Bittersweet and Strange
"It's been almost eighteen hours, Neville. Hermione should be back by now!"
"And even if she isn't back, she should have sent us a message to let us know she's all right!"
"I told her it was crazy to go off by herself. It's been years since she's been on a solo mission!"
"That doesn't mean she isn't capable!"
"I didn't say she wasn't capable!"
"Neville, what are we going to do?"
"Yeah, you said we would protect her at all costs. Well, she's missing. Now what?"
Neville sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily for what seemed like the hundredth time. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, but then neither had any of the Order. It was now seven o'clock in the morning, eighteen hours since Hermione had left the Fortress to track down Dennis Creevey. She should have sent a Patronus yesterday, Neville thought, but they had received no word since Hermione had left.
Neville opened his eyes again. "Listen, I know what you're all going through; I'm having the same experience. You're right, Seamus. Hermione should be back, and like Dean said, she should have sent us a message to let us know what's going on. I know it was part of what we agreed on, but we have to remember that Hermione is in the middle of enemy territory. There's no telling what kinds of wards are up or what situations she's run into that might be inhibiting her from contacting us. That doesn't necessarily mean she's in trouble; just that she's in a tricky spot. Whatever it is, Hermione is a bright, intelligent woman. We've all witnessed that firsthand. She has gotten out of a lot of situations most of us would have died in. I doubt she would let herself get captured, but if she did, she's smart enough to lay low until we come for her."
"And when will that be?" Oliver demanded. "If she's been captured, we may have a very small timeframe to work with."
"I realize that," Neville conceded. "But keep this in mind, too – if she hasn't been captured and we come storming in to rescue her, that would blow her cover and possibly endanger both hers and Dennis' lives."
Lee nodded in agreement. "And it would alert the Death Eaters to our presence."
George looked at Neville with frustration. "Neville, I know what you're saying. Hermione is competent and probably not in danger. But if she is in trouble and we don't come for her, it's only a matter of time before she's recognized and killed immediately. It's like Oliver said: we don't have much time to play with. Even if it endangers the mission, Hermione comes first."
Neville nodded, but Angelina spoke before he could. "Don't forget that trick she pulled last week," she reminded everyone. "She wasn't supposed to leave without telling anyone. It could be that she just decided not to tell us what's going on so she can follow a lead of her own idea."
Neville frowned. "Angelina, I don't think Hermione would do that."
"But what if she did?" Cho chimed in. "Then all this worrying would be for nothing."
"No, it wouldn't," Luna said. "She's still our friend. We have a right to worry about her whether she's in trouble or not."
Angelina broke in. "Still, we'd look pretty foolish making a daring rescue for her if she's just hanging around the slave pavilion or shopping for books."
"Don't say that!" George exclaimed. "Hermione is a friend to everyone here, and she would never say things like this about any of you! She went for one purpose – to rescue Dennis Creevey – and if I know Hermione, she won't stop until she has found him and can bring him back. Something must have prevented her from speaking. She would never just abandon orders to chase her own lead."
"She did it last Friday," Angelina grumbled.
"All right, all right," Neville said. "Everyone just calm down. This is not a debate. We're just concerned about our friend and need to figure out a solution." He sighed. "How about this? We'll give her until tonight at dark. If she's not back by then or she hasn't sent word, we'll form covert groups to spread out and look for her. We can't risk rushing in to save her and her not even being there. We need to do this quietly. It's a lot like the Katie Bell situation; we can't afford to lose her on account of our desperation."
The room was silent for a moment, but everyone slowly began to agree with Neville's plan. "But what if tonight is too late?" Nigel asked.
"We just have to pray it isn't," Neville replied grimly.
It was no use. It was just no use at all.
Hermione let out a frustrated breath as she stepped back from the single window of what was probably supposed to have been a conservatory. It was one of the only windows she hadn't yet tried, and it, too, was firmly blocked by the enchanted thorn vines. The fire poker she had been using to try to pry the vines apart was now completely bent out of shape, and her hands were scratched and bloody from the sharp thorns.
Most of Hermione's first night in Draco's manor was spent futilely attempting to escape through her bedroom window, but she had been thoroughly discouraged. Since she had risen and begun prowling around the house, she had gone into most every room to try the windows, to no avail. She knew full well that she was magically bound to the house by Draco's curse and her enslavement to him, but it still would have been nice to make some progress.
She hadn't seen Draco at all since the night before. She briefly wondered if he was spying on her, but she immediately dismissed the thought. He had no magic, and she would be able to see him if he were standing in the room with her. She didn't even know where he was; for all she knew, he was on top of the roof.
Hermione collapsed in a nearby armchair. She was frustrated, but she wasn't even close to being ready to give up. Though the problem was certainly a tricky one, she knew the Order would be coming for her soon, and she intended to at least have a list of ideas for escape when they found her. They all had their wands; surely they could reverse the binding charm.
