Twenty Seven
Finding Hope
August 24, 2011
Lately it seemed like every day was hectic, and this one was no exception.
For once, it was busy in the best possible way.
In an unexpected move earlier in the day, Narcissa had finally agreed to occupational therapy.
But after consent came work: arranging the bedside meeting, providing everything for Draco to run his necessary background checks on the potential therapist, and completing the mountain of paperwork needed to immediately change the course of her charge's care.
Not to mention everything else she'd checked off her mental to-do list.
Between Narcissa's acceptance and lunch with Scorpius, Hermione Floo called Neville about the cultivation progress and set a meeting with him to check on the plants housed in his greenhouse. Just after lunch she met with Roger, who had provided a summary of his review. And finally she spent a long time on another Floo call, but this time with Charles asking every question she could think of.
"Enjoy the win," he'd said when she finally reached the end of her extensive list of questions. "You've more than earned it. Pick up the fight again tomorrow."
Everything really had gone better than she could have hoped for. All that was left before she called it a night were a few final pages of her daily charts.
Charting was the bane of every Healer's existence.
With Narcissa in the hospital, and Hermione operating out of her rarely used office in St Mungo's, everything had to be extremely detailed and completed in a timely fashion for the review board.
There was a knock at her office door.
"Come in."
Entirely focused on her task, she barely noticed the door open and shut, but when the visitor didn't say anything, Hermione lifted her head. Her irritated comment died on a breath at the sight of Draco.
The only thing she could do was blink. Perhaps she was hallucinating.
"Draco."
"Granger."
A puff of air escaped her.
There was no denying he looked…
Good? Fit? Handsome? Casually dressed to perfection?
All of the above?
Grey that one time was one thing but a white shirt? Even with the black trousers and skinny tie to round off his look, this was… different.
Hermione appreciated the beauty found in colour, but there was something about monochrome scales that appealed to her simplistic nature.
She felt more than a little underdressed for their rescheduled walk, and tried to tamp down the flare of irrational irritation, but he wouldn't stop looking at her.
It was disheartening, if she had to admit it to herself, because she'd made an effort. Not a bad one either given the looks she'd earned that day.
Perhaps she could change or—
"My assumption was correct."
"And that was?" Hermione watched his steady approach.
He didn't appear judgmental as he skimmed the controlled chaos on her desk; he'd likely gotten used to the daily sight of her charting since Narcissa's admittance. His mother's stay in the hospital was a strict secret, and using public entrances and exits would have surely started rumours, so she'd kept the Floo connection in her office open to the Malfoys' home for both her and Draco to easily come and go.
"That you wouldn't be ready."
Oh. Hermione valued punctuality, but even she wasn't immune to tardiness.
"I'm nearly finished." Returning to her task, she quickly made the final notes.
The sound of her quill scratching was the only noise in the silence. Normally she would review it before sending it off, but there was no time.
"Is Scorpius—"
"With Catherine." Draco sat in the chair on the other side of her desk in a strange role reversal. "His first counselling session went well enough."
Hermione stopped writing and gave him her undivided attention. "What does that mean?"
"The session was a staring contest, or so I was told."
"As expected." She shrugged at Draco's perplexed expression. "What? Scorpius assesses everyone he meets and doesn't like all of them either. It's his way. And yours." Hermione gave him a meaningful look that earned her a glare. Smiling, she picked up where she'd left off—in both her work and her opinion. "If they're good, they will know to be patient with him, draw from his interests, and allow him to set the tone. Did he eat?"
"They were eating when I left." Draco paused. "Did you tell him you weren't coming to dinner?"
"I didn't have to. Dinner isn't typically a meal we share. He doesn't expect me unless I specifically tell him. Did Catherine see what I—"
"The vegetarian Shepherd's Pie? Yes."
"Did he—"
"He was enjoying it."
Relief flooded Hermione; she wasn't certain how Scorpius felt about lentils, but there was a growing trend of him eating simply because she'd prepared it for him. Except for hummus. Not even pita bread could convince him to like it. Shaking her head at the fond memory of their latest attempt and the priceless faces he'd made, her smile fell when she realised Draco was watching her.
He checked his watch. "It's a quarter past six."
An hour before sunset.
"Finished." Hermione tapped her wand to send the file off for review. When it vanished, she stood, unsure of what else to do, and Draco's eyes dipped before sliding back up to hers.
But he didn't say anything, and despite her constant pursuit of learning what each of his mannerisms meant, she was still lost when it came to him more often than not.
Her hackles rose as he got up and began circling the desk. Regretting the effort she'd dedicated to picking out the fitted grey dress, Hermione summoned her shoes with an irritated wave of her wand. She could still feel him watching as she changed from charmed anti-slip trainers into a pair of comfortable black flats.
Not the best, but they were cute and practical.
Finally giving in to her growing irritation, she huffed. "I can just go home and change and—"
"Don't."
When she turned, Draco was right behind her. Close.
He rested his hands on her shoulders.
Sinking into the depths of her festering aggravation, Hermione looked down; she hardly knew what to do with her hands or her eyes or the rest of her body.
Should she step out of his reach? Or closer?
In the end, Hermione did neither; she folded her arms and shifted from foot to foot. "Obviously you don't approve—"
"Actually, I do."
A prickle of guilt trickled over her, and Hermione's irritation evaporated like the fog when the sun came out. Awaiting her was clarity. It rose along with her chin as a flush of understanding washed over her.
His measured stare wasn't one of judgment; it was awareness.
Attraction.
"I thought you didn't—"
"It's my favourite colour." As if he hadn't told her something new and surprising, he moved along, sliding his hands down her arms and leaving goosebumps in his wake. "Are you ready?"
Sunset was a time for languorous admiration of colourful skies. A time for reflection and wonder.
For curiosity.
Awe.
A time to stop and admire the beauty of nature.
Hermione didn't often give herself the chance to do so, but when she did, it was always in the comfort of her conservatory. Tonight, in the arboretum Draco had chosen, there was something different about watching the sunset.
Beautiful wasn't just a word with an explicit definition—it was a concept and state of mind—but no other phrase came to mind during their walk through Kew Gardens. By the time they arrived at the winding bridge, the waning sunlight was giving way to the waxing darkness in a stunning display. It stopped Hermione mid-sentence, drawing her to the rails.
Just to watch.
Crossing her arms and leaning against the railing, she watched the swans in the water below and spent a few moments just taking it all in. Draco slipped his arm around her lower back and splayed his hand on her side in a simple gesture that made her smile into the distance.
"Did you know that the colours of the sunset result from light refracted by particles in the atmosphere?" Hermione bit her lip. "Of course, there's more to it, but I don't want to bore you with talk of light behaviour, the composition of the atmosphere, wavelengths, and scattering."
The sound of nature was all she heard until his chuckle interrupted it.
"Why am I not surprised you know that?"
Hermione bumped his arm, but Draco didn't budge. "I thought the sunset was intriguing so I read about it in a book."
"Also unsurprising." His drawl sounded both smooth and sharp.
Maybe it was the humour radiating off of him or the ease of their prior conversation, but whatever it was, she laughed freely and caught the almost imperceptible upturn of his lips. Her smile faded slowly when he looked down.
Over the course of the weeks since whatever this was had started, Hermione had realised Draco didn't openly smile much—if at all. Even when happy. If she had to guess, she would think Scorpius could bring one out of him, but she was strangely satisfied with the littlest quirk of his lips.
It was both real and charming.
Inhaling the fresh air, she took a look around.
Trees. Flowers. Birds.
The warmth of the sinking sun contrasted the coolness of the breeze. The ripple of water beneath the bridge moved in time with the song of wildlife. Nature at its finest. The golden hours. Beauty in colours she would never be able to replicate, even if she had the talent for art.
"Why did you pick this place?" Her question burned its way out once her eyes landed on Draco, noticing that he was looking around, too, but he lacked the sense of awe that had settled into her bones.
"You like nature."
Hermione should have expected that.
Draco had a list, after all.
"I do." She tucked her curls behind her ear. "Do you?"
"Parks and arboretums serve a purpose, but I don't particularly care for man-made nature."
She frowned, remembering an earlier conversation. "For the same reasons you don't like aquariums?"
"Yes."
Nature belonged to nature alone. No one else. He wasn't wrong in feeling that way.
