15
August 29, 1999 (night) – August 30th, 1999
All the guests left just in time for the residents of The Willows to attend their nightly group session. It was very light, each of them sharing the highlights of their visits with family. Everyone skipped over Nicola, pretending to not notice, and she seemed inclined to allow them. When Walt asked her if she had anything to share, she simply shook her head.
Afterward, Nicola posted the chore schedule up in the common room, and Hermione was able to see when she and Draco would be able to start their Occlumency practice. She was supposed to cook breakfast every day this week … with Draco.
That's not what I meant, Nicola, she thought. Surely, he knew how to cook. He had surprised her with his ability to do dishes, after all.
Thankfully, Nicola seemed much more magnanimous with her duties as their "leader" for the week than Seamus had been. Hermione was only scheduled to clean the kitchen twice that week, as they all seemed to rotate through kitchen duty. Unfortunately, one of those was with Seamus. That was bound to be interesting.
When she made it back to her door, Draco stuck his head out of his room and said, "I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow."
She paused with her hand on the knob and said, "Yeah, that wasn't exactly what I meant when I asked her to make sure we were free together. I'm not sure why she scheduled us that way. It isn't exactly a two-person job."
Draco gave her a look she didn't quite recognize.
"I was actually going to say that we should make pancakes."
She blinked at him, thinking surely, she didn't hear him right. She and Draco cooking pancakes together seemed like the most domestically ridiculous thing she had ever heard.
She was still trying to process the information, when he said, "I know how to make them if you don't."
She couldn't help but smile at how absurd the entire conversation was becoming. "Of course, I know how to make pancakes."
"Good," he said. Giving her a quick look, likely even more confused by her grin, he added, "Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight," she said. When she closed her door into her bedroom, she shook her head in disbelief.
Pancakes?
The next morning, she made it to the kitchen to find Draco already there mixing batter. Again, the thought just struck her as hilarious, and she couldn't help but chuckle.
He turned to find her trying her best to hold in her laughter, which was particularly hard when she noticed the flour on his forehead.
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the task at hand. The concentration on his face seemed oddly similar to his face during Potions class. Just the thought sent her back years, reminding her of their first lesson with Professor Slughorn.
She knew the potion the moment they first approached the cauldrons bubbling in the center of the room. The smell was overpowering when they walked into the classroom, and she had to look around to make sure he wasn't standing right beside her. Why would he be? They never stood near one another.
When Professor Slughorn called on her, she immediately recognized the Amortentia for what it was. Though at first, she only mentioned recognizing it by the color and the steam rising from it in distinctive spirals. But, as happens far too often in her life, she continued to ramble out of nervousness.
"It's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass, old books, and… bergamot." Her voice dropped on the last word, making it more of a mumble, and she felt her ears grow pink. She pretended to pull her textbook from her bag long enough to sneak a glimpse at Malfoy in the back of the room. She wasn't surprised to find him sniggering with Theo Nott, probably at her expense.
Idiot, she thought to herself, and she wasn't entirely sure if she was referring to herself or him.
The memory stopped her short, melting the smile from her lips like hot wax.
"…always laughing at me," Malfoy was saying, his back to her.
"I'm sorry. I know it's rude. It's just strange." She walked over toward him, taking an apron off a hook on the wall beside the cupboard. She tied it around herself and pulled her hair up into a loose bun, tucking a few stray curls behind her ears.
"Is it really so strange to think that I'm self-sufficient without magic?" he asked, dropping his whisk into the sink.
"Yes, it is," she replied, smirking at him. "You just never struck me as a person who baked cookies with your mum. In fact, your mum never struck me as someone who baked cookies."
There she went again, running off at the mouth. But instead of getting upset, he said, "That's fair. I have never once baked cookies, with my mother or otherwise. I'm not sure she has either to be honest. But, Winny, one of our house-elves, taught me to cook some things."