Hermione stood and stretched her sore arms, only then realizing that it was nearing noon and she had not yet eaten. She wasn't sure where the kitchen was, but she suspected it was on the first floor. As she walked down the third floor hallway, she peeked into the rooms she passed. Draco was not in any of them that she could see. She didn't have a problem with that; she wanted to avoid him as much as possible.
As she was working on the stubborn vines the night before, Hermione had given a lot of thought to Draco's reaction to her. He had seemed almost relieved after Narcissa left – even somewhat shy and awkward. She supposed it was a result of being shut up in a house and completely isolated from humanity. At least she couldn't hold his abnormalities against him.
Still, she couldn't help but suspect he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, then snap the trap shut and turn her over to Voldemort – or even kill her himself. She wasn't sure why he would go to all that trouble – besides, he had seemed genuine enough – but years of fighting for her life had made Hermione wary of wolves in sheep's clothing. One evening of politeness wasn't nearly enough to cancel out twenty-odd years of being a vicious Death Eater.
Hermione wandered through the dining room and found that the kitchen was only a short distance away. Casting a quick glance around to make sure Draco wasn't around, she opened one of the cabinets and, seeing some bread, meat, and cheese, decided to make herself a sandwich. She stayed silent as she worked, smiling to herself as she realized that she was living like a muggle again. It was somewhat comforting; though she strongly wished that she had her wand, it was still nice to do something simple and productive without the aid of magic.
She had just sat down at the kitchen table with her sandwich and a glass of water when Draco suddenly walked into the room. Hermione reflexively leaped to her feet, then awkwardly looked at the tabletop when she realized how unusual her actions must have seemed. Draco glanced at her briefly but didn't acknowledge her further. Instead, he strode toward the cabinets and began rummaging through the shelves before pulling out a small vial of green potion. He downed it in one gulp, tossing the vial aside and letting it hit the opposite wall. Hermione jumped slightly as the vial hit the floor, cracking but not shattering.
Draco leaned against the counter for a moment, breathing heavily, but he finally turned around and nodded to Hermione. When he didn't speak, she said, "Morning, Malfoy."
He swallowed, raising a hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. "Granger."
She tried again. "Um… is everything okay?"
"It's fine," Draco replied stiffly, sounding pained.
Hermione only nodded, looking down at her still-untouched sandwich. "Is it your scars?" she asked quietly.
Draco cocked his head to the side. "How did you know that?"
"Well," Hermione shrugged, "I remember how Harry's scar would hurt from time to time. I just thought maybe you had the same problem." He didn't reply, and she continued. "If so, I'm sure yours are worse than Harry's, since they… uh…" She remembered Narcissa's strict order not to talk about his scars, but she had slipped up.
Draco lowered his eyebrows. "Since they make me look like a candidate for a freak show, right?"
"I wasn't going to say that."
He shook his head. "Well, if you must know, yes, it's my scars. They hurt a great deal sometimes, and when they do, it makes me irritable. So irritable I want to break something. So please do me a favor and don't talk when I'm like this. Don't come near me; don't– don't even look at me!"
Hermione nodded, but Draco didn't see. He was already striding for the door. "Um… is there anything I can do?" she called after him.
"No!" he shouted back. "I said don't do anything! Just eat your sandwich and find something to do! Just get away from me!" He turned and stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Hermione looked down at her place. Suddenly she wasn't very hungry.
Hermione scrubbed furiously at the stubborn stain on the sitting room wall's corner. She had been scrubbing for hours, but she was too angry and persistent to give up without getting that one black stain that marred the otherwise gray stone. She could feel the rag starting to fray from her vicious rubbing, but she honestly couldn't bring herself to care.
After swallowing a few bites of her sandwich, Hermione had taken Draco's advice and found something to do. It had given her plenty of time to stew over his harsh words and work herself into a thunderous fury. Finding some cleaning materials in a hall closet, she had done what she supposed was the last thing Draco would expect: she had decided to clean the house from top to bottom.
After all, wasn't that one of the things a slave was supposed to do? Clean the house? Besides, it gave Hermione a chance to prove to Draco that she wasn't going to let him bully her into submission; if he was as honest and easygoing as he was trying to convince her he was, then he would feel bad about his roughness and apologize. And after hours of brewing over her fury, she was more than ready to hear Draco Malfoy apologize.
It was taking a lot longer than she had thought it would. Hermione was a perfectionist, and it had taken her two hours to get the entry hall to look how she wanted it to look. The other two and a half hours had been spent attacking the stained walls of the sitting room. That one giant black stain was really starting to bug Hermione. She had paid special attention to it after realizing it reminded her of Draco.
