Chapter Eighteen - Angst, But for the Sake of Justice
Hermione Granger pressed the end of her ball-point pen (a luxury she'd done without for the past three months; the wizarding world was in need of serious evolution in the stationary department) into her bottom lip, once, twice, three times. She clicked the point in and out, feeling suddenly... vacant. Her eyes skimmed the letter perched in her hand. A full sheet, front and back.
It was a good letter. It seemed to sum up all the things she felt that she hadn't been able to say to Harry at Slughorn's party. Things she might have said the following day on the Express, had she not been vexed into avoidance. No anger lingered between the lines, no other extraneous emotion. She'd tried hard to remain fair, though humans are typically incapable of true impartiality.
Even as she appreciated the letter, however, she knew she would never send it. Harry had never been one for letters. When one did come from him (which only happened when he was up to his ears in boredom, and this was not likely his state of mind as he occupied the happy Burrow) it was usually nothing more than a paragraph or two about the minutiae of his life. He would probably find the full page Hermione had penned exhausting.
Plus, she didn't have an owl, and she wasn't about to take on that sort of maintenance for the sake of one letter.
She slid open the top drawer of her desk and slipped it in there for safe keeping. Perhaps she'd bring it back to Hogwarts with her and hand it over to Harry then; but the letter had already fulfilled its purpose. Before she'd sat at her desk, she'd wanted little more than to get her internal monologue onto paper, and out of her head. Her spirits had been far too low over the past two days for her to appropriately be with her family.
Despite every resolution to appear as happy and carefree as possible, Douglas and Penelope Granger were not to be fooled. They'd picked her up from King's Cross station the previous day with smiles on their faces, but those smiles had faded within the three-hour journey from London to Ryde. In fact, it had only taken half that time for Penelope to cast a worried glance through the rearview and break the silence with, "Are you alright, dear?"
And she'd been asking ever since.
Hermione had never really gone through a sullen stage with her parents. She was unprepared for how it would feel to confront her mother's worry and her father's brooding silence without any idea how to solve it, or bridge the gap.
That night, after the three of them finally made it home, Hermione went to the second floor of her family's modest house and heaved her trunk onto her bed to take out her night clothes. Before she could so much as pull her jumper off over her head, however, her mother's voice beckoned from the kitchen below.
They were both sat at the table with muted expressions, and Hermione immediately braced herself for a kindly-meant interrogation. She took the seat across from them and folded her hands in her lap. She waited, until finally, her mum once again broke the silence.
"I'm sure you can guess why we called you down," Penelope said. "And I don't want you to feel cornered, but your father and I are worried for you, darling."
"I know." Hermione responded so softly that she wasn't sure whether or not her mother had heard. Penelope went on either way.
"You hardly write to us anymore, so we haven't much of a clue what you get up to at school. Seeing you today... it wasn't alarming, I won't say that." Her mother cleared her throat. "Actually, I don't know how to put it. You look off."
"I don't know what that means." Self-consciousness suddenly pooled in Hermione's stomach.
"You've lost weight, little dove, and you look pale." Her father said. She was almost taken aback at the sound of his voice. Douglas Granger was a man of very few words. "You look as if you've not slept in a fortnight. Is it school? How are your marks?"
"My marks are fine, Dad." Hermione said, somewhat offended. She took a breath, told herself they were only doing what parents were supposed to do.
"I won't lie, this year has been especially stressful, but it isn't anything I can't handle. We're all on N.E.W.T level now, trust me, I'm not the only one who's had sleepless nights."
Her father nodded thoughtfully. But, as her mother kissed her goodnight, it was clear neither of them were satisfied.
Penelope smoothed Hermione's hair back from her face and looked at her affectionately, but beneath that affection, Mother's Concern tossed in her eyes.
Hermione went to sleep that night with yet another round of promises to herself, that tomorrow she would be more conversational. However, although she'd spent the majority of the day with her parents, she'd not been capable of saying much to them. Now, after having finished her letter to Harry, she took herself to the washroom in the narrow passage, across from her room.
Douglas and Penelope Granger weren't especially involved in the magical world. They liked to see the strange candies Hermione might bring home from Honeydukes, or marvel over things like E-Z Kleen and enchanted quills. But the darker side of the world was completely unknown to them. Hermione couldn't even be sure how much they understood about Voldemort and the Death Eaters.
She'd shared certain things in the past about Harry, but she'd never told them about her part in the hunt for the Sorcerer's Stone, or how her best friend's rat had turned out to be a cowardly, traitorous murderer who'd sat with her and her friends countless nights in an empty common room. She'd never even told them the whole truth about what had happened second year with the basilisk.
Of course, McGonagall had dispatched a letter to every parent whose child had been petrified that year; but once Hermione was safely home and able to read it for herself she'd found that McGonagall had been fairly stingy with the details. The letter had merely stated Hermione had been in an accident that involved other muggleborns, that the issue was being investigated, and that Hermione would be in no further danger as she received all proper medical attention.
No, she did not think her parents understood the full danger of the magical world. Even little twelve-year-olds were subject to accidents and attacks, and with greater power comes deeper evil.
Eventually, however, Hermione would have to tell them everything. She planned to tell them everything by the end of this visit, in fact, and persuade them to seek safety. She would have to tell them she couldn't go with them, that they'd have to trust her. She'd have to hurt them.
So far, the only thing action she'd been able to take was to place warding charms round the property.