He had begun dropping rounds of batter onto the cast-iron griddle on the stove but stopped when he realized she was staring at him.
"What?"
She stood staring at him across the island between them, her head cocked to the side and her eyes wide. When he noticed her expression, his hand stopped stock still above the griddle where he had been about to pour the last ladle full.
"What did I say?"
"A house-elf taught you to cook? Are you joking?" she asked. There's no way that Draco Malfoy would sink so low as to allow an elf to teach him anything, let alone something as dreadfully Muggle as cooking.
"No, I'm not joking." He stopped, as if that completely settled the matter. When she continued to stare at him, he placed the ladle on the counter, careful to place it onto the spoonrest to keep from dirtying the countertop, and elaborated, quickly as if she bored him with her skepticism. "My parents weren't always around. Before I could use magic, I followed one of our elves around constantly. She got tired of always having me underfoot, so she included me in her chores." He lifted his hands in surrender, then placed them on the counter, leaning forward to stare back at her.
"You know, you're awfully surprised about everything I say. Instead of deriding me, you could just admit that maybe you don't really know anything about me at all." His eyes seemed to twinkle, and she honestly couldn't tell for a split second if he was upset or not. But when he tilted his head at her in the same way she had done to him, she knew he wasn't angry.
He wasn't angry, but he was definitely right. She didn't even say it out loud, but just thinking that brought the bitter taste of ash to her mouth.
He must've caught on by the look on her face, because the smirk he gave her said he was absolutely loving it. "It's okay, Granger. You'll get the right answers again sooner or later. What is it they say about a broken clock?"
She couldn't even find it in herself to be angry at his mocking tone. Instead she laughed and said, "I can't take you seriously at all." She leaned forward and wiped the flour from his forehead and laughed even harder at the look of concern that had been on his face right before he realized what she was doing.
"What? Did you think I was going to hurt you?" She could barely get it out from laughing so hard.
He wiped his forehead again with the palm of his hand, making sure he didn't still look like a fool. "You're really terrifying sometimes. I don't know what you're capable of."
"I'm terrifying?" Of course, he would think so. Apparently, that was common knowledge. Everyone but her knew how scary she was, according to Harry and Ron anyway.
He ran both hands through his hair, pushing it away from his face. "Yes. Terrifying. Scary. Intimidating. Take your pick. I'm not too proud to admit it." He shrugged, as if he was anything but proud.
"Who are you?" she asked before she could stop herself. And all the humor from the situation vanished, sucked from the room like water from a drain. Color bloomed into his cheeks and for the first time since they'd been there, she noticed that he wasn't nearly as pasty and sickly as he had looked at the introduction meeting a few weeks ago. He dropped his gaze, and she saw the familiar clenching of his jaw.
She started to apologize, instantly feeling guilt for bringing them back to reality, but he spoke before she could. He hadn't looked up from the griddle. He kept staring at the pancakes as he flipped them, as if they were the most important thing in the world at the moment. "Hopefully someone else."
As astonished as she was at his behavior, not just now but throughout the last week, she was just as astonished at herself. Who the hell am I? She had become cold in the last year, hell, two years if she was being honest. War did that, didn't it? It took away the bright-eyed little girl she had been once and left behind the cold, hard woman who she was now. She couldn't even find it in herself to truly fight for her cases at the Ministry the way she once did. Truthfully, other than a handful of close friends, she couldn't find it in herself to care about anything anymore. Hadn't she been imagining the sickening crunch Pansy's body would have made if only Hermione could control her "accidental" magic enough to fling her through the air like a ragdoll? Hadn't she been visualizing the same thing with Seamus yesterday morning seconds before Draco did it himself?
But somewhere, in the last week, a remnant of her old self had returned, and she felt a pang of regret in the pit of her stomach and realized it was compassion, something she hadn't felt in far too long. She didn't truly think that her question was that out of the way, but she knew it hurt him to remind him of who he used to be. He'd told her as much on their first day here.