"Next time, take me somewhere you like."
"Noted." Both his look and the rumble in his voice shifted something inside of her.
"Outside of Quidditch, whiskey, and brewing, what do you enjoy?"
Draco glanced over her head but said nothing for a long moment. He was stalling.
"I haven't had much time to figure it out."
His answer was honest, albeit sad; Hermione turned back to the sunset.
"I do enjoy creating," Draco confessed quietly. "Giving something mundane a new purpose is its own magic."
"Like the rings?"
He nodded. "I've already created something for Scorpius."
"Really? When do you plan to give it to him?"
"He has it."
Now Hermione was even more confused. It wasn't jewellery. He didn't wear any nor did he carry anything…
A thought struck her.
"Oh, that's clever." She ignored the smug expression on his face. "Your notes. He carries several of them at a time. Let me guess, a tracking charm on the parchment?"
"Yes."
It reminded Hermione of her conversation last week.
"I have a bit of an odd request. Do you think you could create something else for your mother? An anti-Apparition ring?"
"The magic to create something like that is… complex but not impossible. It's worth a trip to the library." Amusement crossed his features in the form of an eye roll when she visibly perked at the prospect. "I'm surprised I hadn't thought of it. Where did you get the idea?"
"Roger Davies, of all people. I'm shocked I hadn't thought of it either. Sometimes an outside perspective helps."
He made a small hmm in agreement. The silence that returned was short; another question was already forming when he drew her body into the curve of his and she naturally slipped one arm around his back.
It was easy.
Like a breath.
Like a heartbeat.
Unconscious, but raw and precarious.
"Draco, do you ever wonder why in moments like this?"
"Why what?"
"Why this feels the way it does." Hermione swallowed thickly. "You and I."
Being with him now was alarmingly easy in a way that hadn't existed before. At least not to her. Recalling their earliest friction-filled debates not only embarrassed her for the way she'd misread Draco, but it also made the fact that they were now enjoying each other's company mind-boggling. Exactly when the tension had shifted from one sort to another was hard to say and even harder to remember.
"Not too long ago we were…" Hermione trailed off, swallowing the word nothing despite it being the truth. "And now we're here. It's mystifying and overwhelming whenever I think of it and you." She took a deep breath. "I'll admit I'm struggling with all of this. While you seem unbothered, all I do is wonder… why?"
The ensuing silence seemed as endless as the expanse of the sky.
"I'm not a romantic man, Granger." Draco's words and tone were like him: levelled and controlled, but only to a degree. "Nor am I experienced with giving lip service, just as I don't believe you're the sort who needs it."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but closed it quickly.
"If you want a timeline of the sequence of events or a list of moments that brought us here, I don't have it. Just like I don't have an answer to your last question. We just… are."
She looked at Draco only to find him observing her.
"If you can't see why, I can't explain it to you."
"I feel… out of control." Hermione was uncomfortable with her own honesty. "How you don't feel the same way I do baffles me."
"I never said I didn't."
There was little control in Hermione's next action—only instinct. She brought her other arm around to join the one already on his back and threaded her fingers together. Draco didn't run or look away.
Stoic.
Hard to read.
But perhaps Draco's wall was up as proof of his comment: he felt out of control.
Which made sense. These were uncharted waters for him as well.
Uncomfortable and nameless. New and fragile. This thing between them was in its infancy, still learning how to exist. But neither of them was in a place for a relationship—certainly not one threatening to go full steam ahead. Yet here he was, leading the way while letting her set the pace, giving her time to think, sort, consider, and decide.
It should have been comforting, but it wasn't.
The issue became clear when Draco framed her face with his hands. Searching for only a moment, he captured her mouth in a kiss that was anything but impulsive. Its true meaning was muddled by the roaring in her mind, the fluttering in her stomach, and the curling of her toes.
Just as Hermione stepped into it, searching for more, Draco pulled away, turning his head to the sunset after a quick glance at his watch.
Her eyes lingered on him.
Yes, this was new, but she couldn't deny that it was quickly solidifying into something real.
Hermione didn't know how to feel about it.
"Dinner?"
The question was so abrupt it scattered her thoughts, leaving her mind devoid of argument.
"Okay."
Dinner was both casual and upscale. The restaurant was intimate, the colours deep and bold, but the energy was warm. Obviously Draco had dined there before because they recognised him on sight and led them to a private room so quickly Hermione barely had a chance to process the fact that Draco liked Indian food until they were sitting across from each other in the dim room.
Hermione blinked at their surroundings. Then at him.
It felt silly to be the only two seated around an enormous table.
It felt like eating alone.
"Push over, will you?"
Draco did so, but only after giving her a quizzical look which evened when she grabbed her wine glass and slid into the booth next to him.
"Do we get a menu?"
"The tasting menu has been pre-arranged."
Hermione latched on hard to the last word, head tilting and mind off to the races. Her mouth opened and shut multiple times with growing awareness. His attire. Draco noting the time in her office. The walk and the several glances at his watch. A dinner suggestion following a distracting kiss and the restaurant that probably didn't accept anything except reservations. Pre-arranged meal…
"You tricked me into a date."
"I did." Draco smirked. "Problem?"
The first course arrived before she could answer or argue—which she intended to do, Hermione hadn't decided. Pappadums, shrimp sorpotel, and lemon raita paired with a pleasant rosé.
It was divine.
Each subsequent course was better than the previous, something Hermione thought impossible. By dinner's conclusion, she had no opposition as to how he'd gotten them there. It was nice seeing Draco openly enjoy something as simple as a meal. She spent too much time cataloguing his expressions for reference—future and past. Conversation hadn't been abundant, but he did explain the reason for selecting each dish and she left knowing something else about Draco Malfoy.
He was a complete food snob.
It might have bothered Hermione had she not realised how often he ate and enjoyed her cooking.
Following dinner, they strolled hand in hand until they reached a safe place for Draco to Apparate them to their final destination: her living room.
He wasted no time in kissing her again, but it was short-lived.
Nothing more than a quick catch of lips.
A parting gesture.
"Pick the next date," Draco said against her lips. The word now had a new meaning.
"Um. Pansy's birthday party is next Saturday." It had been postponed after Narcissa's incident. "We can go together. Unofficially, of course."
"Of course." He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "Good night."
"I have a little work to do." As if on cue, Hermione yawned. "Or not. I should go to bed. Long day tomorrow."
"Oh?"
"Dinner with my parents." Hermione was actively trying to avoid thinking about it. "Also, before I forget, I'm going to Kingsley's on Saturday and you should… come with me."
A hint of unease was all she saw, but it simmered to something thoughtful.
"I'll consider it."
August 25, 2011
Problems pressed into shapes, clenching and unclenching the worst case scenarios, a constant construction of a spiraling tower of circular blocks in her mind.
That was how Hermione's compartmentalisation worked.
Currently, there were six blocks surrounding the dinner with her parents, mainly because it was imminent.
Five for her potions related stress: the adjustments and calculations had already undergone multiple reviews.
Four for the anticipation of the plant cultivation attempts—Neville had been vague during their call and patience was hard to come by with so much on the line.
Three for the restoration movement that was beginning to occupy more of her thoughts; both the interpretation project and her impending talk with Kingsley weighed heavily on her mind.
Two for Narcissa, who met with the Occupational Therapist that morning, which hadn't gone badly because the wizard was as tough as Hermione was.
And one for the impending full moon and the uptick in conversations about safety at the hospital—their staff meeting today had been dire at best.
At this point, the tower of blocks was taller than her.
Not multiplying—expanding.
Each night her thoughts raced with all she had to juggle. The blocks completed entire revolutions in her mind. She was able to relax when Draco and Scorpius served as a distraction, able to put the stress in a box while preparing the fall harvest and looking ahead to winter, but outside of that, avoidance was impossible.
It was no surprise that Hermione still held those blocks while sitting in her regular chair in her father's painting room. Miles Davis played in the background.
Change was in the air when her dad stepped aside.
"Come here, Hermione."
Puzzled, she unfolded her legs. Arguments were forming in mind, and excuses sat at the tip of her tongue, but Hermione did as requested, joining her dad at the blank canvas.
What did he want her to see?
She expected him to say something wise like a blank canvas is the playground for the imagination, but he only handed her a brush and gestured to the paint.
He wanted her to paint.