As she sat on the closed seat of the privy and shaved her legs, she was interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of conversation in the sitting room. The telly was turned to her father's favourite true-crime series (as the tones of Dick Duncan, Investigative Reporter dolefully recounted the brutal death of one Marcia Flannigan), but under that she could definitely hear her parents exchange quiet words.
The part of the speech that could be distinguished came when her father's voice raised slightly. "She's our daughter, Pen. Of course we should talk about this - or would you rather wait for her to unravel?"
At once Hermione rose to turn on the tap. The water which poured into the basin managed to drown their voices. When was the last time they'd come close to an argument? She couldn't even recall. The fact that this new development concerned her, and her alone, felt like a knife in the gut.
While she could no longer hear anything outside of the room she occupied, it did not take long for her father to rap upon the door.
"Yes?" She squeaked, nearly cutting her ankle as she jumped.
"Are you alive in there, little dove? You've been in there a while."
"I'm alright, Dad. Just getting ready for bed."
"Your mother and I are turning in for the night. Will you be okay?"
"I'll be okay." She answered, feeling a bit sad. Her father hardly ever felt the need to keep such tabs on her. One could only imagine how worried he really was on the inside, as he'd never been one to show the full extent of his state of mind.
"I love you Hermione," He said, with a long breath.
"I love you, Dad. See you in the morning."
"See you."
She heard his footsteps recede down the passage, listened until they'd faded completely as he took the steps back down. Why was it so hard for her to sink into home? Why did she feel no comfort, what kept her from solace? The plan had been to spend the next fortnight reassuring them of her wellbeing before the ugly news was broken, but all she'd managed was to put them on their toes and cause a row.
Hermione pulled the towel from her hair and fluffed her damp curls over her shoulder to let her hair dry before bed. She dropped the towel on the ground and used her foot to swab the tiled floor of any water, then turned off the light and padded quietly across the passage to her bedroom.
She kept the light off in her room and fell onto her bed immediately. It was only nine o'clock, far too early for bed by Hermione's standards, and yet the desire to do anything was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she'd just lay here on her stomach, and ponder away by herself...
Of all the places in England, Granger had to live in Ryde.
The town in itself was nothing to sneeze at; the size was decent and there weren't many shabby areas... but muggles stretched as far as the eye could see, with not a drop of magical blood. The streets were also formidable to anyone who didn't know the area. Of course, that could be said for any town or city, but Draco had come to this bloody place, where the air smelt of the sea and the walkways offered no soul he'd have felt comfortable asking for help.
He'd arrived at Ryde Esplanade railway station from the National Rail network around five, and for four hours had wandered aimlessly. The only thing he could think to do was look around for any sign of Granger, perhaps out for the day with her parents. Asking for directions seemed out of the question. He could not recall any instance in all his life that he'd so much as made eye-contact with a muggle, let alone talked to one.
But, as the sun began to set and the pavements became less crowded, he was forced into even that basest of shames.
He settled on a mother walking hand-in-hand with a child who looked to be about three or four, and whose hands made several attempts to dive into the pockets of Draco's trousers.
"Have you any idea where I might find the Granger residence?" His teeth were gritted and his body felt tense, and talking to this tawny-haired woman actually seemed to cause him physical pain; but if he waited any longer, he'd be hard-pressed to find anyone to ask at all. Plus... his trunk had grown rather heavy.
"Granger residence? Thomas, stop that." The woman reached down and claimed her son's hand before it could make its fourth swipe. Her expression was harrassed. "I don't believe I know anyone by that name."
"Who might I ask, then?" He said - a little harshly, he knew - for the woman's eyes widened a little in unmistakable alarm. He forced a breath. "I apologise... I've been looking for a friend all evening, and I've got no clue where she lives."
"Could you tell me anything more about her?" The woman asked. She sighed in frustration and bent to pick up her son as he'd once again made for Draco's pocket. "Granger is a fairly common surname."
"All I know is that her parents are tooth doctors."
The woman's face twisted in confusion. "You mean to say they're dentists?" Draco shrugged noncommittally. "I'm sorry, young man, but I don't know any Granger. My dentist is Robert Anhalt."
Draco turned from the muggle woman without so much as a thank-you, and continued down the walk - which was empty. He stopped in front of a brown brick building with a sign reading Iceland. It appeared to be some sort of market, but the lights were off and there wasn't a person to be seen inside. He walked to the edge of the kerb and sat down, flinging his trunk on the ground next to him.
He felt immensely idiotic. All this time wasted, and for what? At this rate he might show up at Granger's house in tandem with his aunt.
A man in dirty white coveralls, with a blue rag hanging from his back pocket, approached in Draco's peripheral.
Draco didn't look up as he said, "You wouldn't happen to know any dentists by the name of Granger, would you?"
"Check the White Pages." The man waved a hand over shoulder as he passed - also without a look in Draco's direction.
But this, at least was a lead. He called the man back, and as he turned, Draco asked, "Where can I find these white pages?"
When the man looked at him blankly, Draco supplied, "I'm foreign."
It took only minutes for the man to be of service (an embroidered name upon the left of his chest read 'Steffan'). He led Draco to only the street perpendicular to the one where'd they'd met. Here, a large kiosk was stationed at the corner. Steffan pointed gruffly to the immense book underneath a shiny, black, mind-boggling device, attached by a metallic cable.
"I've no idea what to do." Draco admitted, though he did so begrudgingly. Steffan had given a grizzled sort of grunt.
"Who're you looking for?"
"Any dentist named Granger."
Steffan lifted the book with another grunt - and grunted again as he thumbed through its pages. As the seconds wore on, Draco gave up hope quickly.
