Chapter Twenty- Clean
Hermione crinkled the note in her hands, folding it then unfolding, reading it again even though it was only a sentence and a signature and she'd had it memorised within a minute of opening it. It had arrived for her at breakfast, with the usual morning post, and though her frown had soon disappeared when she recognised the handwriting, she could feel it creeping back between her eyebrows now. Something writhed in her gut. Hermione smoothed down her skirt and walked a little faster.
Stopping before the stone gargoyle and declaring the password she'd been given in the letter, Hermione stepped on the revolving staircase as soon as it appeared, letting it carry her upstairs. She only waited a moment before she knocked.
"Come in."
Pushing the door open, Hermione stepped into the room, stopping in front of McGonagall's desk. She waited silently, still clutching the note in her hands. The Headmistress didn't stop what she was doing.
Hermione glanced above her and noticed that Dumbledore's portrait was empty. She vaguely wondered where he had disappeared off to but forced herself to blink and look away. She cleared her throat. McGonagall still didn't look at her.
"Professor?" she prompted. "You wanted to see me?"
She didn't respond immediately, getting to the end of the essay she was marking. Only then, did she sheath her quill, rearrange her glasses on her nose and organise the papers in front of her into a neat pile.
"Miss Granger," the Headmistress said. "Did Mr Malfoy enjoy his trip out yesterday?"
Hermione's mouth dropped. Suddenly, she felt like a First Year again, answering the stern eyes and sharp tongue of her Head of House. McGonagall finally looked at her, fingers folded on the desk.
She fumbled for an explanation. "Professor, I-"
McGonagall held up a hand, silencing her instantly. Hermione closed her mouth.
"I hope you're aware of how foolish the pair of you were," she said irritably. In her anger, her accent thickened and her voice grew high. "Mr Malfoy is under strict supervision pending his trial, as you know! Sneaking out of the castle could very well have damaged his case."
The guilt flooded her stomach, making her heart feel heavy and dead in her chest. She closed her eyes. She never forgot anything, especially something as important as this- how could she forget about his band?
You were so caught up in helping him, you damaged his chances further.
Hermione let out a shaky breath. "Professor, I- It was me. Draco had nothing to do with it. I needed to take him somewhere, it was very important and I know, in hindsight, that nothing can be as important as his trial but that's exactly why-"
"Miss Granger," McGonagall began but Hermione didn't let her finish.
"I'm trying to help him too, Professor. We went to go meet Harry and Ron and we- we think we might have a case. A solid one, too. Something that could stand up against the Wizengamot. I know that doesn't mean anything now, not if I've ruined everything-"
"Miss Granger," said the Headmistress loudly, rising from her seat. Hermione fell silent. McGonagall pursed her lips. "The last time Mr Malfoy visited me to have his band returned, I took the liberty of changing it so that any interruptions would alert not the Ministry, but myself. Somehow, upon knowing you had Mr Potter's Cloak in your possession, I doubted very much that Mr Malfoy would remain in the castle as he should."
Hermione couldn't help but let the relief swallow her. The Ministry didn't know. They didn't know.
"It is beside the point, of course," continued McGonagall. "I'm disappointed you would act so rashly, Miss Granger. As I recall, that was always Mr Potter and Mr Weasley's influence. You could have gotten Mr Malfoy into serious trouble. I presume you know that, Miss Granger?"
She had the decency to look chastised. Hermione ducked her head and traced the buckles of her boots, her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, Professor," she replied quietly. "It was never my intention to-"
"I know, Miss Granger. Perhaps you and Mr Malfoy should consider yourselves lucky that I anticipated your blatant disregard for common sense. You are dismissed."
Hermione blinked. She nodded, murmuring her thanks quietly and heading for the staircase.
"Professor," she stopped in the doorway. She swallowed. "I have a plan. For Draco."
McGonagall just smiled, her lips softening and curling a little more widely than usual. "Miss Granger, having known you for seven years, I would be severely disappointed to hear you didn't."
Hermione found herself biting back a smile, and she ducked her head in a nod, slipping out of the room with a quiet, "Goodbye, Professor."
oOo
"Malfoy, it's not funny!" she huffed. It didn't stop his laughter. If anything, he clutched his stomach harder, rolling sideways onto his cushion. They were sitting in the Room of Requirement, on opposite settees. She'd just told him about her meeting with McGonagall, which, much to her chagrin, he seemed to find terribly amusing. Hermione scowled at him and lobbed a pillow at his head.