The offer was a first, and Hermione couldn't hold back the swell of emotion, but she raised both hands.
"Oh, no. I can't paint whatsoever. That's—"
"Give it a chance." Her dad gently nudged her. "It helps sort whatever is on your mind. It's clear something is weighing on you. Maybe more than one something."
"Is it that obvious?"
"You've sighed twenty times. I counted."
Hermione smiled, cheeks warmed with embarrassment. Her dad returned the expression, only his was wider.
"Draw whatever you want."
She couldn't help but look at him instead of the canvas.
"Painting is more than lessons or technique or entertainment." The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he urged her to step closer. "It's a way to communicate with yourself. You don't have to be talented to do that."
"Is that why you paint?"
"I find that painting is a valuable form of self-expression when words don't seem to fit."
Hermione considered his words, then turned to the canvas. She meant it when she said she didn't have talent, but she did have plenty of thoughts stuck in her mind.
So, she drew what she could.
The circular blocks.
All of them.
Outlined in black paint, the problems she'd been stacking spilled onto the canvas. No order. All uniform, even if the circles weren't perfect. Then she filled them with colours: red for Narcissa, blue for the plants, yellow for the moon, green for the potion, purple for the restoration. But when she finished painting, she noticed a few she hadn't filled in.
Problems she didn't actively think about, but were still present nonetheless.
Lingering worries that hadn't been assuaged.
Like her mother, who had hardly greeted her today. Hermione painted her block blue.
The touch of concern about Ron's reaction to her and Draco turned orange. She chuckled at her choice of colour.
But there was another one Hermione had no colour left for.
The last unfilled shape in the centre. A block.
Draco Malfoy.
All the things she tried not to think about. The moments that built over time and intensity. Their conversations and hours spent together. The touches and kisses. The strengthening connection and the many ways silence had evolved between them. It was… concerning, yet she seemed to forget about that entirely in his presence.
And so, there was nothing to do with the block but mix black and white together to make grey.
Grey like his eyes. Grey like his mood.
The colour was an agreement between white and black, an in between place where both the presence and absence of colour could coexist.
With the canvas now complete, Hermione stood back and watched as her dad joined her, resting a hand on her shoulder. The familiar touch spoke of solidarity and comfort.
She'd missed this.
"What is it?" Her dad didn't bother to hide his confusion.
"My problems."
"Why are there so many? It's an awful lot to look at."
Hermione opened then shut her mouth, not knowing how to comment on his observation.
The canvas was a complicated kaleidoscope of circles surrounding a grey focal point. While she'd noticed the arrangement, Hermione had been too busy ordering her problems equally and focusing on the colour combinations to worry about classification.
Upon further reflection, she searched for meaning in her choices and found none.
Draco really wasn't a problem, just an issue. The two words were different, but the unavoidable conflict remained. With her heart poised on one side and her head on the other, both ready for a battle, Hermione was sure of only one thing: she would emerge from it all as a different person. She was trying to negotiate with herself in an attempt to slow things down, but rationality couldn't stop the ever-growing awareness and chemistry…
The ease in which her attraction was beginning to shift from surface to something deeper was unsettling.
It left Hermione focused too hard on the grey block at the centre; a square contrasting the vibrant circles around it.
Grey standing out amongst the colours.
No rhyme or reason.
No metaphors or deeper meaning.
"Why is the grey one in the centre?"
Hermione didn't even need to think about it. "He just… is."
"He?"
"The block, I mean." She cleared her throat. "The block is."
Keenly aware of just how close her dad was watching her, Hermione tried not to fidget.
Tried and failed.
"The block is a person and he's at the centre of your canvas?"
"It's not like that." Hermione waved him off, handing him back the paintbrush once she finished cleaning it in the water and drying it on the cloth he kept nearby.
"But he is on your canvas so… is he a problem?"
"I wouldn't call him a problem, per se."
"If there's no solution, it's not considered a problem."
Hermione carried her father's words back to the chair, where she sat in contemplation while her dad placed her canvas on a spare easel. She couldn't help but stare at her work.
To qualify Draco as a problem, there had to be a solution. What was it?
Or better yet, what was her actual problem?
Hermione knew the root of the others, but not him. That, in and of itself, was a problem. Which meant—
And that was the extent she allowed herself to think about it.
Or him.
Any further was dangerous territory.
But as she brushed against the line she'd drawn in her subconscious, Hermione could deem her attraction as a non-factor. Not the physical one, at least. That was on the surface. Her problems were deeper.
Each day drew her to him, seeking and searching for more. More of his thoughts and opinions and preferences, more of his reactions and touches. More of the pieces that made him Draco.
Feelings were senseless, based on illogical and intangible things, and that wasn't how Hermione operated. But that didn't stop her from thinking about him at the most inopportune moments. Now, for instance.
Hermione resurfaced from the valley of thoughts, only to find her father staring at her.
"What is it?"
"Dinner's ready."
Dread stacked inside her stomach like stones, but Hermione pushed through the feeling in the spirit of repairing their relationship. Just because she and her mother didn't agree didn't mean she didn't want to spend this time with her.
She followed her father downstairs to find her mother waiting at her place at the table. The plates were already made and the wine was poured.
"Everything looks great." Hermione sat down and swore not to pick out her mother's missing ingredient—a reminder to herself that she was trying.
But her mother was not.
She looked right at her dad, who was already frowning at her attitude.
"Enjoy."
And she started eating.
Dinner was so quiet Hermione almost braved a conversation about their latest holiday just to have something to fill the void. But she didn't. Her dad wasn't a conversationalist, yet even he tried a few times, sneaking apologetic looks across the table with each failure. Her mother aggressively cut her pork chop into bite-sized pieces. The meat was dry, but Hermione ate everything, finished her wine, and didn't ask about dessert.
She doubted there would be any.
Her father cleared the table while her mother poured a third glass of wine.
"How are you, Mum?"
The question earned her a look of acknowledgement and nothing more.
Hermione sighed. "I know things haven't been great between us lately, but—"
The words died with her mother's abrupt chuckle.
"Forgive me, I'm just your mother who doesn't know what's best for you."
Hermione tensed. "I'm trying to fix this so we can move forward."
"Try harder."
"I don't know what you want from me." It came out in a rush, but she pushed down her instant defence. "Do you want me to apologise? I can't honestly say that I'm sorry."
"Of course you aren't—"
"But I'm here and I'm trying. I've always been here trying to fix and repair and mend, but you won't take one step forward to meet me anywhere. I always have to come to you." Hermione clenched her jaw and took a sip of her own wine. "I am always willing to try and I don't ever complain, but—"
"It sounds like you're complaining now."
Hermione's mouth fell open and she tapped her foot in agitation to hold herself at bay.
To keep control of the conversation.
"As I explained before, Ron—"
"It's not about Ron. This is about you."
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold back the knot of emotions lodged in her throat.
"Yes, let me see if I remember." Hermione patted down her hair with a shaking hand. "Everything is my fault and has been my fault since I erased your memories. Is that what you want to say?"
Her mother said nothing, which told her everything.
"Right. Okay." Hermione blinked several times and took a deep breath before standing. Not only did she not have the energy for this fight, she lacked the control, too. She was upset enough to say all the wrong words, which would only worsen things. She refused to allow her mother to push her patience again. "I'll see you next time."
She started to leave just as her dad returned to the room with a pie in his hand.
"Where are you going? We're about to—"
"I-I'm sorry." Hermione was horribly warm and sick to her stomach. "Maybe we can try again next month."
"Or perhaps…" Her mother trailed off, voice chilled. "We should skip September's dinner. We'll be in Portugal the day after anyway."
Hermione pretended not to process that she wanted to skip the dinner that always wound up being the week of her birthday.
She pretended it didn't hurt.
Her father looked positively infuriated as he set the pie on the table.
"I'm sick of this." His tone was uncharacteristic and her mother looked startled. "What are you upset about? Because it's not—"
"Dad, it's fine." Hermione squeezed the ends of her cardigan and addressed the back of her mother's head. "If you want to skip September, that's fine with me, Mum. We can skip them all."
Turning to leave, she ignored the ensuing argument that quickly rose in volume. She covered her ears when her father began calling after her and walked faster, only releasing them to yank open the front door.
Her dad caught her at the steps.
"Hermione!"
