Vonne: Let's get right too it. Before that, though, I just want to let you know that I'm going to try and update as fast as I normally do now. I've just been so busy! I hope you're all still here and reading. :)

Dramione1996: Thanks! I'm so happy that you liked it. I'm sorry it took me a while to update this, but I hope you like this chapter just as much.

Doni: Pansy's always struck me as the type of girl who simply just wants things and once she gets them, she accepts it as it is, just due to the fact that she's accomplished it. And I kind of started the beginning of this chapter to offer you more insight to what really is going on in Lucius' head. :)

Thwarted Moony: HA! I do this to you because I love seeing your reaction. :) Anyways, hopefully you'll like this chapter. I added a lot of Draco/Hermione conversations and I can assure you that the next chapter will be filled with it, too.

Shining Bright Eyes: You may be right! Draco's got a whole bunch on his shoulders!

Jade2099: You don't really ever seem to know with Pansy. She's kind of like a brick wall- very, very hard to read. Anyways, there will be some insight as to what Pansy is thinking sooner or later. HA... Draco is kind of a puss, but in a cute way. Perhaps this time he'll be a little more fun loving. ;)

Isabella120: Oh, good. I'm glad that you liked the last chapter and the memory. I have more memories coming up that I've planned. :)

Chapter Eighteen:
Rooftops

Delirious and a bit too numb for his own personal good, Draco Malfoy was beginning to not be able to feel anything below his knees.

He'd been sitting on them for quite some time now, having packed and repacked his household stuff by hand. At first he'd thought himself absolutely mad to have ditched the help of his wand, though there was something time consuming about hand-packing his belongings that he found he very much like. He appreciated having to dig through the depths of his large closet, prying each and every one of his expensive clothes from their hangers and tossing them like useless fabric into each cases' container. He didn't truly know why he'd had all of these clothes, anyway. At one point he'd fancied all the pretty and polished shoes, but that was some time ago. Now he couldn't even remember the last time he'd entered the closet with the intent of coming out looking good.

As he thrust each of his unnecessary belongings into the suitcases he couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed of himself. Was this all he had to live for? To show that he'd been there? These articles of clothing? These shiny shoes and these expensive ties-- was that everything? These clothes and his reputation of being a Death Eater? Each time he pressed down on the pile of clothes, each time a tiny drop of sweat trickled from his forehead, he regretted the mark he'd made.

No, he hadn't only made it; he'd carved it, carved it into the cold, hard earth. With an ice pick he'd chipped away at the tree trunk that was the world he'd lived in. He'd made the tree sap pour out from its wooden walls, made it bleed...

But that was all going to change. Because Draco Malfoy was going to get married and make his family happy. He could pick back up the clustered wreckage that was his life. He would make it right. Some way, some how, everything would be right again. Maybe the world wouldn't love him, maybe society wouldn't fully heal. But in due time, his own personal time would come. There would be that moment... that moment of pure redemption that could wipe away all the pain and the hurt and the darkness that he, himself, had caused. And maybe he couldn't completely erase the mark he'd made, but he'd be damned if he couldn't well try.

With a tired huff, he slammed the closet door shut, it's contents now completely empty. Then he started for his dresser, and pulled the drawer open with a much more gentle apprehension. His pale fingers, much like that of a musician's, tugged lightly on the little knob and watched as the view of all his shirts shown before him. It felt strange standing on his feet again, off of his now throbbing legs. This was it; he was moving out, going off to live with Pansy. And then, after that, he was going to get married. For better and for worse, in sickness and in health, he would be married and committed and content and satisfied and... and...

"Draco."

Malfoy spun around, knocking his elbow against the open drawer, dropping the spare white button up on the floor. His hereditary silver blond hair flopped limply over his sweaty forehead and, quite honestly, he looked around as if he'd just been scared by a specter. But the figure in the doorframe remained still, despite Draco's sudden outburst. He only slightly raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to calm himself. "Father," Draco breathed, touching the space on his chest that just concealed his beating heart, "I wasn't expecting you..."

"Well," Lucius responded, "I guess I am going to have to get used to the notion of actually having to knock before I burst into your new home." He waited for a reaction, but from the smile that slightly graced his face, Malfoy took it as a hint to loosen up. He shook his head, smiling as well, and bent down to pick up the discarded shirt. Once he'd had it in hand, he stood up stright again, wiped away his forehead, and shrugged as if shyly agreeing.