That sobered him up.
"I thought you'd be annoyed with me," Hermione bit her lip. "I could've ruined everything-"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're being melodramatic, Granger. Nothing happened. McGonagall saved our arses. Leave it."
"But-"
He threw the pillow back at her, hitting her square in the face, muffling her protests. When she hugged the cushion to her, watching him quietly, Draco sighed and admitted, "I knew she'd done something to it. The spells she used were different to the ones the Auror had put on. I assumed she was giving me more space to roam. Don't blame yourself, Granger. I put on the Cloak."
They hadn't spoken about their meeting with Harry and Ron since it had happened, over a week ago. Every time Hermione had tried to bring it up, Draco would divert the conversation with his old snark, drawling something offensive that would rile her up into an argument that she forgot about her question in the first place. She'd spent more than enough time with him to know he was deflecting.
Draco sighed heavily, pushing himself up and moving to sit beside her. He stared at her hand, then haltingly reached out to rest his palm over her knuckles. His fingers curled around the side of her hand. His thumb almost caressed her skin but he stopped himself. Hermione watched him, not careful enough to hide her surprise.
"I-" he began. "I can't really begin to express my appreciation for everything you're trying to do."
He spoke hesitantly, stopping and starting, forcing the words out without looking at her.
Hermione swallowed. Shrugged. "It's nothing."
The look Draco sent her implied she was stupid. She smiled bashfully.
"Honestly," she said, looking down at their hands. She chewed at her lip then slowly twisted her hand in his, locking their fingers. Draco's hand followed hers, and this time his thumb dragged along the side of her index finger. His skin was rough and calloused. Hermione looked at him and found him enraptured by their hands in her lap. "It really is nothing, Draco."
His eyes shot to her. He shook his head. "It's not nothing, Granger. It's everything to me."
Hermione licked her lips. Draco's eyes traced the action.
"Are you staying for Christmas?"
A bitter smile twisted his face. "I have no where else to go."
"Me neither," she said, resting her head back against the settee. Her curls splayed between them. Draco mimicked her, and they stared at one another. He neglected to point out that she had Potter and Weasley and all of Weasley's clan who would welcome her with open arms and hearts at Christmastime, just in case she changed her mind.
"What do you want to do after Hogwarts?" he asked instead.
Hermione frowned. Her eyes flitted around whilst she thought. "I'm not sure."
Draco scoffed. "You could be anything you choose to be and you're not sure?"
"I used to want to work in the Ministry," she said. "For the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures-"
"Don't tell me this is about that Spew thing you were always going on about!"
Hermione scowled at him, squeezing his fingers threateningly. He winced. "First of all, it's S.P.E.W. Secondly- the whole point of the Department is vastly misguided! It implies the archaic belief that magical creatures don't have any rights to protect them and it's up to wizards to control and regulate their exposure to the Wizarding World."
Draco wrinkled his nose. "House Elves want to be controlled, Granger. It's in their culture to serve."
"It's not only that, Draco," she continued. "It's also the fact that the best Defence teacher we've ever had was forced to resign because of prejudices that are actively encouraged by the Ministry. Werewolves are victims of much more than their infliction. They're socially excluded and it's wrong. They are still wizards and witches. They still deserve a high quality life."
Draco watched her, eyes drawn to the spark in her eyes, the sudden liveliness of her hair as it crackled with her passion, the heaving of her chest as she spoke. There was a small frown pulling her eyebrows together and a pout in her lips. He noticed the red skin along the seam of her mouth where her nerves and insecurities had nibbled away.
"Lupin was the best Professor Hogwarts has ever had. Not just for Defence," said Draco. When Hermione blinked at him, he shrugged. "I guess lessons with the Carrows really put things into perspective."
Hermione's breath tickled his cheeks when she exhaled. "So I've heard. Neville didn't go into detail. He didn't have to." She regarded him for a moment. "It must be hard," she said. "Being back here."
Draco frowned. He looked down at their hands because it was easier and played with her fingers, thumb still brushing along her skin. "I imagine it's hard for everyone, Granger. Their classmates died here."
