Her eyes were still closed, Draco noticed, and if anything, more tightly closed than before. It was a rhetorical question on her part, he realized. The smell of the place must be so familiar for her. There was no way she didn't know already.

Draco released her grip on his arm and held her hand gently as he whispered in her ear, "You know it better than I do." And to be sure, Draco had never been beyond the door in front of them.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the dimly lit corridor outside her apartment. She knew it so well, so well, and yet it felt so foreign after weeks of evading it. Instinctively, she turned away, but Draco held her hand tight and stopped her. Apparently, there was more than the purpose of comfort to holding her hand.

"Don't run away," his tone was firm.

She turned back to look at him in the eye, obviously upset by his obtrusion.

"Why are you doing this? There is nothing in this for either of us."

Everything, even the smell, the air and the precise memory of what was beyond that front door was crying out to her, begging for her to return. But she refused. It was so painful to be back here.

He admitted that there was nothing in it for him, in a way. "I don't want you to leave the manor, that's true."

Tears were welling in her eyes as she glared at him. She didn't understand.

"But," he continued, "I don't want to keep pretending you'd stay forever."

She looked away. He was right.

"I don't want you to keep hiding from the truth either."

What truth? She wanted to ask, for the sake of being defiant. But she feared his answer, knowing what it would be exactly, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Hermione, you can't avoid this place forever. It's your home."

Her head drooped, hanging on its own weight as she felt all her energy leave her. He was right. Of course he was right. Draco, gathering that she had finally given in, slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small bronze key.

She glimpsed at his open palm and snarled, though not too viciously, "You went through my belongings."

"Only because I knew you wouldn't come if I asked."

She sighed as she took the key from him.

"Fine," and she pushed it into the keyhole on the door and turned the key, "you win this time, Draco Malfoy."

Draco grinned at her dismissive attitude. Now, that's the Hermione I knew at Hogwarts.

The door opened with a high-pitched squeak. When that supposedly familiar sound actually took her by surprise, Hermione knew that she hadn't been back in too long. As soon as the door slid inwards, the pile of letters heaped up behind it toppled over and spread across the floor.

"Well, that happens when you don't return home in a while..." she murmured to herself. Still, she didn't move from the door.

"Come on," Draco ushered from behind reassuringly.

Hermione didn't know whether to hate him or to thank him. She took a deep breath and stepped through the doorframe into her familiar living quarters. Now that she had crossed that first hurdle, her feet automatically took her through the room. Following her, Draco looked around curiously at where she had lived. It was a cozy apartment, with a built-in open kitchen to the left and a sitting room to the right of the entrance. There were a few more rooms that he couldn't see from where he was, but Draco already knew that it was bigger than his tiny apartment with Blaise in Paris. In fact, it was just the right size for a couple like the Potters: cozy, but enough room for personal space, something Draco had learned that Hermione needed from time to time.

Draco also noticed that the place was decorated mostly by her, with dried flowers at the windows and book shelves in every corner, from the tiny ones underneath the side tables at the sofa, to a full-sized one against the wall going into what looked like a study. There must be more books in there; Draco had no doubt about that. What struck him most though, was a sense of abandonment.

Maybe it was bad to bring her back, Draco began to think. In the faint afternoon light that was coming through the half-drawn curtains, the apartment looked painfully depressing.

He recalled his own experience after his father died and his mother left with Bellatrix for their country villa. There was no one to come home to except Symon, and Draco hadn't had a very amicable relationship with the house elf back then. In those days, he had often locked himself up in his own bedroom, pondering why his family had left him behind with the worst tyrant of all time. And though things were quite different for Hermione, Draco sympathized with her refusal to return. Home was an empty place without those whom you loved.

Realizing that he had been distracted by his own thoughts for a while, Draco got worried that Hermione might have left without telling him. When he turned around to look for her though, she was still there, and as a matter of fact, just as distracted as he was. Quietly, so as not to disturb, he walked up to her and looked down at the handkerchief she had taken off a cabinet shelf. She was silent and still, though her fingers trembled a little as she unwrapped the fabric. Concealed within was a broken object that Draco immediately recognized.

"I just couldn't bury these with him," Hermione said softly, her fingers gently touching the shards of glass and metal frame that were once Harry's glasses. She remembered the way he polished his glasses every time he felt uncomfortable. Those small habits... she couldn't forget them. She didn't want to forget them.