"I—"
"I'm sorry this happened." His apology was almost breathless. "I was trying to make things better. I-I don't want you to leave. Stay. Please. Don't leave like this."
"I'm sorry, too." Tears welled in her eyes. "But I can't stay like this either."
No more words were exchanged, just an understanding nod from him and a hug that lasted long enough for Hermione to hold on tighter. Breathing him in, she tried to find comfort in the same arms she'd sought refuge in as a child.
But there was no peace.
It hurt more than the argument she'd had with her mother, but Hermione didn't let go. Not instantly. Desperate to search a little longer for that connection. It would be a while before she would see them again. The sad, pessimistic part of her mind wondered if this would be the last.
She didn't know.
Didn't allow herself to think about it.
Packed it away.
When her dad tried to speak further apologies, Hermione stepped back, welcoming the numbness that always followed pain.
"I'm fine." Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears. "I'll ring tomorrow."
"Hermione…"
"It's fine. Deep down, I expected this."
She let herself out the gate and shut it behind her while her dad remained right where he stood until he was nothing more than a blur. Hermione usually picked a private spot to Apparate, but today she just walked.
As far and as fast as her feet carried her.
Down the pavement of the same neighborhood she'd grown up in. Past the homes of people she hadn't seen in years. It wasn't dark yet, and as she passed each one, Hermione felt a morsel of nostalgia settling in her chest. Not for a time lost, but perhaps for a time she had never found again.
Hermione walked until her anger became sadness, until her sadness became grief. Walked until the washed out brick of each house in an unfamiliar neighborhood made her head swim with the realisation that she was lost. Walked until the once clear skies above her were crowded with clouds and the wind picked up—a sign of a storm on a night it wasn't even supposed to rain.
She bowed over, braced her hands against her knees, and panted. Her muscles screamed with the strain of anxiety and her heart beat rapidly in an attempt to suppress the ache.
Hermione had no idea how far she'd gone, but everything hurt.
Or maybe she was hurt.
Righting herself, Hermione took each unsteady step as she stumbled behind what appeared to be an empty home. Rubbish bins lined the walls like toy soldiers, stuffed to the brim. She took out her wand and Apparated to the first place she could think of.
Home.
Restless and emotional, Hermione paced the length of her living room. She didn't want to be there, but had no idea where else to go.
Harry and Ginny's? No. Pansy's? Theo's? No.
No after no piled up, and before she could stop herself, Hermione stepped into her Floo and called out the name of a place that rolled right off her tongue.
Draco's Ministry office was not empty.
There were at least ten people crowded in the room, all familiar faces from the restoration meeting. Percy sat in the lone spare chair with his legs crossed, but he appeared uncharacteristically agitated. Harry was there, too, standing over Draco's shoulder with his arms folded.
She'd walked into a battle.
Percy, Harry, and Draco were severely outmatched.
But everyone stopped when they noticed her arrival.
The shift of focus to her made Hermione step back rather than forward. She hadn't come to fight. Honestly, she had none left in her. It made her hands shake harder as she violently stuffed her feelings away, hoping her face was the necessary mask of composure.
"Apologies for the intrusion."
"Actually," Wingston, the Head of the Department of Mysteries spoke up, voice grating her nerves like nails. "You're just the person we wanted to speak to."
Hermione didn't like his tone. "About?"
"Whether Kingsley will join the restoration." The Head of Magical Artefacts folded her arms. "You told us in July that you would speak to him."
"I—" She cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one tired leg to the other, trying to control the tremors in her hands while preparing to address those who were waiting. Hermione caught the look on Percy's face from the corner of her eye, offering him a subtle shake of her head. She could handle this. "I haven't spoken to him yet, but plan to meet with him on Saturday."
"What's taken you so long?"
Hermione didn't see who had asked, but Draco and Harry were glaring daggers at them.
An odd form of solidarity.
"I would like everyone to maintain a respectful tone." Ever the diplomat, Percy called for peace instead of violence. "Hermione has volunteered her time, she does not owe anyone answers. This is not an inquiry. This is a meeting."
"As you very well know, Mr Weasley, Kingsley is a—"
"Oi!" Harry looked incredibly irritated, but Draco…
Draco was now looking at her suspiciously.
And she knew why.
Hermione's arrival was unplanned and she likely looked as rough as she felt—at least to the sharp eye.
Someone who knew where she was supposed to be.
"I think it's perfectly acceptable for us to ask questions about Miss Granger's activities since the last meeting, Mr Potter." The Head Ministry Librarian sounded reasonable, but her eyes could cut diamonds.
"Actually—"
"No, Harry, I can speak for myself." Hermione stepped fully out of the Floo, hands fisted at her sides. "What have I been doing?"
Harry and Percy exchanged looks followed by twin shrugs.
"Nice of you to ask so kindly." It wasn't fair to take her bad evening out on anyone, but Hermione never did well when backed into a metaphorical wall. "I have been focused on other tasks and have duties and responsibilities outside of the restoration. I have a career that is time consuming and requires a lot of effort. I refuse to apologise for doing my job."
Someone cleared their throat; her glare dared anyone to speak.
"Furthermore, I have been set with the task of overseeing Draco Malfoy's translations, as well as interpretation in a field I am familiar with but don't actually work in. To date, we have completed five of the eight books and have submitted eighteen laws for Percy's team to review. This all takes time and considering where we are now from where we were in June, we have made measurable progress."
Hermione unclenched her hands.
"I have given this effort much of my time because this is something I wholeheartedly believe in, but you all make it difficult. The only people in this room who are allowed to critique how I spend my time are myself and anyone who can detail what their actual role is in this effort. If you aren't willing to help, then kindly—"
"Our roles may not be as open as yours, Miss Granger," Wingston said, slick as oil, "but I assure you—"
"That you think this a discussion is frankly appalling," Hermione snapped.
"Perhaps we should calm down." Everyone turned their attention to the tallest wizarding standing, The Head of Games and Sports. He combed his hand over his red hair. "I just think—"
"We appreciate your efforts, Miss Granger." The Head Ministry Librarian tried to sound pleasant, but everything about her was fake. "But it is imperative at this point that we find a nominee to run for the office of Minister. They might be protecting you from the happenings at the Ministry, but things are dire and we need—"
"That's enough." Draco's voice sent a shock reverberating through the room. "Everyone. Out."
"I don't—"
"I despise repeating myself."
He sounded as though he was prepared to throw them all out with magic—or even by hand.
The office cleared quickly, all except Harry and Percy, who remained where they were after the door shut behind the last person. Draco stood, eyeing the last two before adjusting the sleeve of his shirt.
"The same request applies to you both."
At least he sounded more polite that time.
Slightly.
Percy looked between them, but left with a slightly bemused expression. Harry followed, eyes narrowed. He would turn up at her house with his suspicions in tow in a few days. Maybe less. Hermione would have to be ready then, but for now, when the door shut, she sagged with relief.
Her stomach rolled and her vision swam. By the time she righted herself, Draco was there, jaw clenched.
"Sorry for—"
"The dinner?"
Nodding, she stared at her feet while breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.
A cord of tension was pulled so taut it was sure to break.
And then what?
Would she drown in the maelstrom of emotions she'd kept swallowing back since hugging her dad?
Likely.
Would she—
The thread snapped without her consent.
Hermione hated crying in front of someone who might judge her for her tears. Hated that vulnerable feeling associated with the act.
But it didn't matter.
She could pinch herself until she bruised to stop it, compartmentalise it all and pack it away until she found a moment of privacy, but nothing could stop the tsunami. It was relentless, the pain unbridled, the memory repeating. Hermione could hear herself gasp for air. It all blew her off balance until she could do nothing except give in, rest her forehead on his chest, and try to breathe.
She brought her arms around Draco, holding tighter than she wanted.
His palm cradled the back of her head.
"Zippy!"
Hermione opened her eyes as the little elf appeared.
"Yes, sir?"
"Please prepare the guest room for Miss Granger and make her a cup of lavender tea. Let it steep for five minutes and add a teaspoon of honey."
"Oh." Hermione pulled away, wiping her eyes. "That won't be—"
Draco gave her a hard look.
Pleased with the task, Zippy eagerly left with a snap of his fingers.
"You really don't have to do that." She scrubbed both hands down her face. "I'm fine. I'm just—"
"Fine?"
