Vonne: Let's get right to it, then! :)

Shining Bright Eyes: HA, well good. I fancy unpredictability! :)

Mellowly Candescent: Thank you so much for your compliments. Actually, after reading your reviews it helped me get the motivation to upload this. I am so happy that you're enjoying this! It helps me update much faster. And I love responding to you all. It's just nice to see that you all have so much interest in it! Thanks again.

Doni: Thanks! HA! I'm actually enjoying Hermione and Draco's bickering. I've always found it to be most realistic, anyway. :)

Jade2099: Aw, that's definitely good for me to hear. I'm happy that both you and Doni seem to think that Hermione and Draco are good for each other. I never wanted to make the relationship seemed forced-- you know, like if the whole battle thing never happened. I tried to keep in mind that the two DID hate each other at one point, their relationship will be eventual. And, as for your ideas in your review... I think you're on to something. ;)

Weather Watch: Thanks so much! I am so happy to hear that this is realistic-- it was what I was aiming for, even if it seems to take a while to get to the point. HA, and yes, it was very game of Hermione to jump in after Draco. ;) And he totally is driving her insane. But maybe Hermione needs someone to do so.

Anavell: Thanks. Short review from you (which is totally fine, of course) but I thought I'd pop in and say hello again anyways! You're always reviewing no matter what! :)

Chapter Twenty Six:
Going Back

Besides the downpour, Draco Malfoy was, quite frankly, having somewhat of a satisfactory day. Despite the previous events of the morning, he did seem to think that things had taken a turn for the better. And though he didn't quite care to admit it, he knew that Hermione Granger had a lot to do with this upturn. However, being as prideful as he was, he'd kept his appreciation to himself. Although he couldn't distract himself enough to stop staring at her as she pulled back on her jacket once the two of them had pulled themselves out of the pond. And she was a bit curious too, watching him back, almost far too content in their silence. Finally, as she flopped to the ground and pulled up the socks above her shins, she looked up through the veil like veins that was her wet hair.

In the way she tilted her head to one side, she seemed to slowly snap out of her delusion. Sure the evening had been quite a lovely one, but Hermione was not as easily drawn in as Draco Malfoy might have expected. Furthermore, when she spoke above the subsiding crackle of the storm, she was far more stern than she had been in a while. "Well," she said, watching Draco fiddle anxiously with his tie, "now what are you going to do?" Malfoy stopped, looked down at her with inquiry. He raised an eyebrow and watched her there as she waited anxiously, as if she'd been waiting to hear such an answer her whole life.

He quickly glanced back down at his tie, finishing it off and tending to his collar. Gently, he fixed his shirt back into place. It was still soaking wet, but as he stood there in the clearing he seemed almost oblivious to the fact. "I dunno," he said, reaching for his discarded jacket, "am I supposed to have a plan?" When Hermione didn't answer, he continued his job with the buttoning. Then, conclusively, he tended to his shoes, slipping them on with what may have been considered as a fairly off balance ambition. "I was actually just kind of... exceptionally going along with everything."

Sighing, Hermione once again looked up. She fixated her eyes back on Malfoy, who refused to return any such gaze. He seemed to falsely captivated in dressing his feet that her anxiety level rose ten fold. "Yeah," she said in a contradicting tone of voice, "and how's that been going for you?" However harsh, she succeeded in catching Malfoy's absent attention. He stopped knotting his shoes and seemed to bitterly glare at her.

A bit agitated, he was looking at her only with his eyes. His head was pitched still at his shoes, but not even Hermione could deny the gaze that he gave her. "Not particularly swimmingly, so far," he said roughly, "but give it time." Then, conclusively, he looked back down at his feet and tied off his shoe laces with fast aggression. Then, at the next bit of silence that seemed to pass slowly between the two of them, Draco froze. He stopped wasting his time with his shoes. His shoulders sunk and with one hand, he lifted a boney white finger. While he kept his focus on the dewy grass below him, he said to her, "It's not over yet."