She stopped short as her fingernails scraped the stone wall. She had finally worn through the rag. Having gone through four of them already, Hermione decided to make the trip to the second-floor hall closet and get more rags. She hadn't realized she would run through them so fast.
Making her way up the staircase as quietly as possible, she realized that she had no idea where Draco was. She wondered if he would even care that she had been cleaning just to spite him, given his earlier reaction. It might even enrage him further, and Hermione was sure she didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. Still, it had given her something to do all afternoon, even if it didn't take her mind off her troubles.
Hermione reached the second floor and padded down the hallway, keeping an eye out for Draco. All the doors of the hallway looked exactly alike, and when closed it was impossible to remember which one was which. Hermione reached out for the door handle of what she thought she remembered as the closet, but to her surprise, it was locked.
That's strange, she thought. She had been positive that all the doors in the manor were consistently unlocked. She suddenly pulled back when she realized that Draco was probably inside the locked room. A muffled shuffling behind the door made her pull back quickly and dash for one of the unlocked doors. She pressed herself to the wall of the closet she had originally been looking for and hoped Draco wouldn't look for her. Trying not to flinch, she heard a key turn in the lock and the first door swing open. There was silence, and then Draco shuffled back into the room, closed the door, and locked it.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been discovered. Grabbing a few more rags from a top shelf, she flew out of the closet and down to the first floor as quickly as she could.
After making herself a quick dinner, Hermione had made short work of the sitting room and was working on another large, empty room, which Hermione guessed was where the house-elves would have lived. She shuddered a little at the thought. Hermione had been devastated to learn that most of the house-elves in the Wizarding World had been killed for sport by the Death Eaters, but at this point, she was just glad that they didn't have to be around to suffer Voldemort's wrath anymore.
It was nearing eight o'clock in the evening when Hermione finished the house-elf room and moved on to what used to be a ballroom, or at least Hermione assumed that was what it had been. It was the largest room she had seen yet on the first floor, but she guessed that it was one of the largest in the household. Taking in the sheer size of the room, Hermione decided to tackle the ballroom the next day.
She leaned backwards, stretching out her tired muscles. Spiting Draco was going to leave her sore and irritable the next day, and Hermione wasn't looking forward to it. At least she would be able to match Draco in his disagreeable mood.
Hermione picked up her basket of cleaning items and moved to the next room, the kitchen. She had already decided that it would be her last room before going to bed. The sky was going dark, extinguishing the tiny shafts of light that peered through the vine-wrapped windows. She set to work, polishing the tabletop and counters until they shone. She had just started taking everything out of the cupboards to dust the shelves when she heard a noise coming from the dining room. She frowned. How had Draco gotten in there without her noticing?
Hermione quietly made her way to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting at the long oak table. A nearly-empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat in front of him, as well as an smaller, completely empty bottle and a shot glass. Judging by the bottles' contents and the dazed look on his face, Hermione surmised that he had probably been drinking for hours. He had his head resting on his forearms, obviously trying to forget the pain from his scars.
Hermione suddenly remembered Narcissa's words to her. He tends to drown his sorrows in alcohol, much like his father did, and it makes him unbearable. Hermione wondered if she should take the bottles while he wasn't looking, but she didn't have time to make up her mind. Draco jerked his head up from the table, giving her a withering glare.
"Granger," he spat.
"Malfoy," she replied evenly. "What do you think you're doing?"
Draco's eyes rolled shut for a moment before he shook his head and opened them again. "My head hurts," he slurred. He looked ready to fall out of his chair.
"I see," Hermione said. "Do you want some water?"
Draco growled at her, and she took a step back. "No. Firewhiskey. In the cubberd…"
Hermione frowned. The last thing he needed was more alcohol. "Malfoy, I don't think that's a good idea. Why don't I –"
"Why don't you do as I said?!" he roared, surprising Hermione by leaping to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. "If you could feel this pain, you'd want Firewhiskey, too!" His surge of strength ended, and he collapsed into his chair. However, the chair was tipped over on the floor, and Draco went sprawling over it. Hermione might have laughed at him in another situation, but he was too angry and drunk to put up with being made fun of.
Hermione didn't move. "Malfoy, let me –"
Suddenly, Draco was on his feet again, leaning against the table. He yanked his shot glass up and drank the alcohol that was left. He then threw the glass over his shoulder and let it shatter on the stone floor, turning up the Firewhiskey bottle and draining it dry. Hermione stood still, watching him carefully. He dropped the bottle and didn't move for a moment, letting the alcohol work its way through his blood. Then he turned his head to look at her, noticing her stare.
"What are you looking at, Granger?" he said, his words running together. "Am I that bad?"
Hermione didn't know how to respond. "Malfoy… you're drunk. Just go to bed before you hurt yourself."
"I've been drunk before. I know how to handle it. And I intend to get as drunk as possible before the night is over."