In the side of his vision, Draco watched the pillow cushion that covered the tiny toy radio, prayed that it wouldn't go off on him at the moment. However, he instantly felt stupid for even thinking such a thing could occur. There was no way that the voice would come through to him any time soon- not while she hated him. "I've almost got everything put away," Malfoy voiced, nodding slightly toward his cases. Messily, they were all sprawled out on the floor, and he wished he'd took the time to fold them neatly. His father tilted his head at the mess, looked back inquisitively back at his son, and then nodded, swallowing any urge to suggest he take a bit more care in his work.

Lucius Malfoy was, in all ways, almost the exact image of his son. His fingers were just as long and delicate, despite having held a wand that had caused so much damage. Behind his shadow of white blond hair, his eyes, though cold, were capticating and a bit mysterious. He was handsome, despite being almost impossible to approach, and when he spoke, he spoke with a slyness that was almost absolutely unmistakable. "I don't think," Lucius started in a voice that wasn't so enthralling. Instead he sounded a bit embarrassed, uneasy, and timid. His posute, however, was straight and reassurring, the statue of a proper public speaker. And, despite everything, the quiver in his voice was almost forgettable; if Draco didn't know him so well, he would have completely missed it. "I don't think I ever... thought I'd see the day you moved out."

Malfoy's shoulders fell and he shifted slightly. He tried to mimic the stance of his father, a man he never really wanted to be, but at the same time desired to be more than anything. He wanted that business man exterior- to be able to put on a strong exterior at the blink of an eye. And Lucius, Lucius was so perfect at that. He never showed anything but prestine perfection. And he was, in his own more socially acceptable way, a liar as well.

Malfoy faked a smile. "I'm growing up, father," he said sheepishly, with a fuax enthuasim of pride. "It had to happen sooner of later."

"I think you've been grown up for quite some time, actually," Lucius responded. Compliments did not work well for him, though as he said his comment to his son, he seemed truly genuine in his statement. Draco flushed slightly, not quite entirely comfortable in his place currently. But Lucius caught on, saying again with a little more determination, "I don't just say things when I don't mean them. Not to my family."

"I know," Draco answered, "thank you."

A temporary silence passed between the two of them. The moment in general was a bit strange and out of the ordinary. Not that Draco hadn't considered his father as a caring individual, but the way in which he talked to his son... there was something about it that was completely coated in suspicion. Even te way in which he stood, stiff and professional, he seemed tense in his utter apprehension. His gray eyes watched Draco only, saw nothing else in the room, and his hands seemed tight and intent on the top of his walking stick. "Just answer me this," Lucius started, locking eyes with his one and only son. "Can you answer one question for me? In complete honesty?"

Draco nodded, feeling the instant jitters creep up his sore spine. "Yes," he only half-lied, because he'd been left truly hanging.

"Why are you doing this?" Lucius' eyes burned into his son's, so curious and determined at the same time. "If this is what you want, I'm happy-- I'm thrilled. But if this isn't what you want, Draco... are you doing this for your mother? For your mother's sake? Or because of---"

"No," Draco coughed, slightly lunging foreward. His movement drew his father back, and he looked slightly appaled at Draco's outburst. Noting this, Draco slunk back, feeling a bit heated, and whispered timidly, "sorry." Then he dropped his nice shirt into the suitcase, turned back around to his drawers, and said to his father with his back turned, "don't worry about me, father. This is what I want... it is what I've always wanted."

"And you're in love with Pansy?"

Draco froze slightly, his hands still feeling around the drawer to make it look like he was looking for something. However, he stopped, finally able to catch his breath, and pulled out another shirt, this time wasting the time to fold it. "Yeah," Draco said again, a large lump in the depth of his throat, "yeah, I love her."

"Is that a promise?"

Nodding, Malfoy looked down at the drawer, tried to ignore the fact that his father was trying to look at him through the reflection of the mirror. "It's a promise," he lied, wishing that his father would leave and let him pack.

But Lucius Malfoy was hesitant. His voice stern and strong, he asked again, "do I have your word?"

"Yes," Malfoy once again lied. Then, he turned around, made sure that he looked slightly composed, and managed to look directly into his father's cold eyes, "you have my word."