Hermione nodded. She temporarily chewed on her lower lip before asking, "alright then. So, when does it end?" This time, Draco's hands moved as if they were on fire. He'd tied and retied his shoelaces for quite some time, but now he was ready to get a move on. Furiously finishing off the job, he hoisted himself up and smoothed back his hair. Decisively, he declared that he had no idea. As Draco started off into the tree laced forest, Hermione watching his shrinking figure. Then as the life flooded back into her, she dove for her remaining clothes and started off clumsily after him. When she reached his side, Draco only glared back at her from the side of his vision, lifelessly lifting up an eyebrow. There was no welcoming warmness in his glare and, feeling a bit guilty, Hermione shivered as she wrapped her jacket back around her shoulders. "Sorry," she said quietly, "I didn't mean to upset you."

But Malfoy shook his head. A bit solemn, he told her, "I'm not upset," and then waited for her to end the conversation. Of course, such a hope was rather a difficult feat; because Hermione was far too curious about him now. Instead she took to her own fiddling. As her fingers flicked the drawstrings of her jacket, she continued her relentless lip chewing. The way she looked at him was, in all ways, wonderful. And she did, absolutely, want to help him.

Finally, when she'd begun to feel strange in her silence, Hermione said aloud, "I was doing some thinking... in the water." Even though she hadn't expected it, she was quite happily surprised when Malfoy looked back at her, curious on his own. She felt a little bit warmer, though she was unclear as to why. Even in the obvious chill, the heat that rushed through her was not due to the security of her flimsy coat. "Just about what you did say on the radio... and not the apology part. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

A morose hint of sadness was absolutely present in his voice. He said, "no," and then added with slightly bigger interest, "what did I say?"

Watching him, Hermione shrugged. She was at once feeling just as relaxed as she had in the water. Even on the sturdy ground, Hermione felt a bit strange in her comfort, but was all to keen to except it. "I was just thinking of how miserable you are. How... sad you are." Draco's face flushed, growing wild with embarrassment. "No, no... just--- I was just thinking that... I'd like to see you fix it."

With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, Malfoy asked back, "fix what?"

And Hermione offered him something of a saddened smile. "It. Fix it. You know? Your ending. Even you don't deserve an awful ending."

For a moment the two said nothing else. Silence, as it so seemed, was much of a habit for the two of them, but neither considered breaking it off. Instead, Draco's eyes glanced over the brush, watching each raindrop individually. What was it that she was saying exactly? He couldn't quite put a finger on it, couldn't quite pinpoint her motives. Nonetheless, there was nothing he could convince himself of, nothing he could accuse her of. Because what did he have left to loose now, anyways? However, Draco mulled over her statement, feeling a bit more down with every passing moment. "Really?" he asked her with a falsely hopeful voice, "I was just getting content with having an awful ending, Granger."

Rather undoubtedly serious, Hermione had to stifle the smile that just barely graced her pale face. She lifted her hand and slapped him across the forearm. Draco winced, still oddly sore there, but he tried to hide his discomfort from Hermione. "I'm being serious!" she said forcefully, once again allowing herself to melt back into that of a stoney glare.

"Alright," Draco said, acting out a smile of his own. "So, then. Does that mean that we've got a new deal?"

Nodding, Hermione laughed slightly when she informed him gleefully, "absolutely!"

Malfoy stopped in the middle of his walking and Hermione raised an eyebrow as she watched him pause in front of her. His blond hair flopped over his pale forehead and he crossed his thin arms across his chest. "Perhaps we should shake on it?" he suggested, looking almost perfectly gorgeous in the light. And just before Hermione could consider being remotely attracted to him, she denied herself of this submission. Instead, to distract herself, she lunged forward, grabbing his outstretched hand with her own. "Well, Granger," Malfoy said still holding her hand in his, "you've just made a deal with the devil."

Staring back at him, Hermione tried not to think of the night before. She tried to push out the blurry memory of him against her bedroom wall, drunkenly trying to kiss her. She told herself to look, look at who it was she was talking to. Draco Malfoy was not ever her friend, not ever someone she'd ever thought she'd connect with. But then... what was this?

The tinge of excitement in her chest was almost damning.

"I guess I have," Hermione responded back to him, still a bit delirious in all her fascination. Then, shaking her head, she tried to clear her mind. Sanely, she said out loud, "I promise, Mr. Malfoy, that by the time I get done with you, you will have a new found lust for life."