Hermione sighed. "Then go right ahead. I'm not going to help."
Draco sneered at her. "All you Mudbloods are alike. Dim-witted, selfish, worthless trash. I wish you were all dead. I wish I was dead. I wish the whole world was dead!"
Hermione raised her chin. Drunk or not, the words still stung, and Hermione could feel anger bubbling up inside her. "Don't talk to me like that, Malfoy," she warned softly.
"Why not?" he demanded, taking a step closer to her. She backed up, inching toward the kitchen. "You're mine, aren't you? You're mine. I own you."
Hermione set her jaw. "I'm not yours, Malfoy. It may say I am on a piece of paper, but I don't belong to you. I could never belong to anyone as nasty and hateful as you. You're a vile, repulsive, bigoted, selfish, arrogant… drunk animal!" Hermione knew she would later regret being so harsh, but she was angry and had had a whole day of mulling it over to fuel her passion. "The only reason I'm here is because your mother dragged me here. She brought me here! She bound me here! If I could leave, I would do it without a moment's hesitation. You disgust me, Malfoy, and I wouldn't mind if I never had to see your ugly face again!"
Hermione knew the face comment was what pushed him past the limit. She hadn't been referring to his scars – it was just an insult that had come to mind – but she had no doubt that Draco was thinking about his scarred face. He let go of the table he had been leaning against and started slowly stalking toward her. "You think I'm ugly, do you? You think I look like a monster?"
"Malfoy, I –"
"Shut up!" he shouted. "Do you want to see, Granger? You want to see my scars? They're even worse up close. You want to see?"
Hermione had backed into the wall behind her, but she wasn't about to be trapped by Draco. She began sidestepping, moving toward the kitchen entrance.
"Come look, Granger," he taunted. "Come look into the face of the beast."
Hermione whirled around and started running through the kitchen, through the ballroom and the house-elf room to the hallway. With a wand, she was every bit Draco's match, if not more so, but he was physically bigger and stronger than she, and she had no intention of finding out what he would do to her when his mind was clouded with alcohol.
She couldn't hear his footsteps echoing behind her, and she chanced a look back as she ran into the entry hall. It was a mistake. No sooner had she turned her head when she slammed right into Draco. He must have come through the dining room door, she thought.
Draco scowled down at her, his breath washing over her face and nearly making her gag. He didn't give her time to run, just used his alcohol-induced strength to grab her arms and slam her into the inside of the front door. He was far too close, and Hermione fought relentlessly to free herself from him. He didn't move, his iron grip surely leaving bruises on her upper arms.
"Look at me, Granger," Draco said quietly, dangerously. "Tell me what you see."
So Hermione looked. The scars that crisscrossed his face were jagged and deep. They had probably taken years to fully turn white. Standing mere inches away from him, Hermione noticed for the first time that his right eye was clouded with a white scar as well; probably an effect from the scar that slashed through his eyebrow and across his cheek. The skin that wasn't marred by the scar tissue was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shadowed with grief and pain. It was true; he really did resemble a monster. But Hermione could see desperation in his eyes, hurt and loneliness lining his face, and it was those emotions that made him very much human.
"I see a man who was cursed to wear the face of a monster," she said, "but who still has the heart of a man. I don't know what you did to make Voldemort mark you so, but I certainly hope it was worth it."
"You don't know what I did," he whispered. "You could never understand."
Hermione suddenly frowned, looking deep into his eyes. "Why couldn't I?" she asked. "I'm human, too. Everyone does things with the same general motivations. Even Voldemort."
"Don't compare me to him." Draco didn't even sound angry, just exhausted.
"I wasn't. I was comparing you to me." Draco looked down at her with cautious eyes, and Hermione kept going. "I've done terrible things, too; while fighting the War and afterwards. It's been a hard life for everyone. Whatever you did can't be any worse than what the rest of us did. Just with a different motive."
Draco just stared at her, breathing hard as she did the same. His eyes danced over her face, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking about kissing her. He certainly looked wild enough to try it.
Hermione decided not to find out. She reached up and removed his hands from her arms, causing him to step back and give her some breathing room. She gave him one final look of questioning, then dashed up the staircase to her room. She locked the door behind her.
A/N: Thank you again to everyone who is reading my story! I can't even tell you how much it means to me! If I had any money and I knew where you all lived, I'd take you out for ice cream, but I guess I'll just have to send you some imaginary virtual ice cream. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the last two, but hopefully it didn't ruin your day too much ;) Anyway, I'd love to hear your feedback and your thoughts on the story, as well as any ideas you might have for where it's going!
Also, special thanks to my reviewers: 98, Dancing-Souls, Jake Jackson, RosieJones95, and a guest! You guys are awesome! Go ahead and treat yourselves to some sprinkles on top of you virtual ice cream. Thanks again to everyone!