And just in case I forget, there's always someone standing ready to remind me. That's what he said that day standing outside by the stables. And here she was being the one to remind him.
"I'm sorry, Draco. I wasn't trying to be rude. It's… it's just a little shocking sometimes to see that you're completely different from the image I have in my mind."
He didn't say anything, so she turned away from him and began chopping fruit to go with his beloved pancakes. It seemed to her then that every time they got the smallest bit of civility in their friendship, one of them would do something to take them back three paces.
The blade slipped, barely missing her thumb. She had just thought the word "friendship" in relation to herself and Draco. Also, it was definitely a lie to think "one of them" always did something to put a stumbling block in their path… it wasn't "one of them" at all. It was always her.
He spoke up behind her, pulling her from her own thoughts. "Well, you aren't exactly the same as the image I had in my mind from school either." He paused, and she thought perhaps he wasn't going to tell her how she was different. Almost too much time had passed between when he said that and when she finished the last of the strawberries she was chopping, but it was obvious what he was referring to when he said, "You aren't intimidating at all."
Before she even took a second to weigh the repercussions, she reached into the bag of flour beside her and filled both hands as full as she could.
"Is that right?" she asked, turning to look at him. Just as he lifted his eyes, most likely to throw another snide comment at her, she threw two fists full of flour directly into his porcelain face.
As he opened his eyes, he had small little streaks of pink poking out on either side from squeezing them shut so tightly. He breathed out dramatically, expelling two tufts of flour from his nostrils in the process. He spat on the ground twice, clearing the little bit that had gotten into his open mouth when he gasped in astonishment at seeing what she was about to do.
She couldn't hold it in any longer. She doubled over in laughter, actually clutching her sides in pain from it, but she couldn't stop. He continued to blink at her, his mouth drawn tight into a thin line.
When she finally got her laughter under control, he said, "I feel like this is becoming a habit. Us in this kitchen and you laughing yourself into fits. You're going to be committed."
"We're already committed," she said, turning to the sink to wash the flour from her hands.
"Are you quite finished? I'd like to go back to my room and change now before everyone else is able to join in on the fun you're having."
She chuckled one last time, drying her hands on her apron, and said, "Just use your wand. We haven't had the potion yet, so I doubt you're breaking any rules."
He just stared at her, and she saw again, the flex of his jaw beneath the dust covering his face. He seemed to be questioning something in his mind, before he sighed and said, "I can't."
She drew her eyebrows together in confusion. "What do you mean you can't?"
"I can't …" He turned his face away from her for a second and cleared his throat. He met her gaze once again and lifted his shoulders back. "I don't have a wand."
The pieces slowly fell into place, and she felt her face fall.
"They took it." It wasn't a question. The nod he gave her wasn't even necessary; she already knew the answer. She pulled her wand from her pocket and said, "Tergeo." The flour disappeared from his face, and, after she put her wand back into her pocket, she asked, "Forever?"
"No. Five years."
Five years? Just going for a week at a time was already frustrating. Her hair was atrocious without the ability to even use the calming charm she typically used and having to actually come to the kitchen to make tea throughout the day was enough to get beneath her skin. She couldn't imagine having to go without magic when it was actually necessary. And for five years?
"I'm so sorry. That's –"
"It's fine, Granger." He said, moving all the pancakes onto a platter to take into the dining room.
"No, that's awful. I can't –"
"Seriously." He stopped and looked up at her. "It's harder to tell people about living without magic than it is to actually live without it."
Once again, not at all what she would have expected. She was starting to think that she wasn't nearly as smart as she prided herself on being. She was on a roll of being wrong about everyone in her life lately.
"Now, if you're done with your childish antics, can you take these to the table? I did just make fifty pancakes without magic, after all. The least you can do is serve them before they get cold."
Just when she found herself really thinking he was someone different, he had a way of reminding her who it was she was talking to.
"You're incorrigible." He only smiled broadly before thrusting the platter into her hands.