Then, "D'you need Douglas Granger, or Penny? Both dentists."
Draco's head snapped up. "Either will do."
Alertness washed over from nowhere, as Hermione raised her head from her bed spread. A string of drool cascaded from her bottom lip to a small pool on the coverlet. She wiped her mouth and sat up, looking around dimly - uncertain, all of a sudden. The air in the room was much too still.
She ventured to the window and leant over her desk to look out of it. All seemed quiet below but it was much too dark... She opened the window -
A great, ear-shattering crack erupted right in front of her, and all at once there was something solid, right there; it might have been separated by a wall, had Hermione not heaved open a great square of space.
That something uttered a hushed curse as Hermione stumbled backwards. "Impedimenta!" She screeched, a split second before it dawned on her that her wand was tucked away in the drawer of her night table.
"Relax! - argh! Bloody Hell!"
Hermione pulled her fist back from the punch she'd delivered, and then she'd seized the front of the intruders shirt to drag him inside. The figure's feet toppled everything on her desk as she yanked him over it, and then she tossed him on the ground, with every intention of throwing herself on top to cause whatever damage she could to the body below.
Draco resisted the urge to yelp like a child as Granger came flying at him. He was on his back, on the bloody floor, and all he could do was hold his hands up to stop her from making impact with his face. She dove at him, with an elbow pointed sharply for his abdomen like a professional wrestler - and as the breath left his body she straddled him. Through sheer luck, Draco realised he'd caught her wrists, and refused to let them go.
"You had your chance to leave-" She tried to twist free of his grip, and he made an effort to shout at her, but she was on his lungs. All he could do was wheeze at her.
And then, recognition seemed to dawn. Granger ceased all movements - and though it was too dark to say for certain, she appeared to be staring down at him.
"Draco?" She still sounded half-mad, but now there was a hopeful edge.
"Yesss." He forced the groan out as he lifted his body enough to buck Granger off of him. Once free, he coughed veraciously and fought the instinct to curl into a tiny ball. "Moron."
Before he'd even had the chance to recover himself, she was pulling him to his feet. "I'm sorry."
He didn't answer straight away, still at the effort to catch his breath. As Draco's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he watched as Granger's eyes found her shoulder.
"You bled on me." She accused, and Draco scoffed in spite of himself.
"Yes, well, you made me bleed."
"Hermione!?" A voice - presumably that of Granger's father - boomed from below.
"Stay here," She whispered urgently. She flung an old quilt from the end of her bed over her shoulders (likely to hide the blood), and bounded for the door.
"I'm alright, Dad!" She cried as she left, shutting the door behind her.
Draco tuned her out almost immediately, and took to walking about her room.
Books were everywhere. There was a pile of them that had been knocked from her desk when Granger had manhandled him through the window (brave indeed, those Gryffindors), and a tall stack by the door of a small wardrobe that threatened to topple at any moment. Two squat little shelves on either side of her bed were likewise packed with titles. And, as Draco flung himself on that bed and reached underneath it, he was unsurprised to find dozens of the things stuffed under the dust ruffle. He chose the first one his hand closed upon and as he turned it over to read the title he smiled to himself: Clandestine Tide - Volume Three: A Time for Falsehood.
There was a tattered bookmark about three-quarters of the way through the book. Draco flipped to that page, beyond amused to find that she'd scribbled "Hermione Granger + Callum Fairgryp" in the right margin.
"Well, now we know who the real romantic is." He said to himself, and he vowed to mock her for this little find later, when it would embarrass her more.
He leant over the bed once more to return the book where he'd discovered it, and then his eyes skimmed about to drink in all the Granger-esque details. Her walls were painted a delicate, cool shade, which probably looked periwinkle in the light of day. An autographed copy of some other novel, To Kill a Mockingbird was mounted in an item frame, next to the window behind her desk. Everything in that room had its place, and the furniture was handsome, and tasteful.
On his way to the house, in fact, Draco had noted its size. It was perhaps a quarter of the size of his home, but it could have given Pansy's place a run for its money. The garden, too, was immaculately kept. It was hard to imagine that people whose jobs were to tend to teeth would fare so well, but maybe teeth were a problem in the muggle world. No telling.
Granger at last slipped back into the room, an unreadable expression on her face. She walked over to the bed and let the quilt she'd had wrapped over her frame fall into a heap at the foot of it. She wore a very long shirt, with a picture of a yellow bird over her chest, and he could see her pale legs by the light of the moon which streamed through her window.
Her skin was like alabaster, nearly pearlescent in the ambiance. The shirt reached past mid-thigh, but still he would have expected Granger - who struck everyone who knew her as the more modest type - to cover herself.
"How did you get in here?" She asked quietly.
"I Apparated. I got my license the day after my birthday."
"But how did you get onto this property? I've only just warded it."
Draco snorted. "Charms as weak as yours would serve to keep out the likes of Longbottom - maybe - but for someone with my skills, you'll have to do better."
She frowned intently. "I see." After a few moments, she said, "You're lucky I didn't have my wand on hand. I'd have cursed you into liquid."
"You managed just fine without it." Draco returned dryly. "You broke my nose, Granger."
"Oh, right." She crossed towards a set of drawers to the right of her bed, and as she took out her wand, she came back over to point it at his face. He rolled over, out of the bed and into a stand. As she tried to refocus her aim, he ducked out of the way yet again.
She stepped forwards and gripped him by the shoulder. "Stay still, you big baby." She centered the point of her wand at his face once more and muttered, "Episky."