Outside the light rain hit the top of the large house, making tiny echoing sounds of weightless drops. It had been a whole week since Pansy had had dinner over at the Manor with his parents. Malfoy hadn't gotten her a ring, hadn't talked much to his now fiance about their further arrangements. Thei engagement was, however, set and on Pansy's mind continuiously. Draco had heard that she'd been out in public more often, shopping for silverware and porcelain. More and more he began to think of Pansy in her white wedding dress, more and more he started to think of her walking towards him as she grazed down the isle.

And what about Goyle? Goyle had no idea of any of this. Surely he'd be just as happy about the whole thing as everyone else seemed to be. In the back of his mind Draco could just picture Goyle's sheer excitement, could see him patting him supportively on the back, smiling and saying proudly, "see! I knew you could do it! I knew you could start to turn your life around if you just tried!"

But now was now, and now meant that he had his bags to pack. He was never going to sleep in this bedroom again, and perhaps that was more a good thing than a bad thing. He didn't like the house anyway, not after everything that had happened behind its walls. He'd spent hours in his bedroom in tears, with his back pitched against the closet wall. He'd scratched tiny tally marks into the walls, marking the numer of days he'd stayed up there without coming out. He was surprised that the building had held up for that long, anyway. With all the damage that had been done, there would always be more haunting reminders.

"Okay," Lucius finally breathed, "well, congradulations, Draco. I... I'm really proud of you."

Malfoy couldn't manage to turn himself around. Instead he bent lower, pulled open the drawer closest to the floor, and said back, "thanks, dad." And then, much to his appreciation, he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the retreating footsteps of his father, finally leaving his son to be.

So, he'd done it. Sunk so lie as to completely and utterly lie to his father. But Lucius Malfoy hadn't caught on, and the victorious celebration instantly began to outshine the pity. A legitamate smile took over his pale face and, through the dripping sweat, he focused on completely destroying the remainder of what was left in the drawer itself. In fact, he took up to having a bit too much fun with it, tossing each article into the suitcase one by one.

And then the little radio gave a static noise from underneath his bed, thus breaking Malfoy's uncharastically bouncy stride. He almost flopped completely over his own two feet, saving himself only by grabbing the open drawer, which slipped out of the dresser completely and hit the floor ontop of his mountain of clothing. The shirts inside the wooden drawer flopped up, sprawling out inside the drawer, just about finishing up Draco's messy packing job conclusively.

Glancing upwards, Draco Malfoy scanned the rubbish that had become of his room. Panting, he wiggled away from the dresser, stumbled over the lumps of his clothes, and limped, aching, towards his bed. With curious fingers he lifted the bed pillow, stared down at the yelling radio, and said into the speakers, "now is not really a good time."

"Oh, it isn't?" The voice said, thus putting and end to the static. From the tone of her harsh voice, she'd made it obvious that she wasn't in the mood to play nice. In fact, he'd gotten the most powerful notion that she was still mad at him for his past life. Though their last conversation had left her rather speachless, she seemed to have fonud her voice at last. Yes, she seemed to have found her most stern and cold parts of her missing tone. "Well, enlighten me, then. When is it a good time?"

Malfoy sighed, running a hand over his pale face, "no," he meakly muttered, "that's not what I meant. I just mean... I just mean that I'm at home, right now."

"At home," Hermione drawled, "well that's convenient. You know, you're... you're lucky I k-keep c-coming back." Hermone'd uneasy voice was consistent with her nerves. She was, in her own way, a little bit new at being an angry person. However, this time it called for these types of measures. This boy was everything she'd remembered hating-- absolutely loathing in her lifetime. Then why was it that she felt so bad about feeling so mad? Hypocracy wasn't really her thing... she'd spent so long telling Ron that grudges only rotted a person. In her very core she could feel herself rotting. Only half of her cared.

And why was it that he was being so nice? He should have been yelling back at her... he was an ex-Death Eater after all. Wasn't that sort of behavior rooted inside people like him? Maybe it was that she'd always been expecting it- expecting an outburst. However, he managed to remain quiet and calm and a bit overly collected when dealing with her, as if he'd completely understood, perhaps even mirrored her feelings, even. "I know," he whispered, "I'm actually a bit surprised myself..."

Hermione huffed, "why?"