Apparently, he actually could cook. Hermione didn't think pancakes were that much of a culinary masterpiece, but everyone was in awe of Draco's pancakes. Even Seamus didn't have anything bad to say, which, coming from him, was almost a compliment.
Alys brought it up in Hermione's one-on-one session later that morning, but it seemed more like Alys was hinting at something else beyond just Draco's ability to cook.
"You two seem to have hit it off?" Alys asked, removing her teabag from her cup. She lifted the cup to her lips, peering at Hermione over the rim.
"I'd hardly say that. We snap at one another more than anything."
Why does everyone keep insinuating that there's more? It was really irritating, to be honest.
When Alys simply looked at her, she said, "Though, I'll be the first to admit that he's quite different than he was at school."
Alys nodded, "So you aren't finding it difficult to open up around him? I know that was a fear of yours before agreeing to come here."
She thought for a second, and then said, "No, if anything, I find it strangely easier. Maybe it's my competitive nature; I've found myself more than once thinking 'If he can do it, so can I.' Maybe it's more than that." She shrugged.
They went on to talk about how Hermione's visit with her friends went, particularly about her trip back home yesterday morning. It did seem to be getting easier to share her feelings, at least with Alys anyway.
After her session was over, she wasn't sure where Draco was or when he wanted to start their Occlumency lessons, so she decided to venture through other areas of the complex. Looking back, perhaps she should have finalized plans with him for the day rather than attacking him with flour. The thought made her smile. Nope. I don't regret that.
She wandered past the only other inhabited corridor and saw placards for Seamus Finnigan and Parvati Patil and a half a dozen others without names. They clearly were hoping for a much larger capacity when they received their full funding.
Alys and Susan had said that they received a lot of donations throughout the Wizarding community just to get the place up and running, and that had to have been an understatement. Unless Walt was exceedingly rich, they would have to have some seriously wealthy benefactors.
She continued walking, marveling at more paintings through the halls, most were Monet just like the one of the woman in the field of flowers that Hermione saw on her first visit here. These must have come from the same donor.
She came upon a set of French doors that opened into a spacious room, well-lit by the dozens of windows that ran along three sides. So far, every room that Hermione had seen at The Willows was the very picture of comfort, but this room was like a breath of fresh air. It was painted a light yellow with white wainscoting that wrapped around the lower half of the walls. Easels lined one wall, all readily prepared with a canvas seated on the tray, and on the opposite wall were pottery wheels and racks upon racks of paper of varying thickness, grains, colors, and sizes.
It all made Hermione wish that she had even an ounce of creative ability. Once upon a time, she knitted, but even those were atrocious. The thought made her wonder where all of Dobby's knitted hats ended up after his death. Imagining him walking through Gryffindor common room with about fifty hats atop his bald head brought a sad smile to her face.
She hadn't the tiniest bit of artistic ability but leaving the beautiful room felt like such a waste, so she took the furry throw that covered one of the couches lining the very back of the room and stretched it across the floor. She supposed she could have simply laid on the couch, but she wanted to feel the sun on her face, and the angle from the couch wasn't exactly right.
She had no idea what the blanket was made of, but it felt like heaven. She stretched out, turning her face up to bask in the sun's rays pouring through the window. Only for a moment did she stop to think how ridiculous she probably looked right now, but then she rubbed one hand through the soft fur and closed her eyes, sighing in contentment.
I should have brought a book, she thought before the sun's warmth and the lavish embrace of the throw beneath her lulled her to sleep.
It felt like only minutes had passed when she heard footsteps approaching. She lifted her chin, craning her neck to see Draco walking toward her, looking about ten feet tall from the distortion of her view. He had already noticed her, but he looked around the room, probably in the same awe she felt when she first came in.
She closed her eyes again, wishing to return to the easy sleep she had fallen into before. She slept soundly so infrequently these days, and she felt slightly irritated at having lost that too from his loud footfalls.