Draco heard his own nose creak and crack back into place and the flow of blood (which he'd had to staunch with the sleeve of his jumper for some minutes now) instantly abated.
"I thought you were a Death Eater." Granger said. "Who could have guessed Draco Malfoy, of all people, would show up outside my bedroom in the middle of the night?"
"Ten o'clock is hardly midnight." He responded, but anxiety had risen. In all the tumult, he'd actually forgotten he'd come with a mission. He sat down at the foot of the bed. "But aren't you going to ask me why I came?"
"I thought it'd be simpler to let you explain yourself on your own time." She said, and to his surprise she sat down next to him. "Is everything okay?"
"Actually, no, everything is complete shit." He said. "For you, anyway."
"I have no idea what that means, Draco."
"I went home to the manor, as you are aware," His tone had become uncharacteristically matter-of-fact; to adopt a little distance appeared to be the only way of formulating the explanation. "As soon as I got there, I overheard a conversation about you, and your family."
Granger's eyes immediately when round. Here I am, to confirm all your fears. He nearly said it to her, but now was no time for levity.
"Who were they?" She murmured. "Speaking, I mean."£
Though he would rather have not admitted the hairy details, transparency was the least he could offer. It was better that she know.
"My mother and my aunt, Bellatrix." He said. "My mother had it from Snape that you're tutoring me now, and I suppose it's made her think more about you. They know you have information, and they hope that acquiring you as a hostage will lull the Order of the Phoenix into a trap. Bellatrix will be coming for you, soon. They hope to have you and your family in for questions before you can return to Hogwarts."
Granger nodded, and when she spoke, her voice was detached.
"Well, alright then."
Draco looked at her with hooded eyes. He'd expected more of a reaction, but she only sat there; silent for so long that she may have gone catatonic.
"So... You've got to leave..." He continued.
"I can't just leave." Relief came as she met his gaze. "I have to get my parents somewhere safe."
"Well yes, obviously - but where?" He asked. "Have you got any other family that could take them in, anyone who could protect them?"
"Any magical relatives, you mean?" She asked and he affirmed silently. "No, not that I know of. They'll have to go abroad, I expect. There's always Seattle, my mum's got family there... but I'll have to convince them to go without me."
"Unless the Order can-"
"The Order have enough to worry about without adding a pair of unwitting and terrified muggles to the mix."
"Understandable." Draco muttered. After a few moments of thought, he said, "You might do better to go with them, Granger."
"You know I can't do that."
"Then where will you go? Back to Hogwarts?"
"No, I'll go to the Burrow." She must have read the confusion on his face, as she explained, "That's what the Weasleys call their house."
"If you won't go with your parents, you'll be safer at the school." Draco pointed out.
"I don't want to go back to school after something like this." She said, without a trace of sadness. "Not alone, anyway. Besides, they should know as soon as possible what's happened."
He nearly offered to escort her back to the school himself... He was going there, anyway, and if she was with him, there would be no wondering whether she'd made it safely to this Burrow... But damage control was strictly needed at this time, and it wouldn't do to have Granger in tow as he executed a plan he'd patched together throughout his journey to London, and from there to Ryde.
If he had any hope of covering this up - and, really, was there any hope? - he'd need to have as little association with Granger over the next few days as possible.
It was a moment before he realised she was staring at him.
"What?"
"You came all the way here to warn me." She stated.
"It's not a trap, if that's what you're thinking."
"I never said anything remotely close to that."
"Look, Granger-"
"I'm just thanking you, Draco." She interrupted. "That's all."
No suitable response to this came to mind, but she didn't wait too long before she'd moved on. "How long have I got?"
"I'd say two days, perhaps more. Bellatrix has been known to move quickly, but Yaxley is obsessed with details. And if my mother is involved, she'll insist they have a thorough plan." He looked at his watch again, though it was only half after ten. "Either way, you've got to move quickly. Even if you leave this moment they can track you on your way to Weasley's place."
"Not right now, please." Granger said. She'd closed her eyes and knitted her brows; it was easy to imagine she'd started to cry behind those tightly-shut lids, but when she opened them, her eyes were dry. "I need to think, and you need to rest."
"I have to get moving myself, Granger. No time for sleep on a heroic rescue mission." He attempted a half-smile but the joke fell flat. No wonder, when it was his fault this had happened in the first place. If not for the remedial lessons, Granger may never have happened across his mother's mind, and she'd have a few more months' peace.
"Just a few hours, Draco." She pleaded, quickly. "Maybe it will be easier to explain if I have someone with me who can help fill in the holes to my parents. You can have my bed; I'll go downstairs until I figure out what I'm going to tell them."
"I... Yeah, alright. Why not?" The agreement left his mouth without so much as a beg-pardon. It was impossible to deny such a simple thing, and he was ragged. "Though, I will take your bed. And a shower."
"Go on, but be quiet. If my father finds a strange boy in my tub at this hour, he'll strap you down and yank out your molars."
The idea was to take no more than three, four hours to herself. Hermione went downstairs with a shadow's step and took to the sofa. She slumped instantly and cradled her head in her hands, yet no emotion came to squeeze her throat or dampen her eyes.
I must be in shock, she thought. That seemed the only explanation for the numbness, until it sank in that she hadn't expected anything less. Sure, it was all happening much faster than she'd anticipated, but she'd always known the wheel would turn in this direction.