Hermione was still staring at him and he knew that wasn't what she meant but she didn't push. She just hummed and said, "I suppose you're right."
She shifted suddenly, moving further up on the settee but it just brought her face closer to Draco's. He swallowed and resisted the urge to move away, to wrench himself from her, from her fingers, her wide eyes, the fan of her breath. He was too close. He told himself to move. He noticed the freckles on her nose were like the faintest constellations in a clear night sky.
"This place used to be haunted to me," whispered Hermione. Her grip on his fingers felt tighter. Her grip on his soul was tighter still and he clung to her every word. "That's why I couldn't sleep. That night. Why I still can't sometimes. No where was untouched. I nearly didn't come back, you know. I wanted to finish my education but without Harry and Ron- and all things considering... but I knew I had to."
She smiled slightly, shook her head and her curls went flying. "From the moment I received my Hogwarts letter, I'd looked forward to coming here. I counted down the days, tried to wish them away, and then it was everything I'd ever dreamt of and more. Magic was everything to me. I knew that I couldn't throw it away. Even after everything- Hogwarts was still my home here. My place in the Wizarding World.
It didn't feel like that at first. It felt spoiled. But it's starting to feel like home again."
Hermione smiled slightly, almost nervously, and Draco felt his stomach flip. He clutched her fingers tighter. Hogwarts wasn't home to him. It never had been but he was starting to think that home wasn't a place, it was a person. It was the person you felt safest with. The one who made your heart settled and your head quiet. Draco realised it quite suddenly and it didn't shock or scare him. Hermione Granger was home to him and he'd never felt safer than in the warmth of her smile, their fingers entwined, her dreams floating in the space between their lips.
oOo
Christmas morning dawned cold and bright. The light from the sky fractured through the Black Lake, catching on the kelp and the algae, breaking through the murkiness to bathe Draco's room. He woke early, but his body felt settled and his eyes didn't sting. Numbly, he rubbed at his face. He must've slept well. Lethargy still hung on his bones and his head didn't bang like it usually did. It took a moment for it to register that it was Christmas.
He hadn't been looking forward to it. Normally, Draco would love the Christmas holidays; it meant going home, seeing his mum again, the Manor decked in silver decorations, trees the size of pillars in every corridor and entryway, and fairy lights that twinkled like real fairies. The magic of Christmas had died the moment the Dark Lord had set up camp in the same Manor Draco had always called home and Christmas was sacrificed as a Muggle tradition. The Manor had been empty ever since but Draco sometimes dreamed of the way it once was, of its former glory.
Staying at Hogwarts would be easier than going back there, he knew. Not that he had a choice. But Blaise was staying so he wouldn't be alone. Hermione would be there too.
Draco dragged a hand down his face. He didn't know what time it was but there were still shadows in his room and creeping along the floor of the lake. He swung his legs out of bed and summoned his robe, hoping the Common Room would be empty.
It wasn't.
"Well, aren't you in the festive spirit."
Draco grimaced, scratching at his head and moving over to the centre of the Common Room where the fire was crackling and Blaise sat with his back to him. He skirted past the giant silver Christmas tree and collapsed opposite his friend. "How'd you know it was me?"
"You have a signature stomp," replied Blaise, rolling his neck.
Draco glared into the fire. "I do not stomp."
Still, he saw his friend's smirk flicker orange. Blaise chuckled and threw something at him. If it hadn't have been for Draco's Seeker experience, the object would have likely collided with the side of his head but he caught it just in time.
"Moved on to abusing me physically now, Zabini?" he scowled, voice biting.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Merry Christmas to you too, Draco."
Draco wordlessly summoned the present he'd bought for Blaise. It was a bottle of his friend's favourite French whiskey. It landed in his lap and he held the neck out for Blaise to take it.
He shook it conspiratorially, holding it to his ear. "My, I wonder what it could be."
Draco narrowed his eyes but turned his attention on the box in his hands. It was wrapped neatly in emerald paper, the tucked edges exposing Blaise's pedantry. Mercilessly, he slid a finger along the seam and snapped it open. The paper fell away.
The box was about the size of his palm, ornate and green, with silver embellishments. A little silver dragon danced on the lid. Draco frowned and opened the box, moving to dip his fingers in the balm.