No. Not really. Hermione was not fine.
Draco glared at her until she sat on the sofa in his office and picked up the cup of tea Zippy had prepared. He stepped out for a moment to peek in on Scorpius as he slept and exhaustion overwhelmed her.
The next time she opened her eyes, she knew it was late. Despite the blanket, she felt chilled.
Sitting up and rubbing her aching head, she immediately spotted Draco on the other end of the sofa. Curled on his side, he bent his long legs so as to not disturb her. It would have been much easier to drag herself upstairs to the guest room, or even home, and Hermione started to do just that, but once on her feet, weariness struck again and she shook him gently.
Draco opened his eyes slowly, stretching his legs when he saw her.
"This is presumptuous of me, but—"
He lifted his blanket and Hermione hesitated every step of the way until she was lying next to him.
Cocooned in warmth, she drifted off to sleep in seconds.
August 27, 2011
A treaty was reached without words or pretence.
Draco merely turned up Saturday morning.
While Hermione was packing the last of her fresh fruit into a basket for Kingsley, he made tea and didn't stop scowling until after his second cup.
Last night must have been a long one for him. Not that she had been around to confirm as much. Hermione hadn't really seen him since waking in his arms the day before. A strange experience of tangled limbs in a small space. She'd been at a loss for what to say until he told her to stop thinking so hard.
It was easier to keep silent than put her appreciation into words when there were none that fit.
Two days had passed but Hermione remained raw from the dinner with her parents. In no mood to take this meeting, she was grateful for the company. When they made the long walk to Kingsley's door, she was even more appreciative of Draco's hand on her back and his steady presence.
He was oddly still.
Possibly nervous.
It was hard to tell; his face was a blank slate.
If Kingsley was surprised to see them both, he didn't show it, just greeted them with one of his mysterious looks before accepting Hermione's extended basket of fruits and vegetables.
"Happy to see you, as always, Hermione."
She stepped through the doorway, after giving him a smile, then looked back to the two men still observing each other.
"Draco Malfoy." The lack of malice in Kingsley's tone loosened something in his stance.
"Sir." Still, caution laced the single word. Something expected.
Kingsley slowly extended his hand. "Welcome to my home."
Draco shook it, and something she associated with relief flashed across his features. Hermione exhaled the breath she didn't know she was holding.
It was a good start.
They sat outside in the warming sun as it rose in the mid-morning sky and the last bit of dew on the grass evaporated. It was going to be another lovely day, and the bees were busy making the most of it—the buzzing was louder than it had been during her previous visit. He had a jar of honey waiting for Hermione that she tucked it into her bag, quietly excited to share it with Scorpius.
Kingsley surprised her when he returned with a second jar for Draco, who expressed his appreciation with a stiff nod before handing the jar to her to place in her bag. The silence combined with the last crisp of morning air tried to lull her into a false sense of security, but Hermione waited, sneaking glances at Draco as he observed the land around them. Kingsley's home was more remote than hers. He liked it that way.
"I know why you're here, Hermione." Kingsley paused for a moment. "You're here to convince me to step out of the shadows and run for Minister."
"I am." There was no sense in lying.
"I've been expecting this." His eyes returned to the bees. "However, I'll confess I'm surprised to see you today, Mr Malfoy."
Draco stiffened momentarily before relaxing into the picture of perfect ease.
"Surprised I'm part of the solution and not the problem?" Draco's face was as closed off as his tone. "My involvement in the restoration is selfish at best."
Something Hermione had heard him say more than once.
"Is it?" Kingsley gave him a probing look. "I find that there is a very thin, subtle line between selfish and selfless. Easy to lose which side you're actually on."
"I assure you, I know where my loyalty lies."
Kingsley rose to his feet, venturing to the very edge of the landing and looking out at the bees. Draco's eyes took to the greenery while hers remained firmly on Kingsley. He looked regal, even in purple beekeeping robes. A thoughtful man. He gestured for them both to join him, one on each side.
"Do you know why I turned down Percy's initial request?"
"I don't." Hermione realised they'd never spoken about it.
"There's something exhausting about power that I didn't understand until I retired."
"I agree." Hermione placed her hands on the railing. "There are leaders and then there are those who lead. The former hold authority while the latter inspire us. I believe you can be both. In fact, I'm confident you can because you already do."
"It is not a position I ever wanted."
"Because you're a good man. If you weren't, you would be all too eager to step up and run for Minister." She caught Draco looking at her. He was listening. "You don't approach leadership as something good or enjoyable, but as something necessary. I think the greatest disservice is to be under the thumb of someone who enjoys power. When there's no consistent public accountability, they have no qualms about putting their interest over the public's. We've lived this for the last thirteen—"
"You're afraid," Draco said in quiet disbelief.
"You are correct, but my fear isn't a weakness," Kingsley explained. "It's energy. A reality, and more than that, it's strength."
"I don't believe that."
"I don't expect that you would, having lived in fear at various points in your life." There was a polished bluntness to his tone that Draco, surprisingly, didn't appear to take offence to. "Your fear response is a primal survival mechanism. When you think of it as a negative, it leads you to make decisions that negatively impact your life. Makes you reactive instead of proactive."
Draco tensed.
"But if you think of fear as a form of energy, you understand how it can be suppressed, expressed, or transformed."
She looked over at Draco, but he was locked in the discussion. "Do you fear power or do you fear being corrupted by it?"
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
Kingsley's words were familiar.
Draco had said them to her months ago.
A bit too pessimistic for her tastes, Hermione took a different route.
"But isn't the measure of a man what he does with power?" Hermione stood straighter, despite being much shorter than either man. "There are few people I trust, but I know you would uphold the power given to you. I know that you would be firm but fair, you would respect those who follow you, and care for people just as you care for your bees."
Kingsley said nothing for several minutes before looking over at Draco.
"You have said little, Mr Malfoy."
"I play to my strengths."
Kingsley chuckled at his honest answer. "Smart man."
"My role today isn't to convince you."
"What is your purpose then?"
Hermione was flummoxed when they both fell silent after an exchange of looks she couldn't decipher.
"Very well then." Kingsley looked amused. "Have you ever considered politics?"
"Between my unwillingness and lack of desire, no." Draco folded his arms. "I highly doubt people would appoint an ex-Death Eater to any sort of political office."
"That's not who you are."
"No, it's not, but you don't know who I am."
"I know exactly who you've become." Kingsley gave Draco one of his mysterious looks. "You and I are cut from the same cloth, Mr Malfoy."
"I sincerely doubt that."
"Ah, but we are human, are we not?" Kingsley's dark eyes never moved. "Flawed, imperfect, and finite beings. I have always been curious about how you would turn out."
"I'm still working out the last of your three for myself."
Atonement.
"Hmm." Kingsley placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "And yet you stand before me a better man."
Draco looked down.
"Hermione, could you help me with the bees? You know where the suits are."
She did, leaving the two to speak alone.
Not long later, she and Kingsley were walking away from Draco. He remained at the railing, staring out into the distance as the breeze lightly tousled his hair. He was lost in his thoughts, and had been when she'd returned from changing and pressed a quick hand to his back before following Kingsley. She couldn't help but think of his dislike for man-made nature and wondered if he enjoyed it out here in this space untouched by people.
Kingsley was watching her.
"You've grown."
Hermione smiled. "In some ways."
"Growth means discomfort and stress. It can even be painful sometimes. You appear to be all of those things." He wasn't wrong, but she kept quiet. "It doesn't necessarily mean suffering, but I believe in order to grow you need to give up something. You don't appreciate anything without struggle."
Hermione absorbed his words, applying them to her own situation.
Each of them.
"I had every reason prepared to tell you no today."
Her heart stuttered in time with her missed step. "But?"
"I didn't quit because I was jaded and disgruntled by the things happening in the Ministry. I quit because I lost hope. I saw a world that was changing in all the wrong ways and I didn't believe I could make a difference. I didn't see the point in fighting."
Life was so hard when one had to fight for every scrap. It was understandable.
"You have reminded me that learning is not linear and some lessons have to be learned more than once. The bees, and even Mr Malfoy, remind me that hope and change begin in very small ways. "
Hermione thought about his comment while they checked each hive.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"It is, and you?" Kingsley gave her a look. "What would you like to see from this?"