"There're many things I couldn't let go of," she said as she looked up at Draco, a sad smile on her face.

He nodded, fully understanding, "Mother kept Father's cane too."

She raised her eyebrows a little, surprised to hear Draco speak of Lucius.

"It's okay not to let go of everything," he continued quietly as he lowered his eyes to the shelves adorned with Harry and Hermione's photos from various occasions. There were photos with their friends at the Quidditch World Cup, graduation photos and a photo of their wedding too. Draco was particularly jealous of that last photo. They looked so happy in their wedding attire, it reminded Draco of two years ago, when he and Hermione had their brief moment of happiness together.

"You never let go of everything," he said as he turned to her.

His words echoed in the room, and she stared at him as he stared back at her. Hermione heard mixed messages in his words, though what was most clear was that he knew what came beyond the initial grief better than she did. And though she only understood it vaguely, she felt reassured that Draco had pulled through, despite it all. Sighing, she wrapped the handkerchief around the broken glasses again to put it away. Hermione knew she'd look at them again another day; but for now, for today, she would move on, however small a step it may be. Draco began to turn away too, looking at the rest of the apartment.

"Ah."

He turned back to her at her cry. She had dropped the wrapped handkerchief and was holding her finger, clearly having injured herself. Quickly, Draco summoned the lights in the room and got up close to see what was wrong. A red bead was growing on her fingertip.

"I'm alright," she said hurriedly as Draco took her hand from her grip, "it just stings a little."

He shushed her and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing the cut gently and inspecting it for glass fragments. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. Draco raised an eyebrow at her odd reaction.

She laughed again, "I'm sorry, it's just that my mum used to do the same thing, and she'd always kiss my" she stopped mid-sentence in shock, for Draco had took her finger up to his lips and kissed her wound. She turned red to the roots of her hair and quickly drew her hand from him.

"I said no kissing!"

He smirked at her outcry; and she turned away from him, quickly casting a wound-healing spell on her finger.

"You asked for it," he responded cheekily.

She refused to argue with him, though clearly still steaming.

"I just thought it'd remind you of your mother more," he even dared to add.

Yea, right!

She glared at him as he walked away, and he said, "It does feel better now, no?"

He really knew how to push all her buttons. Hermione scorned loudly as she went to the front door and picked up the letters scattered across the floor. Under her breath, Draco heard her say thank you, and he chuckled to himself. So stubborn, and yet so adorable.

He was in the kitchen area now, and she too walked up to the kitchen counter where he was, saying absently as she flipped through the letters, "There's one from my landlady... must be the rent. Another one from Ron— What are you doing?" She looked up in time to see him mutter a few incantations consecutively.

To Hermione's bewilderment, an assortment of fresh vegetables and seafood, condiments and dried pasta appeared on the countertop.

"What do I look like I'm doing?" Draco asked in return, now rolling up his sleeves and pinning them in place before reaching out for the peppers and onions. He also flicked his wand at the sink and water began running from the tap. Immediately, the shrimp, scallops and fish rinsed themselves in the cold water.

"I mean," she was at a lost, dropping the letters onto what little empty space that was left on the counter, "Where are these from, and when on earth did you learn how to cook?"

Draco laughed, "The food's from the manor kitchen, obviously. I can't walk around in broad daylight, now can I?" He looked around and found the cutting board and the knife holder, instantly accioing the appropriate tools as he continued, "And what did you expect from a man who had to survive without his house elf for more than a year? Blaise didn't know how to cook, someone had to learn."

"Blaise... Zabini?" she hadn't known that they had lived together. The memory of her encounter with him in Paris came to mind. Right, Draco had been in France too, or at least that was what he had told her. She didn't even know until recently because Harry had kept it a secret from her. She wondered what else she didn't know. For instance, where was Zabini now?

Draco's face darkened at her inquiry, or so she had thought, because he sounded normal when he responded, "Yea, he was spoiled."

Perhaps, he sounded just a little too normal.

"Where is he now?" she asked, testing the waters.

He responded as soon as she started, "I'll tell you another day." And that was final.

So snappy. Hermione pouted. But then, she had snarled at him earlier as well when he hit a sensitive spot. Maybe he has his reasons too.

As Hermione returned her focus to Draco, she saw that he was chopping up the vegetables now, though with nothing near the grace he displayed when he played on his lyra.

"I see that you're self-taught," Hermione noted out loud as she pulled her hair up into a bun. Now that he had started already, there was no reason to sit back and watch.

