Reformed
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Goldensnitch18
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Rated M for Scenes of a Sexual Nature, Language, and Violence.
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Summary: Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban and sent to Hogwarts for his eighth year where he has a year to show that he can be reformed. Hermione Granger, and her friends, are struggling to come to terms with what has happened to them and move on, but she has agreed to be Malfoy's Muggle Studies tutor anyway.
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Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this story.
Anything you recognize belongs to the great and mighty JKR.
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Chapter Seventeen
Tuesday, November 17th, 1998
Harry wasn't even quite sure how the letter had found its way to him. There must be some way for Muggle post to reach Wizards, but he hadn't ever thought to figure it out. When he was at Hogwarts, it sort of made sense that his Aunt and Uncle had been able to send him the worst gifts imaginable, but this was different. There was no way that Dudley Dursley could even know where Harry lived to address the letter to him. It simply said, Harry Potter. Dudley's name and address were scrawled in the upper left corner.
Without opening the envelope, Harry tried to imagine what reason his cousin could have for sending him a letter, but there was nothing he could think of. They hadn't spoken in over a year, not since Harry had sent them off to safety. He had heard from the Ministry that they had been relocated back to their home on Privet Drive after the war had ended, and Harry hadn't seen a reason to go and check up on them. He doubted this had been disappointing to any of the Dursleys, but perhaps he had been wrong. He wondered if something had happened to Petunia or Vernon. Would he want to know if that was the case? How would he feel about that?
He touched the envelope with his fingers, feeling the smooth surface as he tried not to remember that life, but it was so difficult to forget. The many good and happy memories he had made at Hogwarts had never quite washed away the ten years spent with the Dursleys before he had realized that he was a wizard. He had been nothing more than a disappointment hidden away under the stairs. Surely there were people in the world with worse situations that he had lived there, but there was also much better. He had gone to be hungry. He had been frightened and neglected. He had been unloved and untouched for ten long years. He hated to think about it. He rarely did, to be honest. Late at night when he couldn't sleep or close his eyes for fear of what waited in his nightmares, Harry would still wonder what he had lost on that Halloween night so many years ago. Who would his parents be now if they had lived? Who would he be? He had always been able to prepare himself for the moments when the Dursleys would reappear in his life for the summer, but this one had come at such a shock, just a letter that came with the post. He hadn't had time to put up his defenses.
Harry picked up the envelope, his finger pulling at the flap to reveal a letter. His fingers pulled out the piece of paper tentatively as if they knew something he didn't, but it was surely just nerves. He opened the fold and read,
Harry,
Thought we could have lunch sometime. Let me know.
Dudley
And, that was it. Harry nearly laughed at himself for getting so worked up, but he was too surprised by the actual contents to manage it.
As Ron moved into the kitchen, his hand rubbing furiously at his face, Harry shoved the envelope and note under another letter from Ginny. He wasn't about to combine these two parts of his life. He had no idea if he wanted to respond, let alone get lunch with his cousin. It was best to wait until he had figured this out to involve anyone else, even Ron.
"As much as last year sucked, it was kind of nice getting up whenever I wanted," Ron mumbled sleepily as he headed for the cupboard.
"And living in a tent and being hungry," Harry added, laughing a bit," that was just great."
Ron laughed also and shrugged. "Pros and cons, mate," he insisted.
XXX
Saturday, November 21st, 1998
Ron pushed through the door to the kitchen, relishing in the scents of home as they washed over his senses. Mum was cooking, of course. She was always doing something. It had eased a bit, for just a short while, and then the thing with Ginny happened, and it never really seemed to get right again. They hadn't been as worried about babysitting her lately, but it was clear that the family was out of sorts, and everyone seemed unsure what to do for Molly. It was one thing to grieve Fred together, but Ginny was still out there, still living. Ron was sure that this was hitting her harder given the Percy situation. Percy had been a giant ponce during the war, and it had wrecked their Mum. Ron reckoned it was hard to not take it personally when two of your kids decided they wanted nothing to do with you, even if one had come around.
Ron was hopeful that Ginny really was going to try and fix things over Christmas, and that his Mum would turn her traditional way of thinking about things long enough to let it happen. The Weasley's were not a family that dealt well with estrangements and broken relationships. They were built around being entirely too much in one another's space, love, and laughter. Sure, sometimes it was annoying to have a huge family, but after Fred, Ron wasn't about to wish them away.