Though, it did now occur to her at last that Draco had brought his trunk. He was likely still in the shower. If she wanted, she could go upstairs and steal the potion, and he probably would not suspect her. And it may have been that little detail - that small, but comfortable assumption that he would trust her - the kept her seated in her mother's prized pinstripe sofa.
Though only a few hours were intended, Hermione (on accident of roaming thoughts) waited until the sun had nearly risen to wake anyone.
Although Ryde experiences more sunny weather than some other English towns, it was a mild surprise to see a total lack of clouds in the sky as it lightened from the night. Storms had become the norm, and though she didn't exactly yearn for thunder or rain, she felt as though the sun mocked her as it blazed higher over the world and gave a golden glow to the leaves of all the trees.
At last, she pulled her grandmother's quilt more tightly over her arms, as though to swaddle herself. She rose from the couch without any more idea of what she would say or do than when she'd sat down, hours ago. She'd only dosed at one point, and it hadn't last long. For the rest of the seven, eight hours she'd taken to herself, she'd only stared into empty space and wallowed.
Assuming Draco hadn't fled in the night from her window, there was still no reason to expect that he'd come downstairs on his own volition. As Hermione prepared to take upstairs and wake him, however, her mother had risen from sleep and came into the kitchen.
She wore a mint green dressing gown spotted with purple ducks round the hem, and as Hermione approached from the sitting room, Penny was clearly startled to see her awake.
"Hermione, why are you awake?" She asked. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything is fine." Hermione said, automatically. "I mean, no. Is Dad awake? I need to talk to both of you."
"He'll be up in a minute." Penelope moved to a cupboard over the breadbox, and pulled a tin of coffee from the second shelf. "Can it wait, whatever it is? We've got to be at the office in an hour."
"Yes, it can wait, but once you're both dressed will you sit in here with me before you leave? It's very important."
Penelope hesitated; even as she finally nodded and ventured to the tap to fill a pot of water, she appeared nervous.
"I'll get dressed as well," Hermione told her. "Please don't go anywhere without talking to me, okay?"
"Okay, sweet pea." The calm of her mother's tone did not reach her countenance. Likely a mother's instinct that good rarely ever came from a child requesting a sit-down with her parents.
Hermione tried to smile, but she was sure it came out as more of a grimace. She gave it up with a sigh and headed for the staircase. She took the steps two at a time, and as she reached her bedroom, she inched the door open quietly.
For a moment she thought Draco really had left, until she took a few steps closer to her bed and saw that he was simply underneath a heap of bedspread and pillows. Only the top of his silvery hair was visible from beneath the covers, but as she approached he gave a slight shift, and revealed most of his face.
Hermione hovered for a moment, just to get a good look at him; she'd never seen him sleep before. It was almost a shame to wake him.
And yet...
Coming the closest to a smile than she probably would for a while, she reached to pinch his nostrils together with her thumb and forefinger. Within moments Draco's arms began to flap feebly under the covers; his eyes snapped open and he took a tiny gasp of air.
When she let go, he looked up at her in mild alarm, which slowly melted into mild annoyance.
"Your sense of humour is all over the place, d'you know that?" He'd propped himself up on his left elbow, but the rest was exposed as the blanket slid, as he'd apparently foregone the use of a shirt in her bed.
His arms were moderately muscled, but the part that gave her an inexplicable blush was the sight of his collar bone and smooth chest. She hadn't put much thought into it before, but it made sense that Draco would have a nice body, to match his aristocratic, nearly perfect face. He wasn't bulky or brawny, as Cormac McLaggen might be under all his robes and shrouds of arrogance; but he was well-defined, and solid. He looked... warm.
"I understand you have your simple moments, Granger, but what you're seeing is just a human body. Don't panic."
Her eyes snapped up to his, and the flush across her cheeks began to creep down her neck, as she registered the smirk perched on his lips.
"Get out." She said.
"Excuse me?"
"I need to get dressed. So... get out." She could hear the blank note of her own tone, but couldn't make herself sound less dumb. Dumbfounded, even, as for the moment Voldemort, Death Eaters, and lacklustre warding spells had fled her mind.
"Is that really any way to treat a guest?" He promptly fell back down, flat against the mattress. His lips still wore a smile - a keen expression, as though he could read her every thought.
"Fine, I'll change in the washroom." She said, and although she sounded frustrated, she was far from it. She was... flustered.
But she wouldn't think that, no. That was too reminiscent of one desperate and pathetic Pansy Parkinson.
She tromped over to her bureau for out a pair of denim trousers and a random shirt from one of the many shoved into the bottom drawer, and left the room quickly as though a pack of dogs nipped at her heels. The moment she'd gone into the passage and closed the door behind her, a low, rumbling chuckle sounded from the room she'd left behind.
Once she was gone, Draco elected to follow her lead and dress himself as well. As he buttoned his shirt and pulled on his trousers, he did so with that satisfied smile on his face thinking (only in the back of his mind, of course) that Granger could be quite charming when embarrassed to the right degree.
He sat back at her desk when he was finished, which had apparently been restored to proper order as he'd showered the previous night. He took in the view from her window and wondered what sort of things she'd busied her mind with over the years, as she sat in this spot. It was natural to imagine her as she poured over countless obscure books or wrote long letters. And only a beat later, he'd begun to snoop.
He pulled open the thin centre drawer and struck immediate gold as he came across a leather-bound journal, tied shut with a strap of leather dyed burgundy. The moment he hooked him thumb in the carelessly knotted loop to undo it, however, Granger's door opened once more. She stood in the doorway and regarded him with a dull annoyance in her eyes.