"Hey!" he sounded so offended, she almost believed him, except he was smiling, "give me some credit for trying to make this fun for the both of us."

Hermione smiled secretly as she turned away to find her apron, and Draco glanced at her back longingly. He liked it when she pulled her hair up like that, especially the strands of stray hair framing her face. She looked so unintentionally seductive.

When she returned, Hermione found that he was having some trouble at the cutting board, especially with the onions. Taking the knife from him, she laughed, "Go rinse your eyes, silly."

Draco dropped the onion bulb immediately; his eyes red and watering. As he blindly stumbled towards the sink, he confessed, "Okay, I'll admit. I'm a horrible cook, and I was betting on you knowing more than I do."

Hermione chuckled again before she began to swiftly chop up the vegetables into perfectly uniform slices, "Once you feel better, take one of those for the pasta." She pointed at the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling.

Draco had heard her, and he felt better now for sure. But he still stood there in awe, marveling her masterful handiwork. When she scaled, sliced and cleaned out a full fish flawlessly, he blurted out without thinking, "How do you do that?"

His reaction was priceless; Hermione only grinned in response. As his staring continued though, she couldn't help but laugh, "Stop staring at me, you're making me nervous!"

Complying unwillingly, he accioed a large pan and a large pot off the wall to the stove, all the while glancing back to see what magic Hermione was performing with just her bare hands. So absurd, Hermione thought as she shook her head and laughed quietly. Draco was cooking with her, in her kitchen. Even Harry stayed away from cooking if he could help it. And here was a spoilt aristocratic brat, trying to learn how to cook from her.

Hermione decided that she'd teach him properly some day; he was so talented in Potions, there was no way he wouldn't understand the chemistry of cooking too. She barely noticed that only half an hour or so ago, she had dreaded to come home. Now the entire apartment was filled with the rich aroma of spice and seafood. It felt lively, a place that someone could live in.

As Hermione sautéed the vegetables on a frying pan, she wondered to herself whether this was within Draco's plans too, to make her comfortable in her own home again. Glancing to her side, she watched as he stirred the pasta in the bubbling pot, occasionally picking up a strand or two to see how cooked it was. Such a formidable man. To use even his lack of skills to his advantage. If this had been his plan to become an indispensable part of her life, he was surely succeeding. Hermione couldn't imagine how she would have survived if he hadn't come to her. Life would be less interesting, that was for sure.

Or came back to me, I suppose, Hermione thought to herself. Draco didn't seem to be familiar with the layout of her apartment. He was asking her where the plates and utensils were earlier, and now he was excusing himself to the bathroom briefly, not knowing where that was either. So this had to be his first visit. Where did they spend time together then? The manor? That felt right. But there was somewhere else. She couldn't remember where.

"Is this good?" Draco asked, bringing her back from her daze. He was holding up a wooden spoon with the pasta sauce he was making. Hermione leaned forward and took a sip. It was tangy and flavorful, and she smiled delightfully.

"You should give yourself more credit with your cooking. I like it."

Draco looked so pleased in contrast to the days when he would be cold to her without reason, Hermione beamed too. That old Draco seemed to have disappeared to nowhere. He liked spending time with her now, she suddenly realized.

It wasn't that she never knew that he did; it just never fully registered with her until just then.

As she rinsed some cucumbers for the salad, she stole a furtive glance at him. Draco was too busy straining the pasta and adding it to the sauce he'd just made; he didn't seem to notice. The way his lips formed a straight line when he concentrated was endearing. A strand of hair hung from his ear as he leaned forward, and his forehead glimmered a little in sweat from the heat in the kitchen. Hermione wiped her brow too with her sleeve. Maybe it was just the heat, but she felt warm and happy next to him. Hermione had always admired men who could cook. Now, "man who could cook" is a relative term here, but it didn't make him less attractive that he was trying.

Looking down, she noticed the Dark Mark on his exposed arm, glaring on his pale skin. Unlike the last time she paid attention to it though, Hermione felt an unspeakable sense of regret. A vague memory of the first time she discovered his Dark Mark came back to her, and her hand unconsciously reached out to touch the tattooed arm. Draco looked up at her questioningly and looked down. Shit, he thought. He had been more careful on other days, hiding his arms from her sight.

"Is this why we stopped talking to each other in our seventh year?" Hermione asked.