"I wouldn't if I were you," said Blaise. His eyes were fixed on him. "It's very expensive stuff. Don't waste it."
"What is it?" Draco asked.
Blaise put the whiskey to one side and leaned back, regarding him with black eyes. "It's invisibility balm. It covers up anything. I'm not entirely sure it's legal magic. It took me a while to find it and a pretty penny to buy."
Draco froze. He looked down at the gel. He stole a breath before tempering his voice. He asked, "It covers anything?"
Blaise never faltered. "Anything."
Draco glanced at him. Within the same second, he placed the box beside him, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling back the sleeve until it rested at his elbow. The Dark Mark was garish as ever, sickly against his pale skin, stained. It almost looked to be weeping. The snake writhed in the skull. Draco felt his throat go dry. His hands shook.
"Are you sure?" he asked. He had to. He couldn't get his hopes up, but he felt the giddiness and anxiety rising in his chest regardless.
"I was guaranteed," replied Blaise.
Draco nodded. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Flexing his fist so tightly his knuckles turned white, he slathered gel on his fingers and hesitated only for a moment, when the flash and heat of the pain he remembered made him flinch. Then, he covered the Mark.
Nothing happened straight away. The gel was clear but his Dark Mark was still visible. Draco swallowed his disappointment. It almost choked him.
He felt the tingle first, the tell-tale caress of magic, and watched raptly as the gel soaked into his skin, blending into the whiteness until his forearm was empty. Draco's breath fell from his mouth like a sob.
"Blaise-"
He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his lips together so he wouldn't cry.
"It won't always be winter," said Blaise. "You can't stomp about in your long sleeved emo robes forever."
Draco couldn't even laugh. "Blaise, I-"
"Need some whiskey," his friend finished for him, transfiguring two nearby flower vases into glasses and cracking open his bottle. He poured the whiskey, handing Draco a glass. He downed his own in one, letting out a noise that was torn between revulsion and satisfaction. "Ah, that's the stuff."
Draco swirled his glass, staring at the place on his arm that had once held the Mark, the condemnation of his life's work. Not anymore, he thought. I'm clean. Clean.
"Thank you," he said. He'd like to think that his voice didn't break but even if it did, Blaise paid it no mind.
"Don't mention it."
He refilled his glass and held it over the gap between them. Draco took his own and clinked it with Blaise's.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," he reclined, downing his whiskey again.
"Merry Christmas, Blaise."
oOo
There weren't many students staying behind for Christmas, though Draco could hardly bring himself to be surprised. It wasn't the place he would choose to stay. Still, McGonagall had made sure to deck the Great Hall out like the good old days. There was a towering Christmas tree behind the teacher's table, brushing the ceiling, twirling in ribbons the colour of all the Houses and leaning from the weight of the baubles at each spindle. Smaller trees lined the walls, framing the two fireplaces which roared merrily, swathed in holly wreaths and adorned with mistletoe that would creep across the air to catch unsuspecting victims, locking them in place until they surrendered a kiss. The charmed ceiling was a milky white and snow fell delicately, catching on shoulders, table and floor before melting in a second. Draco had to admit it was beautiful. It almost took his breath away.
He almost forgot about the massacre that had taken place there.
There was only one table set and lavishly endowed for Christmas dinner, and even then it was only half full. The Professors that had deigned to stay over the holidays were dotted amongst the students, with McGonagall at the head. Draco sat at the opposite end. He didn't miss the looks people gave him, nor the way those closest to him shuffled further down the bench. Absent-mindedly, he tugged at his sleeve.
He wasn't alone for very long when someone dropped on his right, huff flying from her lips, hair bouncing around her shoulders, tickling his cheek. Draco shot to look at her.
"What are you doing?" he demanded in a rush of air.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, pausing. "Well, Merry Christmas to you too!"
Draco's eyes flitted down the table. People were watching. Blaise would be along soon. "Granger-"
She seemed to follow his line of thinking, rolling her eyes and exclaiming, "Oh honestly, Draco. Harry and Ron know and they didn't care. Why should we care what anybody thinks?"
He swallowed and started to help himself to food. Hermione smiled, a little secretively, next to him. She pulled a string bag from the floor, digging her arm in right to the elbow, before retrieving a suspiciously book-shaped present, and offering it to him.