"You can't be serious." She said, and before he could so much as answer she'd crossed the room and snatched the diary from his hand. "I'll thank you to keep your grubby hands off my property." She punctuated her thanks with a whop over the head with the book.
"Please, you would do the same if I left you alone with my things," He said, amused when Granger didn't bother with a denial.
"Perhaps, but I would have the sense not to be caught." She said. "Will you come downstairs with me? My parents should be ready to leave soon, and I want to catch them before they start worrying about being late for work."
"I think I'll stay up here, Granger." He said. "It doesn't really seem like I'll be a welcome addition to the sort of conversation you're planning to have."
"No, please come with me." She said plaintively. "I don't know what kind of help you'll be, really, but I know that if I talk to them alone I'll end up in a corner time can't afford. This can't drag on any longer."
Draco looked away from her, thoughts muddled by personal confusion. Since he'd taken leave of Malfoy Manor in such a hurry and rushed to Granger's aid, it was as though reality had taken on a dreamlike quality. Never in a thousand years would Draco have pictured himself in this girl's bedroom, let alone devoted to getting her and her muggle parents to safety. It was surreal.
He'd slept in her bed last night, had just been about to snoop through her diary, and was now being persuaded to sit next to her and offer moral support as she gave her parents a stern talking-to. Yet there was no solid doubt of his own actions, even as he alienated himself from who he was always meant to be.
Was he Draco Malfoy, born of a line of pure magical blood which could be traced back over a thousand years? Surely, if this were the case, he'd not find himself seated so comfortably at a desk owned by a muggleborn girl he couldn't stand only a few months prior...
Before he could traverse any further down that rabbit hole, however, he simply exhaled through his nostrils and beckoned warily with his right hand for Granger to lead the way. She gave him one lingering look of gratitude, and turned towards the door.
They waited at the kitchen table for eons, at least. Granger began to fidget nervously next to him, which made him want to fidget, and within only a beat he didn't know what to do with himself. He wasn't sure where to look or what to do with his hands. One second they were folded in his lap, the next he'd brought them up to rest on the table, and the next he'd propped his chin in his hand; more unsettled than he ever had been in his life. It only dawned on him that his foot had started to rapidly tap against the carpet when Granger looked over at him with a wan smile.
"Is it possible you're more nervous than I am?" She said.
"They're your parents," He pointed out, sullen to his own ears. "There's no reason for you to feel uncomfortable."
"This is an awkward way to meet people," She allowed. "But if you think I'm at ease you are horribly mistaken. You know, Draco... I really do app-"
"Don't mention it, Granger." He cut her off with haste. "Seriously, don't, or I might change my mind."
His first thought upon seeing her parents was how neat and orderly they looked.
Her father wore a cleanly pressed white shirt with a red and blue striped tie; her mother wore a pencil skirt and a flowery blouse that combined the regal with the feminine. Hermione took after her mother, with the delicate set of her jaw and the soft plumpness of her lips, but she had her father's amber eyes and less coarse chestnut curls
Both the Grangers looked astounded to see him there, so much so that it was nearly comical.
Her mother's mouth hung slack and she looked between Hermione and Draco worldessly for several seconds. Her father appeared as though some sort of river monster had occupied their table, come to join them for breakfast.
"Mum, Dad, this is Draco Malfoy." Granger's voice carried a slight tremour. "He's... a friend... From Hogwarts. Different Houses, though."
"What is this, Hermione?" Her father asked. "What's going on?"
"Please, sit down." Granger replied. "This is important."
Penelope Granger's hand flew to her mouth, as she cast a wild look to her husband. "Oh God, Doug, she's pregnant."
Draco nearly snorted - it was all too rich. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get more awkward.
"No! No, Mum, I'm not pregnant." Hermione cried, just as Draco muttered, "Fat chance."
Douglas Granger appeared to only have ears for Draco, however, as he turned his wrath fully upon the latter.
"Think this is funny, do you?" His mouth worked into an angry line. "You come into my house in such a way, and think you can crack jokes, eh?"
"Dad! Sit down, please!" Granger stood to get the man's attention. "Draco and I are not involved in any way. He's a friend, nothing more."
"Sweetheart, what on Earth is happening?" Her mother moved forwards and took a seat immediately. A little relief could be divined over her features, but it was not enough to mask that the woman clearly knew something was very wrong. "You aren't pregnant, fine. So tell us what this is all about."
Hermione Granger experienced one of those unique moments, which can only be likened to a deer caught in headlights.
"Yes, on with it, Hermione." Her father was saying, though it seemed to reach her ears from kilometres in the distance. "Your mother and I have got to be off, soon."
Likewise, she heard her own voice as though it came from another source. "Well, I don't know exactly how I'm going to say this. So I'll just... spit it out?"
Yet for several long, torturous moments, she was unable to bring forth any words at all.
In her peripheral, Draco's head swiveled over to look at her, but her eyes remained fixed upon the surface of the table. She'd had hours to prepare, and she came up with nothing. He cleared his throat, and she met his gaze. "Just spit it out."
With a pained swallow, Hermione nodded, and returned her attention to her parents. "Do you remember everything I told you about my friend, Harry Potter?" She asked.
"He's... a celebrity, in your world." Said her father, and her mother appeared nonplussed.
Then she asked, "He survived some sort of Killing Curse, was it?" Hermione nodded, pleased.