Draco didn't expect that question, and his eyes shone with the hope that she had remembered more about their relationship. Except that sparkle dimmed a little when he realized this memory would probably upset her; it upset him. Draco dropped the ladle to the frying pan. He sighed because he knew he had to be honest, or she'd never fully remember him.

"Yea..." he responded, his eyes drifting to the permanent and ghastly symbol on his arm. In his mind, he saw Hermione, eighteen and in her Griffindor uniform, terrified at the awareness that she was sitting next to a Death Eater. But the reaction of Hermione in the present was unexpected.

"I was a bad friend, wasn't I?"

She sounded accusatory, almost angry. Now that was a question he didn't think she'd ask. "Why would you say that?"

Hermione raised her head to meet his eye, her eyes wandering around on his handsome face. The feelings resurfacing within her was confusing, like she was both experiencing firsthand and observing the memory from the sidelines at the same time. She knew that she would have had no way to judge herself like this if she hadn't lost her memory, but because of her odd predicament, Hermione was as much a bystander as the person involved in the incident that tore their brief friendship apart in their teenage years. She understood herself in a completely different way from before.

"A good friend would have talked to you instead of walking away, don't you think?"

Draco cocked his head a little at her detachment. No, he'd never expect anyone to do anything like that for him. Why would they? Friendship wasn't something he was completely familiar with yet. But then, why did he try to save Blaise? Draco fell into a deep silence, letting that last thought sink in. He'd cared about Blaise, that was why. Blaise was his friend.

But he still didn't understand.

"I was a Death Eater, Hermione. Everyone else around you, your closest friends and yourself were fighting against the people I joined. There wasn't any reason for you to—"

"But a real friend would have," she answered quickly, "They would have made you talk even if you said you didn't want to—"

"But why should yo—"

"Because," she insisted now, the cold expression on his face back then becoming clear to her, "You were carrying a burden too much to bear," she said, as if she were analyzing someone else's life.

But the pained expression on her face suggested the contrary, that she was affected by her own words. She recalled the emptiness she had felt when Draco left her in the Prefect's study room. And the emptiness she felt now engulfed her without warning; tears flowed from her eyes. "You shouldn't have been alone. I should have chased after you."

It wasn't until then that Draco realized her flashback was so violent that she could barely contain herself, that she was recalling those same feelings she had for him back then, apologizing for her regrets. He reached out to take her in his arms, soothing her as she wept.

"It's okay, Hermione," he said over and over again, "It's okay... you already apologized two years ago."

She dried her cheeks with her arm and looked at him pleadingly, "But I can't even remember that, Draco. How is this okay?" She wanted to remember, she really wanted to remember. He had been so good to her despite everything, it was so unjust that she couldn't even remember him fully.

Draco hushed her, "We'll figure it out bit by bit, don't worry."

They were standing so close, she could feel the heaving of his chest against her own, and his rapid breathing told her that he was just as worked up as she was. All of a sudden, Hermione wanted to be the one comforting him. She took a deep breath and squeezed him closer, calming herself down while running a soothing hand up and down his back, slowly, gently, until his breathing became even like hers. Draco too stroked her hair, her nape and her shoulders, and slowly caressed her along her back. It was so tender, so comforting.

"Thank you," he whispered, taking her chin and pulling it up so she'd look at him. His insistency felt natural. Everything felt natural. And as she became aware of how intimate they were being with each other, Hermione couldn't help but admit to herself that she loved the way he held her. She loved the way they could ignore everything but each other for that brief moment of certainty in a sea of confusion.

"Thank you for caring about me," he reiterated, "It's a rare trait."

She smiled. He liked her smile.

xxx

"Can I share a secret, Hermione?"

She nodded in reply. They were back at the kitchen counter again after dinner, cleaning the dishes and putting away the remaining food.

He took a deep breath and professed, "I still want you to stay with me, even though I want you to acclimate to your home again, I want my home to be your home too."

It was borderline a proposal, but he said it so innocently, Hermione wasn't sure if he realized it. It made her blush so hard, she was glad that the lights were turned down from earlier when Draco changed the mood for dinner.

He continued, "And besides, it'll help you remember more. If you want to remember more... that is."

His save was a little weak. When she didn't say anything, Draco regretted having spoken. But then, she responded.

"I'll visit, I promise."