"Merry Christmas, Draco," she said quietly.
The rest of the school dropped away. Draco just stared at her. He wet his lips and diverted his gaze, taking the present and holding it on his lap for a moment. The edges weren't as neat as Blaise's but they were folded precisely, stuck together by something Muggle presumably. The paper was icy blue with little, smiling snowmen.
A smile tugged at his lips.
"Granger," he began. He looked up at her then and the words stopped on his tongue. She was looking at him so passionately, with pink cheeks and wet lips and wide eyes. Fresh snow laced in her hair then disappeared. "I- Thank you."
Hermione beamed. "You're welcome," she replied softly.
Draco reached inside his robe, taking out the present he'd shrunk earlier, not knowing when he'd get chance to give it her. He handed it to her and she gasped.
"You didn't have to-" she began but he cut her off.
"Granger," he said, mock patiently. "Even if you hadn't gotten me anything, I would've given you this. If only to stop your nattering."
Whilst Hermione sat, stunned and quiet, Draco unwrapped his present, running his hand over the cloth bound cover and smiling slightly. Shakespeare's Comedies. He shook his head a little, finger slipping down the spine.
"I thought that these might cheer you up instead," Hermione admitted. She sounded almost nervous. "His tragedies can get a bit depressing after a while. I don't know how many you've read but Much Ado about Nothing is my favourite-"
"Granger," Draco interrupted. "Stop talking and let me thank you."
She shrugged, looking away. Her gaze dropped to the present in her hands. Nimbly, she ripped the paper and pressed her lips together when she saw what it was. Her eyes shone.
"Draco," she breathed. "You didn't have to."
He shrugged, suddenly feeling very hot. "You said you still weren't sleeping well. I owled the Manor to ask for the ones my Mother used. I thought it might be because the House Elves weren't making it right."
Hermione flushed. She clutched the box of Jasmine tea leaves closer to her chest. "Don't blame the House Elves!"
Draco groaned. "Don't start on your Christmas Spew appeal."
Her nostrils flared. "You know it's S.P.E.W."
There was a giveaway twitch at the corner of his lips but before he could retort, Blaise slid into the seat across from him. "Granger," he greeted.
"Zabini," she replied smoothly, cutting up her bacon. "Merry Christmas."
"And to you."
Draco didn't comment on this sudden civility between the two. He could only gape at them. Hermione slyly shot him a look out of the corner of her eye.
"Oh honestly, Draco," she said. "Close your mouth. You'll catch flies if you don't."
"Yes, Draco," Blaise added, an irritating twinkle in his dark eyes that made Draco's face twitch for an entirely different reason. "It's also terribly unattractive. You look like a fish."
Hermione laughed and Draco momentarily forgot his annoyance. The snow continued to fall from the ceiling, melting on his shoulders, catching in his eyelashes. Some landed on the tip of Hermione's nose and he reached over without thinking to wipe it off, forgetting it was magic and would fade anyway. She hesitated, and Draco stopped, his hand still outstretched between them. He could feel Blaise watching him. It felt like everyone was watching him. But then Hermione's face split into a smile and she reached up and squeezed his fingers, bringing their hands under the table, still loosely strung together, before turning back to her dinner as though it was nothing. As though she wasn't the loveliest Christmas present he'd ever received.
AN: Hiya guys! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments recently! I was pretty rubbish after the last few updates and this has been on standstill for what feels like a very long time in comparison. I have good news! My original book that I'm writing is finally starting to take shape! I'm only on 20,000 words at the moment but these first 8 chapters have been rewritten a few times and I've finally got a proper plan- I've always had my plot, it just needed extensively bulking up. I'm very excited about it. It's bizarre- I'm so in love with my characters, they feel so real to me that I've already cried about what's going to happen! As you have probably noticed, I'm a sucker for angst. I think there is something really beautiful, not in suffering but in mending yourself in the aftermath. I'll try keep you updated on it but I really feel connected to this book, like it's a part of me that I've funnelled out from my soul and onto paper (or Microsoft Word at this point, but that doesn't sound nearly as poetic!). Anyway, I suppose this is a bit more "filler" than we've had in a while but I hope you like it neverthelessJ