"When he was a year old, a dark wizard who called himself Lord Voldemort murdered his parents and tried to kill Harry, too. But the curse rebounded, and everyone thought the backlash destroyed him." Hermione said. "Well, at the end of our fourth year, Voldemort returned."
She looked between her mother and father, hoping somehow that they would fill in the gaps for themselves. When they only continued to stare blankly, she took another hard swallow and launched into the full story.
Well, an abridged version of the full story, if only for the sake of time.
She told them of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup, the outcome of the Triwizard Tournament; she told them about Voldemort's ability to hide his return from the public for over a year, before he'd accidentally revealed himself during the battle at the Department of Mysteries; how Dumbledore had reformed the Order of the Phoenix, and how at this very moment, a fairly quiet war was being waged right under their noses.
"It won't stay quiet forever," She'd not been able to meet her parents' gazes for some time, as the fear from that quarter mounted. "The Death Eaters have kept things under the radar for the most part, but they are acting. They've abducted many Ministry officials and common witches and wizards who might have information they can use against the Order. They're threatening families into service with harm and death, using any technique they can to garner followers and root out knowledge, or weapons."
She would have gone on, would have plunged into more gritty details, but her father held up a hand to silence her.
"You say this has been going on since the end of your fourth year?" He asked, and Hermione nodded, already anticipating what he would say next. "Why is this the first we've heard of it, Hermione?"
"I didn't want you to be scared." She said hoarsely. "I thought if you knew everything - especially anything of my involvement - that you would pull me out of Hogwarts. Then, as time went on and more things started to happen, I thought you would be angry with me for the secrecy. The truth is, I would rather you'd never learnt a single thing about it, and the war could end safely without your ever being troubled."
"This is very serious, Hermione." Doulas said, in a tone Hermione had never heard from him before. He sounded as though he were about to vomit. "How could you possibly think keeping us in the dark was the right thing to do?"
"Honey, you should have told us the moment all this started." Penelope said, far more gently.
"I thought you wouldn't let me go back to school. I thought you'd forbid me seeing Harry, or any of my other friends again." Hermione whispered, and she started violently as her father pounded his fist against the table.
"Of course we wouldn't have let you go back!" He roared, and Hermione flinched again. "You could have been killed at any time, and your mother and I would have had no idea why it had happened! Is that what you were hoping for? That you would be murdered by some psychopathic fanatic - that your parents would learn of it in a blasted letter from your school?"
"No, Dad, obviously that's not what I wanted" Hermione cried, surprised by the sudden anger she felt. "I hated hiding anything from either of you! I never wanted to hurt you, or make you angry. But I also didn't want you to cut me off from my world, simply because you don't understand it!"
"Your world." Incredulousness saturated her father's voice. "And what sort of world is it, exactly? The sort where young girls infiltrate ministries and suffer attacks from rabid men in cloaks? Where people are carted off and tortured for information?"
"You act as if atrocities aren't committed every day by muggles!" Hermione shouted. "Wars are fought in every version of this Earth, Dad, I can't help that this one happens to involve me!"
"You can help it, Hermione Jean, and you will." Her father's voice had taken on a note of authority - the same sort of tone he'd used through the rare occasions Hermione had toed over the line. "I gather the reason for your finally enlightening us is because we must go into hiding, yes?"
"Yes," Hermione said, her chin set. "That's why Draco is here. His family is entrenched with the Death Eaters - don't look at him like that, Dad, he isn't part of it, and he's just saved your life. He came to warn us they'll be coming for us."
"Because you're friends with that Potter boy."
"Yes."
"Right. Well. You're coming with us, then."
"I can't do that."
Her father's eyes had narrowed and he ground his teeth, before he said, "You will. I don't want another word about it from you."
Hermione looked to her mother, always the more reasonable of the two.
"Mum," She pleaded. "I can't go. I've got a responsibility to Harry, to Dumbledore - to everyone! I can't leave them all behind at a time like this, it isn't right."
"Is it anymore right for a parent to leave their child in a war-zone?" Her mother's expression was an amalgamation of fright, sadness and anger all at once - and those were just what could be identified. "Do you even understand what you're asking of us? You want us to leave behind our house, our practice, our livelihood and our daughter. You're seventeen years old, Hermione. You have no business in this war. We sent you to Hogwarts to learn, not to get embroiled with political chaos. Your father is right, you are coming with us. You're still underage, and therefore you are still our responsibility."
"People age faster at a time like this, and a world like mine. I'm old enough to make my own decisions, and frankly, I have been for a long time. I'm not some hormonal teenager who wants to move into a flat with her boyfriend. I have a duty to everyone who's like me." Hermione struggled to keep her voice even. "I know you may not understand, but I've been part of this since that first day you said goodbye to me at Platform 9 3/4. It grieves me to bring you pain, but you wanted the truth, and here it is. I've traveled through time to save a man's life and I've battled grown men with only five of my friends - and I've lived through it all. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I can't turn my back on my responsibility. I cannot abandon my principles now, and you shouldn't ask me to."
She looked at her father, who was staring at Draco with the nastiest expression she'd ever seen on his face. Draco, for his part, refused to look at anyone, and instead had his eyes fixed to the ceiling above them. His mouth had puckered into an expression which conveyed discomfort of the acutest kind. There was no space to feel sorry for him, however.
"I know I'm asking a lot, trust me. I know you both love me, and I'm sure I'll never comprehend what sort of love that is until I have a child of my own. I'm asking you to go against the instincts you've had to protect me since I was born, but you'll have to do it eventually." She took a deep breath, frankly just relieved that they'd allowed her to speak for so long; even as she was well aware she may as well have been talking to a couple of stuffed dolls.