He smiled as he passed her a soap-covered plate. She took it with a smile too and rinsed off the soapsuds. It reminded them of their shower together two years ago, and they fell into a bashful silence. Draco coughed superficially. They had been so sensual with each other only a while ago that evening, such tantalizing thoughts were too much to bear.

"I'll come over with you after a shower to pick up my things," she said after the last plate was rinsed off. Taking the apron off, she walked towards the inner rooms - probably the bedroom.

Draco nodded, though he didn't turn to watch her go. Rubbing the soapsuds between his fingers, he sighed in relief as he washed them off. He had been this close to jumping on her. Draco wasn't sure whether he was glad or disappointed that she had walked away.

In the back of the apartment, Hermione was thinking along similar lines, though that thought quickly went away when she opened the door to her bedroom with Harry.

The bed was still untouched since the last time they slept there together - Hermione hadn't had the courage to sleep there alone since. She had slept in the living room if she ever returned. Now she sat down on the bed, touching the soft fabric of their comforter and fluffing up the pillows. She looked around the room too; it was so dusty. Living alone was a daunting thought, but she had to start somewhere... didn't she? She sighed heavily and pulled off her tank top as she stood up again. One step at a time, she told herself. She knew she could if she tried.

Back in the living room, Draco had cleaned his hands with a towel and sat down on the sofa that Harry had hated. It was such a comfortable looking couch, Draco almost yelped when his backside slammed into the rigid furniture without mercy.

"Merlin! Who bought this crap?" he hissed out loud, but just soft enough so Hermione couldn't hear. Must be Potter, Draco thought with bias.

He adjusted himself so he was lying on the sofa now, hoping it would be slightly more comfortable. It wasn't. As he lay there awkwardly, staring at the ceiling, Draco heard the sprinkler come on from the bathroom.

She's taking a shower...

The image of her naked body made his heart pound like crazy. Draco closed his eyes and indulged himself in the remaining sensation from earlier, when she had rubbed his back and held him close. Did she even realize how arousing that was? He swore to Merlin, the next time she did something like that, he wasn't going to let her get away with it. It was way. too. seductive.

As he smiled at the different naughty ideas he had in mind for Hermione, Draco slowly dozed off—

"Please, not Amy! Not my daughter—"

"Shut up," he cast a silencing spell on the helpless woman, terrifying her even more. A high pitched laughter in the background. The tapping of a silver cane.

"Isn't this enough?" A distressed Draco asked the adults surrounding him.

The man beside him shook his head unyieldingly, "You're gonna finish this, little brat. If you don't..." He needn't say anything. Even Draco refused to glance back to the corner where their master was watching.

He looked down at the child crawling at his feet, half curled up into a ball and sobbing softly. A deep gash ran along her sweet little face, bleeding a bright red even in the feeble lights left in the room. And yet, Draco couldn't see her clearly. It was always the same in the dream. He couldn't see her beautiful face, her sweet baby face. His eyes watered, his heart wavered and his wand arm stayed down. No, he couldn't do it. He couldn't possibly do it.

"Mummy..." the little girl whispered with barely any breath left. Draco's heart broke. The mother whimpered silently. The father was already 'silenced', lying motionless behind her.

No. He couldn't. He couldn't possibly— No, but—

"AVADA KEDAVRA."

"Draco. Draco!"

He woke up with a start to Hermione's voice, tears clouding his eyesight. She was holding him tight in her arms on the carpeted floor; apparently he had been struggling so hard that he had fallen off the sofa. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she saw how his pupils were dilated; his breathing shallow but quick. Hermione wiped his tears for him worriedly.

"What happened, Draco?" she whispered, trying not to agitate, "You were screaming when I came out... And you were in spasms..."

The image of the motionless child still haunted him, he barely heard her words. His answer was in fragments.

"Just a recurring nightmare... It's... been a while, I'm sorry to scare you."

She shook her head. Draco leaned into her bosom, which made her blush; and he clearly realized that, though it didn't stop him. Time seemed to slow down in her warmth; he felt at peace.

Hermione watched him as his breathing slowed down and he fell asleep again. His eyelashes fluttered a little, and his lips parted as he loosened up. Gently, she wiped off the cold sweat on his brow and stroked his hair. Whatever it was that he dreamt of, Hermione realized that he was even more broken than she had imagined him to be. And she wanted to understand him. She wanted to understand this man who had comforted her in spite of his own problems. And even though she had made up her mind to live alone, she found now that she was taken over by a new resolve. From the depths of her heart, Hermione wanted to make him happy.