"What are you doing?" he asked. From the sound of his voice, he was standing right above her, but she didn't open her eyes. She could sense, however, that he was staring down at her, both literally and figuratively if the tone of his voice was any clue.
"Relaxing." She scooted to her left, careful to not pull the blanket with her as she went, and lifted her right arm to pat the spot beside her on the floor. "It's quite nice. You should try it." She was sure he could tell that she was joking, but when a moment passed without him returning the jab, she assumed he was going to leave. Just as she started to open her eyes, the air around her shifted, and she felt him lie down beside her.
I definitely didn't expect that. She was becoming used to being constantly surprised by people's behavior but laying on the floor with him six inches away from her was a bit disconcerting. Her pulse quickened, and she thought it wasn't entirely unpleasant.
She felt him sigh beside her, as he said, "You're right. This is quite nice."
She rubbed the hand between them through the soft fur beneath her. "What is this? Cashmere?"
"Angora," he said, and his hand brushed hers in his attempt to sink into the fur beneath them. She pulled her own closer to her, giving him room to feel the fabric as well. She clasped her hands together on her stomach and breathed in deeply.
She was reminded of a Muggle show she watched as a child about a girl who was in coma and living an entire fictional life inside her mind. Perhaps that's what was going on with her. It would surely explain the strange behavior from most of the main characters.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked him.
"I didn't. I've been coming here since our first day. I've found it's a bit easier if I'm not in the common room with everyone else."
She turned her head to face him, expecting to find him looking at her, but he was staring up at the ceiling unblinkingly. She could see the soft blue and charcoal of his eyes in his profile, and she noticed the way the sun brought out the faint pink in his cheeks. She could see bits of his mother in him now in a way she had never seen before. There was a softness in his face where before she thought she only saw angles and hard lines. The slope of his nose and curve of his lips weren't nearly as pointed as she imagined, and she wondered if she had ever truly seen him this clearly.
"You're staring at me," he said, making her blush. Thankfully, he was still looking at the ceiling, so he couldn't see that from his peripherals at least.
"Sorry. You… you just look different."
"Good different or bad different?" he asked, and her breath caught when she responded without thinking.
"Good different." She felt the familiar tingling in her palms, but it wasn't her magic this time. Her hands clammed up like a schoolgirl on her first date.
He turned and looked at her, meeting her gaze.
For one insane second she thought he was going to kiss her. She wasn't always entirely lucid, but there was no way she mistook that quick glance to her lips. She felt her ears grow hot, and she quickly turned away.
You're an idiot. Of course he wasn't going to kiss her. Did she want him to? Of course she didn't want him to.
It must have been a trick of the light.
He must've been just as uncomfortable, because a split second later he cleared his throat and lifted into a sit before standing up and brushing himself off. She started to stand as well, and from the look he gave her, she thought he was going to offer her his hand. But he abruptly turned away from her instead.
Yep, definitely wasn't going to kiss you. Even her internal monologue was rolling her eyes at her stupidity.
"So, I'm free until dinner. Were you wanting to start now?" she asked him, hoping that her thoughts weren't visible on her face.
"Good a time as any, I suppose." He turned back to face her and glanced quickly down to her hands, frowning slightly as she straightened the hem of her blouse. "I have to forewarn you I am not a professor. All I can do is show you how I learned."
She nodded and followed him to sit onto the couch, tucking one leg beneath her so that she could face him.
Sitting ramrod straight, he folded his hands into his lap and stared at her. She sat, feeling like she was back at school, only none of her previous "professors" ever seemed so nervous on their first day.
They continued to stare at one another, and, never being able to handle silence, she couldn't help but speak up.
"Well? What am I supposed to be doing?"
He stood abruptly, announcing, "This isn't going to work."
She couldn't contain the bark of laughter that crept up her throat. The sound reverberated off the walls of the room, and he turned sharply to glare at her.