"The end of corruption. Protection of the people." There was no hesitation in Hermione's answer. "Freedom. Peace."
"Is that all you want?"
"Yes."
"What about something for yourself?"
"I don't have anything I want, per se." Hermione bit her bottom lip. "But if I had to make one request…"
"What is it?"
"Could you find time to put out the fire at Malfoy Manor?"
For him.
It had been burning for far too long.
Hermione impulsively called for a Girls' Night when she left Draco and returned home following a post-dinner glass of wine and a bedtime story for Scorpius. She went to change, and upon her return, part-time barmaid Ginny already had a drink waiting for her next to where Padma sat at the island sipping her own.
"You're both early for an impromptu gathering."
"I figured you might need company since you actually called." Ginny dipped below the island and pulled out another bottle of wine followed by a bottle of Firewhisky. "Harry's doing parent duties since he'll be leaving the day after Pansy's party."
Draco had brought up the trip earlier when he'd mentioned creating a two-way journal for him to communicate with Scorpius in his absence.
"And you?" Hermione turned to the other witch.
"I'm here for the drinks." Padma lifted her glass. "Wedding planning."
It sounded like a curse.
Her friends exchanged a look before the redhead braved the question.
"How was dinner with your parents?"
Instead of answering, Hermione picked up her drink and downed it in one go, not thinking about the wine from earlier that had left her stomach pleasantly warm. Ginny's drink was spicy, more vodka than juice and ice. Ginny and Padma gave her worried looks and she politely ignored them.
Tonight was going to hurt, but she needed to feel the burn in her chest to temper the pain of her mother's words that she'd been ignoring since.
"My mother is still angry and wants to skip dinner next month."
"But isn't that—" Padma stopped herself as her eyes grew wide.
"Yes." Hermione peered into her empty glass. "I told her to cancel them all."
Awkward silence filled the room like smoke and they all knew the source of the flames.
"Do you want a hug or another drink?" Ginny's question was valid. "Other options include both and neither."
"Two more drinks then maybe I'll be in a hugging mood."
"Or I could make you a stronger one."
Padma grinned mischievously.
Strong for Ginny ended up being a glass of vodka with a splash of juice so minimal it barely changed the colour.
Hermione drank it anyway.
By the time others arrived and everything was in full-gear, her mood was in stasis; the pain was numbed and her thoughts were wild and free. She sat on the sofa, comfortably leaning on Padma as they watched Parvati and Cho dance to the music on the Wireless while trying not to spill their drinks.
Ginny was already making another batch.
As soon as Pansy stepped out of the Floo, Hermione knew something was off, but her connection between rationale and observation had left for the evening and wouldn't return until the following morning.
After greeting Parvati with an air kiss and giving Cho a bland look, Pansy drank two of Ginny's prepared concoctions, one right after the other, and brought the third to the sofa. She sat next to Hermione and looked every bit like a person who was stewing in their thoughts.
"Something is definitely wrong with you." Hermione heard the slur in her own voice and giggled.
Pansy lifted an eyebrow in forced amusement.
Hermione poked Padma in the side. "Observe her for me."
"I don't think I can observe anyone like you do." Padma started to giggle until she looked at Pansy and the smile slid off her face. "But there is something wrong with you."
And then she made the same decision Hermione might have had she not been tipsy.
"Parvati! Kill the music! We need to have a chat."
"Pointless." Pansy's tone almost sobered Hermione up.
Almost.
She hiccuped.
"But Susan's not here yet and I like this song," Parvati whinged. "Where is she?"
"Finishing up paperwork most likely. She should be here soon." Padma waved Ginny over. "In the meantime, we should get started."
Ginny expertly read the room and left the drinks she'd made in favour of grabbing the bottle and floating shot glasses to each with a wave of her wand. Everyone caught their own, except Hermione, who smiled brightly as she accepted hers from Padma.
"Are you already pissed?" Pansy asked in amazement. "How?"
"I'm not pissed, I'm tipsy, thank you very much." Hermione's wide smile made Pansy shake her head. "I had wine after dinner, followed by two drinks when Ginny got here, then an entire glass of vodka."
"It had some juice in it."
"A splash!" Hermione's laugh was unnaturally loud.
"Semantics." Ginny shrugged before pouring everyone a shot of Firewhisky—half a shot for Hermione, who complained with a grimace. "You've already mixed enough tonight."
Fair, but she didn't have to like it.
Hermione tossed back her half shot with everyone else and cringed. Yes, that was the end of her drinking adventure for the night. Parvati and Cho arranged themselves on the two-seater with Ginny taking a seat on her table. Susan, when she arrived not a minute later, summoned the drinks still left on the island and glared hard at Hermione.
"You!"
"Me!" Hermione held up both hands. Or thought she did. But she was confused. "Wait. Me?"
"It's all your fault!"
"What?" Now she was completely lost.
"You're going to need to be very direct with Hermione." Padma patted her leg like one would a small child and whispered loudly, "She's out of it."
"Oi!"
"See what I mean?" The witch thumbed in her direction and grinned cheerfully. "We're drinking our problems away, join us!"
"Right." Susan glared at her. "Well, when you get sober, you'll need to tell me why in the bloody fuck Draco Malfoy is coming to my office Monday." After running a hand through her dark hair, Susan only scowled harder. "I saw his name on my scheduler for a consultation and nearly shat myself."
Parvati's face twisted. "How is that Hermione's—"
"On his sheet, he said she referred him to me!"
After a series of false starts, it all clicked into place.
"Oh. Oh. I did," Hermione said proudly. "For his shoulder injury."
"He's got a what injury?" Parvati squawked. "How did I not—"
"Not many people know about it, soooo…"
"Shut up about it," Pansy interjected before turning to Hermione. "How the fuck did you get him to deal with it? He's been ignoring it for ages."
"I, um…" Hermione blinked several times, drawing a blank. "I poked him?"
"I feel like there's a story there." Ginny tilted her head. "A good one."
Parvati looked too excited, her grin was bordering on hysterical. "There's definitely a story there."
Hermione did what she was best at: diversion.
"Pansy, we stopped the music for you. Why are you drinking so hard?"
"Why are you already pissed?" Pansy volleyed the question back.
With nowhere to pivot, Hermione sighed and divulged the entire dinner debacle, leaving out where she'd sought refuge in the aftermath. That wasn't anyone's business anyway and would open up a can of worms so large she'd never be able to shut it. When she finished, they all drank in solidarity.
Hermione waited until Pansy finished her shots. "And now it's your turn."
"Yes, sharing is caring." Ginny folded her legs. "I—"
"I broke up with Percy."
Everything stopped, partly for the news and partly because it was the first time she'd referred to him by his first name. But then Pansy chugged the rest of her actual drink before looking around, only then noticing that everyone was staring at her.
"What?"
"What happened?" Cho asked sympathetically.
Pansy just glared at her then blinked slowly before gesturing for Ginny to hand her the bottle of Firewhisky. And she did; the expression on Pansy's face didn't look like she was up for any argument.
Ginny didn't look surprised.
She must have already known but wasn't taking sides.
"Nothing. We've been over for a few days."
"And you're just now saying something?" Parvati seemed hurt. "I thought we were friends."
"It's not serious and it never was." Pansy scowled. "It was fun. Now it's over. Simple as that."
Even to Hermione's hazy mind, it certainly didn't sound simple. There was something buried beneath her denials that seemed every bit as complex as the look in her eye.
"I thought you were happy."
It wasn't the wrong thing to say, it was just said by the wrong person: Cho.
"I swear to fucking—"
Hermione covered Pansy's mouth, which earned her a bite on her palm. She glared but didn't remove her hand until Pansy rolled her eyes and conceded.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't." Hermione grinned, but let it slide off her face quickly. "You did seem happy."
"And I was, but Percy's intense. I can tell what he wants and it's more than I'm willing to give."
"Which is?" Padma asked.
"Everything."
"Did you—"
"Talk to him? Don't be absurd?" And with that, Pansy got up and walked into the kitchen, effectively ending that portion of the conversation. They all stared at each other, knowing better than to revive it upon her return.
When she came back with straight vodka, it was an even clearer sign to move on.
And Ginny took it.
"Hermione, I saw you and Malfoy walking around the joke shop together last week. You both seemed…"
"Let me guess your next word." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Close. Ugh, not this again."