Malfoy tilted his head to the side and Hermione tried to ignore the fact that their hands were still touching. "Oh, for sure," she said, confidently. Then, she shrugged, adding with a smile, "well, if not that... then, a little bit of excitement-- at least. Maybe. I mean, at the bare minimum."

Smiling, Malfoy then drew his hand away from Hermione's, much to her relief. She grinned and then consequently shoved her palm into the pocket of her pants. Malfoy inhaled. His cold eyes glanced around the forest and then, when he rested them back on Hermione, he lifted his shoulders. It wasn't an actual shrug, but more like a simple lift. In fact, he left his shoulders in that exact position, held up as if waiting for something else. "Okay, so," he said, "how should I start?"

Blinking, Hermione seemed to snap out of her daze. Perhaps she'd been focusing on Malfoy too much as an entire being, rather than being more specific; because, specifically he was asking her a question. However, so could only see his mouth move. "I'm sorry?" she asked him, flushing with embarrassment. Maybe he hadn't noticed her watching him so curiously. "How should you start?"

Draco didn't move. Only, he managed to nod his skull quickly up and down again. "Yeah, I think that would be the ideal way to being things. Don't you?"

Hermione shook her head. Finally regaining the color back in her face, she grinned sheepishly and then added feverishly, "oh, yes, how to start. Well, I guess that would mean I'd have to know where you're at now."

"Well," Malfoy said, once again relaxing. He brought his shoulders back down to their normal position and left his chilly hands in the pits of his coat pockets. Still, he managed to continue on, a little morose. "I'm not getting married anymore."

Neither of the two said a single word and then, awkwardly, Hermione said uneasily, "erm-- congratulations?" Something happy tinged lightly inside of her body. Why was she so happy about something so unimportant?

Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, Malfoy said back lightly, "thanks, Granger, but it's not something I'm quite proud of."

"Why?" Hermione blinked, looking somewhat struck dumb.

"Ah," Draco mused, reaching back to scratch the back of his blond head. He looked a bit queasy when he responded weakly, "it kind of drastically deepened the hole I was in."

However, Hermione only shrugged. "Well, you did what was best for you. And that's definitely something that you need to focus on now. I mean, I am advising you from now on and everything." Malfoy narrowed his eyes, as if he was suddenly unsure about the deal he'd only just made with the woman in front of him. However, he kept himself quite quiet. "I think now, though, you should go home. Clean yourself off. I've got something for those bruises," she continued, cocking her head up to the sight of them, "to help them clear faster."

Malfoy held up his hand, stopping her abruptly. "Ah, well, one problem there, Granger."

Hermione's mouth opened only slightly. With a testy little tone, she asked flatly, "being?"

"Being," Draco clarified instantly, "that I could not possibly head back to the Manor now."

For the last time in the course of the night, Hermione let her head flop to one side. She narrowed her eyes, matching Draco's consequently demeaning glare. She over pronounced her words as her lips formed the short sentence, "why?"

"My mother and father don't fancy the engagement break off," Malfoy informed her curtly. Then, grinning with hurried apprehension, he said anxiously, "so I don't think that's exactly the best idea at the moment."

But Hermione crossed her hands across her chest. She had a determined look about her face that was unmistakable. In fact, she'd rooted herself into the idea of helping the lost soul of Draco Malfoy and now, now that she'd stuck herself to it, she did not have any plans to fail. "No," she said, stepping forward and seizing him by the shoulders. He was several inches taller than she was, but she managed to lock her palms into his skeleton decisively. She took turn in directing him, glad that he'd decided to move his feet, and she said over his shoulder as they walked on tiredly, "you're going to go back home, Malfoy. Work things out with your father."

Staring forwards, Draco said unblinkingly, "but you hate my father."

"Use to hate," Hermione corrected gently. Then, going slightly crossed eyed, she considered what she'd said, taking it back gently, "well, I mean, he's not my dad. Anyway, that's far beyond the point." Before Malfoy could ask her what, exactly, her point was, Hermione continued restlessly, "you're not going to get anywhere unless you start to claw your way out of that hole."