"I want to do what I can to save the people I love, to save the world I love. Because I do - love my world, I mean. I will never fit in with the muggle world, and I would never want to after seeing what else is out there for me. More importantly, if the Order of the Phoenix should fail, there won't be a muggle world for me to come back to. None of us will ever be safe. No matter where we go, Voldemort's influence will spread like poison - you must see that."
The room was silent for a full minute. Not a sound to be heard, aside from the steady drip of the leaky faucet over the basin.
Then Doug looked at his daughter. "You've come close to death so many times. All of it happened while I was here at home. I drank tea, I fit braces, took your mother out for the occasional night on the town. I watched countless shows on that telly. And you were in peril."
"Dad..." Hermione's voice broke. "You're not seriously trying to blame yourself... This... it's fate. It's how life works. It's just coincidence, that it happens to be me. All of it is coincidence."
"I want you to go upstairs and pack your bags right now, Hermione. And you," He turned to Draco, hostility etched onto every feature. "I want you to leave. You've done what you came to do. You've warned us, and we thank you for it, but I would feel better if you didn't know where we're going."
"I'm going to the Burrow, Dad. I'll be with Order members there - trained witches and wizards who've laid every protection over Ron's house they can. I'll be safe."
Once more, Douglas slammed his fist against the table; the vase of peonies at its centre gave a frightened tremble. Hermione, however, had expected at least one more outburst. Never had she defied them like this.
"Damn it, Hermione Granger, do as I say!" He bellowed. "Or so help me, I will drag you to the car and pack your things myself!"
Draco stood up, pointed his wand at Douglas Granger with gritted teeth and muttered, "Stupefy."
Penelope had time to scream in alarm as her husband slumped forwards in his chair; before Draco turned his wand on her and hit her with another Stunning spell. Then, it was over.
Hermione's hand darted to her mouth as she rose from her seat and ran round the table to her parents. She cast her eyes to Draco, all powers of speech vanished.
"That went well." He said grimly, and pocketed his wand. "Don't gawk, Granger, it isn't as if I hurt them."
"You... You Stunned them. You Stunned them."
"And you should thank me." He said, though his expression was solemn, as though he hadn't wanted to do it anymore than she'd wanted to see it. "I've just saved you about three bloody hours of pointless screaming matches. Your father's got a temper on him."
"You can't just use magic on muggles!" She bent over her father and checked his pulse as though she expected, in all the chaos, to find him dead.
"We haven't got any time to spare - or have you forgotten about your impending visitors?" He countered. "How did you picture this ending? Did you think dear old dad would suddenly come to his senses, and mum would give her blessing for you to gallop off into the sunset, and vanquish your enemies?"
"I don't know!" She knotted both hands in her hair, wanted to tear it all out. "I don't need your sarcasm right now. I don't know what I'm doing, or what I'm going to do!"
"It's simple, really." Draco moved round the other side of the table. He looked down at her father with an inscrutable expression. "We'll have to modify their memories. When they wake up they'll have plans to go somewhere safe."
She stared at him, slack-mouthed for a moment. She seemed to have trouble computing what he'd said. "Are you saying they'll have to forget me?"
Draco averted his eyes; she watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat. "If they don't, they'll come back for you and this whole scene will start all over again." He said. "Have you got a better idea?"
"I just... didn't think it would come to this." Her eyes stung; but if there was one thing Hermione Granger was sick unto death with, it was crying. She sucked in a breath and held it for a long time, allowed the pressure to build in her lungs.
"When this is all over, you can find them again." Draco stood over her now, and his voice had lowered to a murmur. "Put it in their heads to leave town tonight. They were only here on holiday, this house was rented, and they're going to settle in... I dunno, Bali, or Alaska. I imagine they've got the funds?"
Hermione nodded, her eyes closed so tightly she could hear the strain play a note through her brain.
"Do you want to do it, or shall I?" He asked.
"You do it."
Without further comment, rebuke, or complaint, Granger turned from the sight of her unconscious parents with only a prolonged, parting glance. He seemed to read everything in her eyes that she would not say. He seemed to feel it, as she looked upon her parents for the last time as their daughter.
She left, presumably to avoid playing witness to the death of her existence in their minds. Draco watched her go, stared after her long after she'd disappeared into the little alcove which housed the base of the staircase. She hated him in that moment, just a little bit. But really, he was doing her a massive kindness, and she had to be aware of that as well, underneath it all.
After he'd gathered his frayed nerves, he sighed deeply and slid his wand back out of his pocket. He turned it for the second time upon Douglas Granger.
"Obliviate."
Author's Note:
Hello everyone! I know this update took a bit longer than usual so I suppose now is as good a time as any to let you know we've come up to a point where I've pretty much finished all the written material I have from the original version of this story. I know I've said so before but the reason why my updates can come as close to a day between each other, is that I've primarily been revising and reworking material I've already gotten down on paper. So, the past few days I've revised the overall outline so I have a very clear picture of where I want the story to go, but this means that my updates will, unfortunately, be coming every three, or four days regularly, rather than every once in a while as has been the norm.
Anyway, thank you all for the compliments and insight. To Guest, the most recent reviewer (and, I think, reader) of this story, you were very kind, lol, thanks for the smile. I usually try to reply to reviewers directly, but I can't message you without an account. Still, however, wanted you to know I really appreciate your encouragement, everyone has been so nice.
Thank you all, I hope you enjoy!