"I'm just saying. Why not—"
"Would you like those reasons listed chronologically, alphabetically"—she hiccuped—"or in order of importance?"
Pansy scowled. "Sometimes—"
"Hermione has a point." Cho's defence caught everyone by surprise. "Malfoy's like a brick wall."
"And you know this how?" Pansy narrowed her eyes.
"I know he's closed off."
"You don't know fuck all about Draco." Pansy looked ready to throw her drink and it was a wonder she didn't. "Don't sit here and talk about him like you do."
"You're right, but he appears cold—"
"You don't even know him well enough to say that." Hermione's words caught her by surprise. "No one has the right to put another person in a box, especially when they don't know them."
"I know what I've seen, what I've heard, and—"
"Can you just… not talk about him around me, especially since—" Hermione stopped herself from saying more than intended. The alcohol had certainly loosened her lips. "Since I've gotten to know him better."
Cho looked confused. "But you just said you weren't—"
"I'm just not going to let you judge him when he's not here to defend himself. If you don't want people to make assumptions about you, you shouldn't do it to him."
"Hermione's right," Padma said. "I know what you're dealing with but Malfoy doesn't deserve the judgment."
"Stop talking about him like he's some… some… bloody exotic fish!" Hermione's mood was as hot as the room felt. "Y-you see his world. It looks perfect. He looks exactly like he should." She rubbed her head in an attempt to clear the fog. "Before judging, look at his tank. I guarantee you'll see the bits that aren't right. He doesn't belong there. He… shite. Draco's not a fish."
For several moments, no one said anything.
"That's… deep." Parvati looked astonished while Cho glanced down at her hands.
"It sounds like you've thought about it a lot." Ginny looked over at Pansy and found her similarly shocked.
She had thought about it.
Often.
Without defending herself, Hermione got up and stumbled to the loo upstairs. When she returned, the music was back on, and everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves, but Pansy was gone. Ginny pointed in the direction of the conservatory before Hermione even asked.
But Pansy wasn't there.
Instead, she'd gone outside and was sitting on the swing, drinking Firewhisky straight from the bottle.
Hermione joined her, not knowing what to say to someone so clearly in pain yet too stubborn to admit it. She rested a hand over Pansy's and waited in silence. Blinking at the orbs of light floating over the garden, the world began to swim.
Pansy's fist balled up under her palm.
"This wasn't supposed to happen." Pansy's words floated on the breeze, and when Hermione looked over, she noted a single tear rolling down her friend's cheek. "It's awful. I hate this."
"What?"
"Love."
August 28, 2011
The weather was uncommonly nice.
Despite the clouds in the sky that only allowed the sun to peek through every so often it wasn't going to rain. With flowers in bloom and warm breezes, it was calming to be outside rather than experience it from the comfort of her conservatory.
Hermione let her chickens free, watching as they snapped up insects, beetles, and grubs in two particularly problematic beds. She left them to it, confined there by magic—not that they noticed.
They were having plenty of fun.
It wouldn't be enough to eliminate the problem, but it would help, and the chickens deserved a little freedom while she worked to clear and fertilise a different bed in preparation for winter planting.
To make a real difference in her garden, she would need at least ten more chickens.
The idea alone was daunting.
Still, Hermione turned it over in her head as she snuck glances at her busy workers while they pecked at the dirt. It was hard to imagine having the capacity for new chickens.
Neville would have to expand the coop, which would also require different warding.
Time. Patience. Energy. All of those things were in short supply.
But there was a quiet part of Hermione's mind that fawned over the idea of Scorpius holding a fluffy chick in his small hands. Naming it. Petting it. Caring for it. Showing it to Albus, eyes sparkling with excitement and pride.
Something all his own.
Something he could watch grow and change.
An image Hermione couldn't quickly forget. She tabled the idea for later consideration.
It was easy to notice when they were full because they started to go after the plants, pecking the leaves just because they could—chaotic little troublemakers—so she corralled them all back into their coop to play until they got tired.
Hermione continued on, clearing the flowerbed, testing the quality of the soil, and trying to figure out what sort of fertilising it would need. She then turned to watering the roses, absently making sure to clean the blooms of dirt.
They looked better for it.
Taking the harvested fruits and vegetables into the house, she made herself lunch on a break before she finished clearing out the second bed. Nothing heavy. Just a sandwich that she ate out in the pasture, stretched out on a blanket with a book she'd been meaning to read. After finishing her meal, she planned to waste the hour away with her book, but the atmosphere decided otherwise. The warm breeze lulled her senses and…
Hermione woke up dazed. Laying on her side with her head resting on her arm, she noticed the book beside her.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed until she glanced at her watch.
More than an hour.
After sitting up and stretching, she rolled her shoulders and turned her head from side to side to ease away the stiffness that came with sleep. She was about to pack up when she felt the tingle of her wards.
She had a guest.
And it wasn't one Hermione had expected.
Narcissa.
Her patient had finally been released from the hospital that morning.
She was accompanied by Scorpius, which Hermione learned when she found them sitting together on the sofa in her living room. Narcissa looked slightly off; it piqued her curiosity because moments like that had increased since her incident.
Scorpius waved, and Hermione responded in kind.
But then he signed, and she dropped everything.
Help. Wrong.
"Narcissa?" The witch turned slowly to the sound of Hermione's voice. "How are you doing?"
"Just fine." She stood up. "Be a dear and watch Draco for me."
She sauntered off in the direction of the conservatory, leaving her and Scorpius exchanging looks.
It took a few questions, signed responses, and headshakes to learn that her behaviour had changed as soon as she sat down. Scorpius took Hermione's offered hand and she led the way to the conservatory where Narcissa was not.
Hermione nearly dropped his hand in panic, but tried to remain calm, quickly spotting Narcissa walking in the pasture.
This was a dilemma.
She didn't want to leave Scorpius alone, but she didn't know if she should bring him with her to chase after his grandmother either. She thought about calling for Draco, but remembered he was at a restoration meeting. She Floo called Andromeda, but she needed a few minutes to finish what she was doing before she was able to leave. Which left Catherine, who arrived not a minute after the green flames ceased.
"Everything okay? Narcissa said she was coming here and Scorpius wanted to see you."
"I need you to watch him." Hermione summoned a book of Al's, propped Scorpius on the swing, and gestured for Catherine to join him. "I'll be right back."
Scorpius nodded, his face serious as he turned the first page.
Narcissa hadn't gone far.
It was probably the most casual Hermione had ever seen her, sitting at the centre of her blanket out in the pasture. Legs folded, gaze somewhere off in the distance, she looked… helpless. When Hermione sat down, there was sadness in the very breath Narcissa exhaled.
"I don't remember coming here."
"You're safe." Hermione touched her shoulder and watched as the witch's eyes lifted to the blue skies. "Scorpius is safe, too. Everything is fine."
"No. Everything is not fine." Narcissa's voice was barely louder than the rustle of the trees. "It's going to keep happening. I'm going to keep leaving and leaving until I don't come back one day. I'm going to keep forgetting and waking up in places not knowing how I got there. There is no end to this beyond…"
For once, Hermione didn't know what to say.
The cold truth was yes, she was right, but it didn't seem appropriate to respond with logic.
Only emotion.
But Narcissa beat her to it by resting her head on her shoulder in a move that shocked Hermione still.
They simply… sat. Just like that.
Occasionally Hermione shot squinting glances over her shoulder to where she could barely make out Scorpius obediently looking down at the book in his lap.
They sat.
Hermione's arm curled around her, holding her in place, tethering her to reality.
They sat.
Listening to the sounds of birds, of nature, of life itself, the seconds rolled by.
They sat until Narcissa finally spoke.
"It's Lucius' birthday." She fiddled with the ring around her neck. "I miss him everyday, but on hard days like today, I miss him the most."
"What do you miss most about him?"
While Hermione didn't know Lucius Malfoy outside of what she'd experienced and read about, he had been an important part of Narcissa's life… and her memories.
Memories that she was losing.
It probably felt like losing him all over again.
More than once.
Every incident.
Every day.
"I miss his voice. His smile. How he smelled and laughed. His presence." Narcissa fell silent. "Silly, I know."
"No, it's not. It's how you feel and no one can tell you how to grieve."