Whipping himself free from Hermione's grasp, Draco whirled himself back around. He came face to face with her directly, panting with a bit of anxious aggression. His hair was almost dry, but it still hung messily around his white face. "And what do you suppose I say to him?" he asked her fiercely, almost devilishly awaiting whatever it was she'd planned on answering him back with.

However, Hermione was already prepared. She leaned back on her heels and crossed her thin arms across her chest. For a moment she held his gaze, the confidence enthusiastically glowing behind her intensely sparkling eyes. For a split second, Draco Malfoy found himself thinking how spectacularly clever she looked, even behind all her overwhelming demeanor. He considered the fact that, while she may have been subconsciously mocking him, she'd done so in a way so marvelously that it almost seemed to cancel out her all knowing attitude. "Well," she said once she was sure she'd had Malfoy's attention. Draco's posture relaxed itself; he seemed sincerely curious. "You're a Malfoy," Hermione said, "think of something."

For a Malfoy, Draco sure didn't feel too superior. As he stood considering the large front door, he waited uneasily, as if still considering whether or not to open it. He could, of course, knock, but that was not truly the approach he'd been aiming for. In fact, as he stood outside his own childhood house trying to buck up the courage to even enter, he tried to appear strong and confident-- how the son of Lucius Malfoy should have appeared. But his patience was wearing thin and he seemed almost unable to take the anxiety of all the waiting. Conclusively, he whisked open the front door, slightly surprised to find that it was left unlocked, and stepped into the front of the house.

The place was dark and almost haunting. There was something that stuck with him as he stared at the walls around him. Even though his parents had been so rushed to redecorate, he could still make out the small scratches that had torn the paper so harshly from the walls. Pettigrew was to blame for this; he was an anxious person in his life, and had taken to destorying the walls when his anxiety proved too heavy for him. But now, standing next to the damages, Malfoy had to keep his hands in his pockets to keep himself from nervously doing the same. But why? Why was it that he'd been so worried about ding something so stupid? Did he really have to contain himself from scratching the walls?

An advancing shadow disrupted him from his thoughts of insanity. Panting, Draco whirled around, felt his heart drop in his chest. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Why was it that he'd been so keen to listening to Hermione Granger? He should have ignored her advise, told her to go away. However, doing such a thing seemed almost even foolish to think about. And the fact that he'd wanted her help scared him as much as the question of his happiness. For happiness was something he'd wanted so much that he was sure his determination was driving him utterly insane.

"Draco," came an unwanted voice. It was the voice of his father, who appeared almost glowingly white as he stood alone in the frame of the living room wall. Malfoy's posture drained of anything it had left. Slightly that of a melted slump, he shut his eyes, swallowing the heavy lump in the pit of his dry throat. "What are you doing?" his father asked in a voice that was so strong and unbreakable, "it's almost eleven at night." Malfoy opened his mouth, but was instantly cut off. Lucius Malfoy had begun his advancement. He took several clear steps towards his son and his eyes seemed to blaze as if on fire. Though it took several moments for Malfoy to notice that it was fire that was in fact lighting up his father's eyes; behind him, the fire place was popping loudly. "Where have you been?"

Malfoy stood, frozen, almost too afraid to say anything back to his father. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he felt even slightly faint. Dizzily, he managed to speak and his father seemed to even take notice to the dryness in his son's broken tone. "I... I n-need some time to myself. I figured even you'd appreciate some time away from me."

"Well," Lucius hissed, "you'd figured correctly."

Draco nodded, swallowed once again. "Right, well... I agree with you. I shouldn't have--"

"Shouldn't have what?" Lucius' voice was sharp, even while harshly cutting his son off. His eyes widened as he waited for Draco to continue and he looked tired, as if he truly had spent hours on end waiting up for him. "Shouldn't have lied to me? Shouldn't have told me that you were ready for something when it was quite obvious that you weren't?" Malfoy's eyes fell from his father's face and he instead took to staring back down at his shoes, which were still slightly muddy from the grass by the pond side. "Your mother was in hysterics. She'd truly thought that you'd been picking yourself up again. Go figure!"