"You haven't told me anything yet," she said, trying to assuage the look on his face that said he thought she was laughing at him.
"It isn't entirely you. I have no idea what I'm doing." He ran one hand through his hair absentmindedly, standing it on end, and Hermione found herself thinking how charming he looked when he wasn't acting. The smile immediately fell from her face when she realized she was somehow strangely attracted to Draco…. Malfoy, she reminded herself, Not Draco!
She motioned for him to sit back down, which he did with a huff, like a petulant child.
"Just tell me how you learned."
"Well, you have to be quiet, for one," he said, pointedly. When she only rolled her eyes, he continued. "There are really only two steps. You just have to completely clear your mind and replace the memories you want to remain hidden."
She blinked at him, thinking surely he was going to go on. "Oh, well if that's all then."
"See what I mean?" he asked, laughing. "It isn't really something that can be taught. You're either capable of it or you aren't."
She narrowed her eyes at him and determined then and there to be able to do this. Hermione realized that he was only repeating her words from the night before to Walt, but it was one thing for her to say she couldn't do something and another thing entirely for someone else to say she couldn't. She lifted her chin defiantly and said, "I'm confused as to how you accomplished it at all if you give up so easily."
The mirth in his eyes faded. "I wasn't saying I'm giving up. I was saying you're a lost cause."
It was her turn to grit her teeth. They stared at one another, neither willing to be the first one to look away.
"Fine," he said, finally, rubbing one hand down his face, as if he was already exhausted from the effort before even beginning. "You have to focus on something, a word or a sensation, something that you keep at the heart of your consciousness. When your mind begins to wander, because it will, just pull your attention back to that single sensation or word."
She nodded, trying her best to think of something, anything, to focus on. When he didn't speak again, she waited.
"Well, close your eyes," he said, clearly as exasperated by her lack of understanding as she was of his moodiness.
She closed her eyes and then reopened them quickly. "Okay, look. If we're doing this, you have to stop. I can't clear my mind if you're being an ass to me the entire time. I don't know what I'm doing either, so don't expect me to read your fucking mind." She didn't realize she was as angry as she was. She couldn't stand being treated like she was stupid. She may be a lot of things, but stupid, she absolutely was not!
He took a deep breath and closed his own eyes. He opened them slowly. "For the first time in years, I'm unable to completely occlude. It may not require a wand, but it does require a bit of magical fortitude and this fucking potion really screws that up for me. So, as you can see, it puts me a little on edge to be so… exposed."
She sat in front of him, staring at him dumbly, unable to respond. Had he just opened up to her? She nodded instead and closed her eyes.
She heard him take another deep breath, so she followed suit, leaning back against the couch cushion behind her and breathing in the smell of … bergamot. She sighed and willed the churning in her stomach to stop. She peeked out beneath one eyelid and found him staring at her. As soon as her eye opened, he lifted his eyebrows irritatingly, so she shut it quickly.
How in the world was she supposed to relax knowing he was sitting there just staring at her? She didn't feel like she ever stood up well to physical scrutiny, but here, she felt even more disheveled than normal. Well, that was a lie. She was always disheveled lately.
She groaned and opened her eyes again. When he balked, she said, "Can you face somewhere else? I can't just not think about it when I know you're staring at me! I can literally feel your judgment right now."
He clenched both fists but said nothing. He turned to face the same wall she was facing now and leaned himself back as well. "Is this better, your highness?"
"Loads," she said, not taking the bait, as she closed her eyes again.
"Why would you think I'm judging you?" he asked, and she felt him lift his head beside her.
"Shh," she said. "I'm trying to clear my mind." She smiled when he groaned in response.
They were silent, and Hermione tried to focus on her breath, just like the techniques for fighting a panic attack that Alys had taught her. She focused on her breathing and visualized the air entering through her nose and leaving through her mouth. They sat in silence for a few moments, and every time she found her mind wandering, she pulled it back in to fixate on her breath.