"Because if I were you, whoever you are, I wouldn't have. It just means that you're a good person," he added, feeling a bit silly. He'd never said such a compliment to someone, and the sound of it coming from his mouth sounded even foreign to him. However, he knew that he'd meant it, ad he found that he felt rather good saying it outloud, complimenting someone like that while truly managing to mean it. "I've never really known a genuinely nice person before."

Dumbstruck, Hermione was at a loss. What the hell? How was it that he managed to progress as she felt herself blantantly regressing? She was supposed to have the upper hand here, and yet she found herself appearing more and more childish. "Well, I would imagine that you wouldn't have known anyone with a nice bone in their body," she retaliated and made a face when she heard the boy at the other end laugh slightly. "Anyway," she said, feeling a little bit annoyed, "you weren't finished with what you were saying the other day."

Malfoy looked around. He was beginning more and more to think of all the time he'd spent on the radio as a little secret relationship. It was thrilling and dangerous all at the same time. With one false slip up, he was more than done for. He turned to his dresser, lifted for the first time his wand, and pointed it at his bedroom door. The heavy thing slammed shut and the lock clicked instantly shut. He ran a clammy palm through the thick of his hair, ducking down low to the floor. When his knees hit the ground, he began a childish crawl towards the back of his bed and leaned backwards against the bedskirt. "Actually, I was more than finished."

"That wasn't our deal," Hermione coughed, "you haven't scared me off yet."

"I'm not sure I want to scare you off," Draco quipped, a bit too soon. Once he'd said it, however, he wished he could instantly take it back. He was getting married now, he was going to have a wife and a future with her. Besides, he didn't even know this woman, and was sure that she didn't want to get to know him any further than the little arrangement that they'd had. Despite this, he didn't appologise. Instead he kicked his knees up towards his chest and said, "I need to get out of this house."

"You're an adult," Hermione drew on, "get up and leave."

"Yeah, well," Draco answered back, "it doesn't work that way."

"And how does it work?"

Malfoy knew that he had to leave. There was no way he coud have a conversation and pull it off as simply one with himself. His father would undoubtedly hear everything. He scanned his bed room, the old room where he used to sleep peacefully. That was furthermore no longer the case. Many times he'd spent restless nights indoors, unable to get the sleep. And now, now he'd been inside the room for too long. The time was, after all, beginning to wear on him. So, with a intake of new breath, he slid towards the window and placed the radio down on the surface of his bed mattress. He could still hear the rhytm of the woman on the other end, her breathing restless and present.

She could hear him grunt slightly as he pushed the window open. A swirl of rushing wind hit the speakers of the toy radio and Draco once again lunged forward to wrap his fingers around it. "What are you doing?" Hermione asked, hearing a little rumble through his side of the speakers. His feet at hit something harshly and there came a timid slam of something that made her slightly reel backwards.

"Taking your advice," Draco huffed. The slam she'd heard was that of his bedroom window shutting once again, this time from the outside. "You're right, I need to get out of the house."

Hermione felt the butterflies rise in her stomach. Somethat wasn't right, she could practically sense it. "I hear wind," she said in a tone of voice that was testing. "How'd you get out of these so fast?"

"I took the roof," Draco said simply. He huffed again, standing still just before his window. He scanned the view of his rooftop. It was high, with a rather steep drop. If he didn't watch himself, the next thing that would break would be his neck. However, in the rushing wind, he kept fairly calm. On the other hand, the moment Hermione heard Draco tell her that he was literally on top of his house, her eyes widened.

"The roof?" She squealed, raising the radio up to her mouth desperately, "the roof? G-Get down from there... you're going to fall!"

Malfoy shrugged, "nah, I'll be fine."

First he took a step away from the window, inching forwards with careful intention. However, his first step quickly turned into multiple. He descended down the side of the roof with his arms outspread to keep his balance. But he took a bit of sadistic joy in hearing the woman's worry come through the radio. She was, after all, still mad at him, but she still couldn't mask her horror. "I could die," he teased, looking down at the ground, which seemed like a long and distant drop from his current standpoint. "One wrong misstep and-- splat-- I'm done for."

Hermione shook her head, her face draining of any color it had left. "You're sick," she spat.

A smile took over Malfoy's face. His blond hair rushed about him wildly, "you know just as well as I that you're not the first to tell me that."