"On days like this…" She lowered her head and took a deep breath. "I think of Scorpius and understand why you have been fighting so hard for him. I think of Draco and understand why he has been so angry at me."
"Your son carries a lot of weight on his shoulders."
"I have done him no favours." Narcissa never stopped touching the ring around her neck. "On some level, I have known all along. I have just been too stubborn to see."
"Now that you understand better, you can do better."
"Draco has been… more amenable since my accident. He speaks to me now, and not just to be polite. He's trying. As am I."
Hermione looked over her shoulder as she listened, feeling the wards tingle with a new arrival.
Andromeda.
Scorpius remained on the swing but he was no longer looking down, just straight ahead.
"Do you want to come back into the house?"
"No." Narcissa's voice was still distant. "I would like to sit here and remember while I can."
Hermione let her do just that, swapping places with Andromeda, who sat next to her sister and held her. The contrast between them, right down to their hair colours, was startling against the green of the pasture surrounding them.
Scorpius didn't ease off the swing until she was standing directly in front of him and nodding for Catherine to return to the house. He peered out in the pasture where his grandmother sat with Andromeda before turning worried eyes to her.
"She's sad, but she's okay."
It was the best explanation Hermione could give.
Scorpius placed the book on the swing and led the way to the greenhouse, waiting patiently by the door for her to open it. Hermione followed the little boy who had a specific destination in mind.
The tangerine tree.
It was full of ripened fruit and Hermione summoned a few after a long look. Not knowing what he had in mind, she followed him back outside. His next stop became clearer the closer they got to the Black sisters, and Hermione hung back as he approached them on his own.
Standing at attention, he offered the fruit to his grandmother.
The tangerine looked as ripe as his nerves, but he didn't run.
Narcissa didn't move to accept it, but she wore a soft smile Hermione had never seen directed at Scorpius before.
She glanced at Hermione, who prompted her with a nod.
She could do this.
After another painfully awkward moment, Hermione almost abandoned her plan to not step in when Narcissa—in probably the least graceful move she'd ever made—beckoned him closer. Stiffly, Scorpius obeyed. Andromeda said something Scorpius didn't react to because he was staring at his grandmother. But when she brushed the hair from his forehead, he didn't flinch or move away, he just blinked at her in bewilderment.
It was such a change from how she normally handled him.
And change always got his attention.
Narcissa's following words seemed as soft as her expression and his reaction confirmed it. Scorpius physically relaxed. Loosened his stance. Took a tiny, awkward step forward. Narcissa seemed to jolt, fumbling while peeling the fruit—from her illness or her nerves, Hermione couldn't tell.
Intently focused, he watched each of Narcissa's actions eagerly. Scorpius was slow to accept the offered tangerine slice, but he did so with a cautious smile, and only after dusting his little hands on his trousers—something he never would have done, much less in front of his grandmother, when Hermione had first met him.
His dimpled smile was hesitant yet present, and Narcissa returned one equally so.
They bit down at the same time.
It was a stunning sight.
Thought-provoking and evocative.
And when Scorpius backed away, scrambling back towards Hermione, Narcissa and Andromeda exchanged looks then smiles. Hermione barely had time to squat before he walked into her embrace, tucking his head into the crook of her neck, and letting go of the nerves he'd had all along. Narcissa and Andromeda looked over, catching her as she placed a hand on the back of his head.
"You did so well, love."
Scorpius lifted up, still flushed but smiling. He looked so proud of himself.
"Ready?"
He nodded.
Scorpius wanted to help in the garden, but he certainly wasn't dressed for it.
A quick trip into the house and she found Al's clothes for him to wear. Not long after, he was ready to work. With gloves of his own on, Scorpius followed Hermione, holding the empty wicker basket that was almost as big as him. She had picked from the plants outside, now it was time for the ones in the greenhouse.
When she opened the greenhouse door for Scorpius, he only made it a few steps inside before he sat the basket down and tilted his head up. Now that he wasn't on a mission, Hermione found herself trailing after him as he freely explored every corner—plants, flowers, and herbs—touching nothing, but looking around at everything that had grown since his last visit.
Hermione peeled off his gloves.
"Follow me."
And he did, looking up at her more than the plants, which she only knew because she was looking back at him. She led him to the corner where the fruit she'd grown was plentiful and he pointed at the strawberry bushes, signing for permission to touch.
"Of course." Hermione spoke and signed her permission at the same time. "I'll show you. Look for the bright red berries."
Scorpius found one, and while there were many surrounding it, it was the first one he saw, the first one he cupped in his hand.
Always so careful. So gentle. So respectful.
"Is this the one?"
He nodded with a small smile.
She picked a strawberry next to it to show him how.
"Watch me, okay?"
He shuffled just a bit closer.
"Grab the stem right here between your finger and thumb." She reached over and wiggled both which made him laugh. "Then pull and twist at the same time. Like this."
Hermione did just that and the berry rolled into the palm of her hand. Scorpius' actions weren't quite as smooth but he was still successful. The smile he gave her was bright. Warm.
Using her wand, Hermione rinsed off both strawberries and encouraged him to try, watching as Scorpius bit into the fruit. His eyes lit up at the sweetness before she bit into her own.
From there, they tried the grapes and she laughed at the scrunched face he made when he tasted a fresh lemon. They picked more tangerines for him to take home, and Hermione went back and picked a few extra things to make for him at later points in the week.
The basket was halfway full before Hermione insisted on carrying it, and though he handed it over, Scorpius kept his hand on the handle.
Helping.
The arka plant was close to needing to be repotted; the once stubborn dittany was beginning to flourish, just like the boy at her side.
When they finished in the greenhouse, there were still a few flower beds that needed weeding. She sent Scorpius to water the flowers along the edge of her fence with a watering can that was charmed to refill each time it emptied. Hermione snuck glances at Scorpius while she worked, watching as he stopped in front of each plant, stooped to its level, and touched the petals of each flower before watering it.
Shaking her head, she continued cleaning out the soil while planning something to make for dinner.
With Narcissa and Andromeda still on the blanket, there was no telling how long they would be there. Perhaps, if they stayed, they would dine around sunset and remain long enough for Scorpius to see the stars. Maybe they would all look. It was going to be a clear night. A perfect one for Draco to join them.
To be present.
A whisper on the wind caught her attention, and she turned to where Scorpius had moved on and was standing in front of the camellia that was barely taller than him. He craned his neck in an attempt to see over the plant.
But he couldn't.
Hermione watched as he sat down the watering can and touched a flower.
Just like he'd done before.
Hermione moved on, but another sound drew her from her task again.
A voice.
Hermione slowly approached Scorpius, but he was too focused on the task of touching each flower with careful fingers before doing the same to the next.
Almost as if he were greeting them.
And then she heard it again.
Soft and barely audible. Hoarse from lack of use but definitely his voice.
She felt a rush of realisation and excitement, torn between approaching and retreating, but jolted when he picked up his watering can and moved along to the tulips, watering them and greeting each colourful flower with kindness and respect.
Hermione stepped closer, focus zeroed in on the little boy who seemed to be in his own world. Her heart beat faster than a hummingbird's wings.
Like most five-year-olds, he veered off task, catching sight of the roses on the other side of the vegetable patch. Off he went with the watering can in tow. From where he stood, Scorpius' back was to her completely. He sat the canister down, stooped low, and started from the bottom, touching the blooms and speaking one word to each.
A word he had previously signed.
Their first word.
Over and over, he spoke to the plants.
Hermione approached him from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. It startled him a bit and he turned to her, eyes following each movement as she kneeled next to him. He returned her small smile before touching another bloom and leaning in to whisper a small greeting.
Her hand trembled on his shoulder.
"Are you saying hello to the—"
Scorpius looked at her and only her, eyes bright and as blue as the sky.
The only sign of his nerves was the hand that slipped into hers.
Communication came in many forms.
Sight, touch, and sound. And each form had taught Hermione its power.
They started from looks and understanding and moved to signing with their hands. It was a journey of patience, hope, and love.
Hermione found herself overwhelmed to the point of tears when Scorpius stepped closer.
His face was brave and earnest as he finally spoke a single word.
"Hi."
The finest language is mostly made up of simple words.
George Elliot
Disclaimers still apply.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Thanks for all the love! I am going to be out of commission during the next update to see family I haven't seen since the beginning of the pandemic.
The next update will be 7/30.