"I never realized you breathe so loudly," Draco said. She growled under her breath and lifted her head to stare at him.
"Are you intentionally trying to make this more difficult?"
"Not at all. You're doing that all on your own," he replied, smirking at her as he unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and began rolling them up.
Her eyes darted down, just as the bottom of his Dark Mark showed beneath the cuffs of his white shirt. She must've had some sort of reaction, because his eyes followed her gaze, and he immediately began unrolling his sleeve, trying to cover it back up.
"Sorry, I –"
"It's fine," she said, and before she could stop herself, she reached out and pushed his sleeve back up, her thumb grazing across the sensitive skin of his forearm, directly on the now fully visible snake and skull tattoo.
She had never seen one up close before, not where she could actually examine it. It seemed to have faded from what she remembered of seeing the Dark Mark before. When Voldemort was still alive, they all seemed to be the deepest inky black, visible from across the battlefield of the Hogwarts grounds. Now, after the death of its maker, the mark had faded to an almost purplish blue.
She heard the sharp intake of breath as she ran her free hand up his arm, feeling the ridges of the scarred skin beneath her fingertips. Remembering herself, she dropped his arm, and he hastily pulled his sleeve back down.
"I'm sorry. I should've asked. I've just never seen it up close before."
It seemed she wasn't the only one who was responding without thinking.
"Does it not bother you?" And then, as if he hadn't meant to ask at all, he looked down and blushed.
She shook her head and then realized he wasn't looking at her. "No. You don't have to hide it, not around me anyway." He looked up, and his brows furrowed in confusion. "It isn't who you are. I know that." She watched his eyes shift from icy blue to iron, and for the first time she realized it wasn't exactly a color change she was noticing. If eyes are the windows to the soul, his windows were slammed shut, or at least that's what he was attempting.
Before she could think better of it, she asked him with a smile, "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Try to hide. You just said you aren't able to, but I can tell when you're trying. Why do you do that?"
She expected him to deny it, but instead he only said with a shrug, "Habit."
"Well, you don't have to hide anything. I imagine you'll be digging around in my head before long as well, and I'm sure I won't be any good at keeping you out. We might as well both try to be adult about it."
A thought occurred to her then. If Draco wasn't allowed to use a wand at all, he wouldn't be testing her walls anytime soon anyway. What had Walt meant?
"Wait, if you can't use a wand for five years, what did Walt mean about us 'utilizing our magic freely?'" she asked him.
He seemed to be weighing something over in his mind, and whatever it was, it must've measured in her favor. To her complete shock, he didn't try to hide anything. His eyes remained their true gray blue, no locks behind them.
"I wasn't entirely truthful when I told you that I couldn't leave. I can leave, but I would be spending the rest of my sentence in Azkaban."
"What do you mean the rest of your sentence? I thought you only had a year?"
"Potter didn't tell you any of this? I just assumed he knew everything, being 'The Chosen One' and all."
When she narrowed her eyes at him in irritation, he continued. "I finished my one-year sentence in May and was released. Following that, I was supposed to do five years of house arrest, during which I wasn't permitted to have a wand. Unfortunately, I had to return to the Manor, since that's my 'home of record.' My appeals to the court to be able to purchase my own flat were consistently denied for whatever reason. I lived there for two months before I requested to just go back to Azkaban instead."
Before she could ask why, he went on, turning his face from hers to stare at the door across from where they sat. "I couldn't stay there. It hasn't been 'home' in a long time, but now, … " He twisted beside her, bringing his gaze back to meet hers, "Remember what I said about Hogwarts and why I couldn't go back? The Manor is the same way. It isn't home, it's a bloody battleground. Everywhere I look, there's an awful memory."
He swallowed and searched her face before saying more. "Father will be in Azkaban for another four years, so my mother doesn't stay there either. She lives in one of our vacation homes in France now, but when I was staying at the Manor, she tried to as well. It's even worse for her there. She…" He clenched his fists again and rolled his neck in agitation.