There was something unsettling about seeing his father so upset. Sure, Malfoy had seen him act this way around men like Pettigrew, but Lucius Malfoy had always shown his son such care. That wasn't to say he'd never been angry with him, however, this fury was almost something new. And perhaps it was all the more nerve racking due to the fact that Draco Malfoy knew he'd deserved it. His mother's bit of false hope, that was his fault. Pansy and Goyle, that was too. So, consequently, he stood there unmoving, almost utterly unable to do so. Mortified, he was trapped in his illness, almost sulking as he stared at his shoes. His vision began to grow a bit hazy.

Finally, when Lucius seemed to understand that Draco was unusually quiet, he stopped, bent down lower to get a better view of his son's face. "What?" he asked in a loud voice, though Draco hadn't said anything, "what is that?" Draco flushed, hoping that his father hadn't noticed what he was sure he had. "Draco, what happened to your face?" His father seemed to be a bit taken back from his previous ranting. He'd almost seemed to forget what he'd been on about in the first place. And even though Draco knew that this was untrue, he took much appreciation in the fact that Lucius was distracted. "How did this happen?"

However, of course, Malfoy wished that something else was the cause of his father's distraction. He averted his eyes, tried to will away the lump in his throat, but it kept persisting. "It's nothing," he told him.

But this was probably the wrong move. Lucius' eyes flashed. Demandingly, he said sternly, "do not lie to me ever."

And, of course, he'd had a point. What was his deal anyway? Did he, Draco, think that he could just continue to dig himself deeper? Hermione was right- he'd needed more than anything to free himself from this rut, the rut that he'd created for himself. And more than anything he wanted to make things right with his father. A bit sheepishly, he said in a hoarse tone, "some... some guys--"

"Someone did this to you?" Lucius roared, taking on an entirely new bit of outrage. Never mind the fact that he'd just found out about it then. Lucius was almost completely beyond anger. But Draco's silence told him his answer. "Who?" he demanded, looking as if he could keel over at any instant. His fists were shaking. He looked as if he could punch in the wall. "Who did this to you, Draco?"

Malfoy paused, humiliated, and shrugged timidly. In a sore little voice, he said, "I didn't see their faces."

For a long moment, Lucius remained frozen. He looked as if he was about ready to commit some sort of murder. However, he paused, brought his hand up to his forehead, and sighed. Shutting his eyes, he clenched his teeth together and brought his chest down with a newfound sense of sincerity. "Alright, Draco," he said, slightly on the calm side, "are you alright?" Draco nodded in response. Then, when his father had seemed to see enough of his son so miserable, he leaned back again, allowing the redness to leak from his visage. "Well," he said with a sigh, "it's late... you should, uhm probably get yourself to bed."

Draco blinked. Conclusively, he looked up from the ground, tried to hide the water that had formed in his eyes. So much for being strong. So much for taking charge. Still, he was almost overwhelmed completely. He could feel himself overflowing. "I'm sorry, dad," he said.

Lucis' face paled and he took in the picture of his son as a whole. Draco Malfoy had never referred to his father as 'dad', but there was a slight closeness behind the word, and his irregularity as almost nullifying. Squaring his jaw, Lucius shifted his weight back from one leg to another. He gripped his walking stick and allowed himself finally to completely relax. "Right," he said gently, "well, your mother had your bed ready already. Despite everything, she was confident that you'd be home tonight." There was a hint of admiration in his eyes that Draco seemed to obviously miss.

Malfoy nodded. "Father," he said, as he paused at the top of the stairs, "does this mean I have to go back to therapy?"

It took a moment for his father to answer. Lucius' sinking shadow retreated back behind the frame in the wall. Cast against the walls, Draco could see his father's looming shadow. "I think," he said after a long moment of considering it, "that that might be a sensible option, Draco." And, finally, when Draco watched his father's shadow reach for his wand and out the fire in the fireplace, he began back up the stairs. However, there was no sadness in him left. He was, after all, in agreement. Whatever was happening to him, whatever had been happening to him, he needed to be fixed. He needed therapy, be it humiliating or revealing. He needed something.

He needed the radio.

As his fingers felt for it in his jacket pocket, he made his way back up to his bedroom and shut himself in. His father was right, his bed had been set, and the covers made it look almost cloud-like an inviting. So finally, as he pulled off his shoes, he lifted the radio from his clothes and flopped down on the mattress, feeling almost completely unsure how to feel at all.

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