"So, what?" Hermione whimpered, feeling herself grow sicker and sicker as the moments passed. She was jittery despite herself. "You're going to kill yourself trying to get out of the house? W-Why not just use the front door?"

"Can't do that," Draco laughed, anxious despite his joking. Funny that she'd found the time to worry about him, when she'd been so angry with him earlier. Surely the thought of his death would only make her happy. And perhaps he was pushing it when he'd decided to tease her with the thought of it, noting that she wasn't finding it humorous at all. In fact, she seemed furthermore compltely opposed to the notion of his passing.

Hermione stumbled over her words, stiffening on the mattress of her bed. She had pulled her hair back into a sloppy pony tail, waiting anxiously for Draco to speak again. "Don't you care if you die?" Hermione asked, sweating. Then she shook her head, running her own palm down the front of her own face. Sighing, she instantly took back her words, "wait, don't answer that. Stupid question."

Malfoy's foot lost it's step. He stumbled slightly forward, falling ever so slightly so that a tiny little gasp escaped his throat. He opened his eyes to see that he was standing just barely at the end of the roof's edge, breathing restlessly. Hermione almost dropped her radio. She yelped, and froze, her hand pitched over her thundering heart. But as Draco stood there, hunched over, he managed to blink down at the fall that he'd almost took. He had come very close to it... to actually dying.

And he didn't seem to care. In fact, as he continued to stare down at the drop, the more he felt comfortable with the idea.

"Oh shit! Oh... shit," the woman's voice broke his curious considerations. Instantly Malfoy seemed to snap out of his dellirium and he straightened himself up, freezing for a moment to listen to the woman's worry. He held his breath, making himself absolutely quiet.

When he thought that Hermione couldn't take it any longer, Draco pressed the radio closer to his mouth, tilting his head to the side, "oh, I'm sorry... did I scare you?"

The woman blantly huffed. "You little prat!" she yelled, a rough strain in her voice. She was panting, as if she'd run a few miles during the time that had passing in between them. Her hair slightly fell out from her poiny tail and whirled about her pretty face, which was now twisted and terrified. She had turned a bright shade of red, feeling slightly embarrassed for her concern for him in the first place. She was completely shaken, rubbing her temples at the top of her head restlessly, "what the hell is your problem?"

Malfoy bit his bottom lip, continuing to inch towards the edge of the roof. He leaned forward, gripping the large and sterdy tree trunk that reached out just inches before him. "My problem?" he asked, "there's far too many to even begin to tell you about." The woman's second huff told him that she did not truly appreciate the joke. In fact, she continued to huff from her other end, bluntly trying to think of something effective to say back to him. However, even Draco could sense that she was at a loss. Shrugging, he added, "besides, I did what you thought I couldn't."

"And what," Hermione hissed, "is that?"

Shrugging, Malfoy lifted his leg up from the roof, not even bothering to test out the tree's branches before climbing on to them. "I scared you," he said simply.

Hermione sat still, blinking back at her room. That ignorant prat, that foolish piece of shit. How could he be so inconsiderate? She could strangle him if she had the option of it. She could push him off that roof and not feel one ounce of guilt about it. But... he was right. "Arsehole," was all she could bring herself to say to him.

But Malfoy wasn't paying her much attention. He'd slunk down the majority of the tree and hit the ground with a little grunt. Then, he leaned back against it, feeling cool, despite the woman's misery. "Alright, calm down. I've got both feet on the ground now."

"Aw, and for some reason I'm now hoping you'd fallen and landed on your head."

Malfoy tossed his head back, leaning against the tree trunk with the most of his weight. His eyes looked up at the roof, feeling a slight rush that he'd gotten down it in one piece. "ouch," he smiled, biting his lower lip, "harsh."

Hermione scoffed, still not amused, "you deserve it. Shit, you're one piece of work, you know that?"

"I know," Draco agreed, stepping away from the tree and starting out across the long stretch that was his emerald backyard, "now where were we?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione leaned back. Her heart was still rushing, but she allowed herself to appear composed to some extent. When she spoke, however, she gave of the impression of the exact opposite. "You were telling me more about what caused you to be a complete lunatic."

"Ah!" Draco smiled once again. He quite liked the conversations with this girl. "Alright, where to begin?"

Vonne: Well how do you like that? Draco, for the first time in a long time, is a little bit flirty? I like that attitude for him. ;)