"So, I went back to Azkaban, ready to spend the next five years there, but a few months in, Susan appealed on my behalf, requesting that I be permitted to come here. When we're done here, given that Susan agrees that I'm a 'rehabilitated criminal,' I'll be able to move, have my wand back, and even work for the Ministry if I wanted to."
"You'd want to work for the Ministry?" she asked, surprised at this more than anything. She always imagined the aristocratic elite as lining the pockets of those in the Ministry rather than actually working there.
"I don't know, but I think I'd like to have the option. Besides, then I could take the Malfoy family seat back within the Wizengamot. Part of my sentence, as well as my father's, is that we can't retain our family seat. War criminal, and all that," he said, smiling acidly.
She hadn't at all realized just how much his sentence entailed. She wondered briefly if Ginny would be more satisfied with Draco's sentencing if she knew how extensive it was.
"Honestly, I really care more about being able to get the hell out of Azkaban and the Manor than anything else. I can live without magic and any of my inheritance, but I can't live there. And I won't force my mother to do so either."
He finished speaking and looked up at her. She wasn't entirely sure how to respond. She had never been any good at comforting anyone truthfully and that was a ton of information. She wasn't even sure what to focus on. He freely went back to Azkaban to avoid living in his childhood home, now full of unwanted memories. She wondered what his memories of his home used to be. Did he see what she went through there? Was that part of what he was trying to escape from? She certainly couldn't blame him for that.
Before she could think of an adequate response, he laughed shakily. "How pathetic, right? Complaining about having to live in a fucking manor?"
She was reminded again of Ginny's comments. Hadn't she said that very thing?
"That isn't pathetic at all," she replied. "I sure as hell couldn't live there, and I only have one shitty memory from it." He was fidgeting with his ring again, a habit she now saw as a clear indication that he was nervous and feeling vulnerable. "Nicola told me about Astoria."
His eyes snapped to hers at once and for once she saw a look in them that she hadn't seen before: fear. "What did she tell you?" he asked. Why did that thought scare him?
"She told me that Astoria was killed, in front of you both." He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward to put his face in his palms. "You don't have to talk about it. I only said anything because –"
He cut her off but didn't look up. His face was still downcast, his forehead and cheeks rested in his fingertips. His words caused her heart to sink into her stomach. "They made me torture her first. I didn't know he was going to kill her. I thought, if I did it, then it would be enough, he would let them go. But it wasn't."
She didn't realize she was moving until she felt the warmth of his arm beneath her hand. He jumped from the couch, flinching like she had burned him.
"Did you hear what I just said?" He spat the words at her, anger growling from his chest.
She had never been afraid of him before. Even at his worst behavior at Hogwarts, he had been nothing more than a bully, aggravating and infuriating her or making her feel inferior and self-conscious, but he never actually scared her. Very few people made her fear for her safety…. before the war at least. Now, she jumped at shadows. A shifty person on the street made the hair on her neck stand on end, and someone walking up behind her scared her so badly that she'd be in tears before she realized it wasn't anything dangerous. In that moment, him staring down at her with the fury of his voice still echoing off the walls around them, she was terrified. She wasn't sure how much of it was from the look of pure contempt on his face, the loud reverberation from his words, or just the suddenness of it all, but she recoiled, sinking back into the cushions behind her and pulling her knees up to her chest in one fluid motion.
Just as quickly as the anger flashed across his face, it was gone, replaced with something else. Remorse or penitence, perhaps. He started to reach toward her, but the moment hadn't passed for her. Her heart was racing and all she could think about were hands all over her and pain. She winced and turned her face away, clenching her eyelids as tightly as she could, bracing herself for the blow she thought was coming.
Before she could hold it in, a tear escaped below her lashes just as she heard the doors open. She opened her eyes just in time to see the doors close behind Draco as he left the room, never once glancing back.