He saw her right away as he closed the door, an apron around her waist, hair pinned back with several loose strands falling onto her cheeks. "Ron," she said loudly, a smile pulling at her lips.
"Hey, Mum. Enough for me?" he asked, crossing the room. She let him kiss her cheek, even though she did look a little surprised at the gesture.
"Always enough for everyone. Will Harry be coming?" She looked past him to the closed door as if she expected Harry to push it open and come in behind Ron that minute.
"No," Ron told her, "he's working." Ron wasn't sure you could call obsessively combing through old case files for no reason working, but it was best in this situation to keep the details to himself.
"It's Saturday," she said, dumbfounded. "Aren't you both still training?"
"I don't know." Ron shrugged and fell into one of the chairs at the table. "It's Harry. He's a bit …"
"Crazy," George finished as he walked into the room. "Always has been. He was the Heir of Slytherin you know." George winked at his mother as he passed her, and she gave him a disappointed frown.
"He needs to slow down," she said to them as she moved back to her stove. "He'll wear himself out before he even really has the job."
George opened his mouth to reply, but Ron cut in to end the conversation, not wanting to have to defend his best friend to his mother when he agreed with her. He had half a mind to start dragging Harry about with him to force him to have a bit of a life. "How's the shop going?"
"Busy," George told him. "I'm thinking about hiring some extra people for the weekends. We don't really need it during the week, but we're smashed on the weekends."
"Did you tell him about the building?" Molly asked. She seemed genuinely excited for the first time in a very long time.
"Well, I assumed you told everyone. Thought you must have written the Prophet and everything," George teased. "I got final approval for the building in Hogsmeade about a week ago. Signing papers in two weeks."
"That's bloody great!" Ron told him, unable to keep the envy out of his voice. Fred and George's shop had was growing at an immensely impressive speed. George had gone a similar route of Harry lately with his work ethic, but Molly seemed to be a bit more successful at pulling her son away from his shop when she thought he needed a break. "I could help on weekends some until you find some good people," Ron offered, thinking perhaps he would get some free products out of the deal.
"Yeah," George told him, "That'd be helpful. We could use it. Verity might kiss you if you start right away." He laughed, and their mother shook her spoon.
"Now don't be saying that nonsense around Lavender, George," she chided, but Ron just ignored her.
"Sure. I can come by tomorrow morning," he offered.
"Yeah," George agreed. "That'd be perfect."
Sunday, November 22nd, 1998
Hermione drew in heavy breaths as she waited, her nerves dancing under her skin. She had sent him the owl that afternoon in a fit of Gryffindor bravery she rather regretted now as she waited for him appear. Her door was barely cracked, just a hair, enough for him to push it open and slide in without making a sound. It was well after midnight, but she wasn't tired. She was wide awake, thinking over her words.
We need to talk.
But, why? Why couldn't she just leave things the way they were? Why did they need to talk? What did it matter that they had now had sex twice and spent time nearly every day snogging each other senseless? They could have carried on like that until, well, until … something else happened that forced them to deal with whatever was between them or the year ended. It would have been fine.
Except, it wasn't. She needed to know the answers to questions she hardly allowed herself to even think, let alone speak. She wasn't sure how she was going to get those answers, considering she was trembling at the thought of having to come up with her own answers, but something had led her feet up those steps to the owlery. She hoped whatever it was would return tonight to help her navigate her way through this conversation.
As she focused on her breathing, the door slid open, the shadow of his body slipped into her room, and the door shut firmly, but quietly behind him. She pushed up from her bed, her eyes meeting his in a moment of mutual nerves. She could see her own emotions reflected there. At least she wasn't alone, but that was hardly reassuring. They were navigating unchartered territory, trying to feel their way along unmarked paths which seemed better left undisturbed. Hermione wasn't one for following the rules, not in a long time at least.
"You wanted to talk?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as his feet shuffled.
Hermione stood in front of her bed, feeling the mattress brush against the back of her legs. "Yeah, I thought we should," she said. She pulled a loose curl behind her ear, and he followed the movement with a careful gaze.
"What about?"
"This." She motioned between them with one hand, unable to elaborate further. He knew what she meant. He must have known the moment he saw her note.
Come to my room tonight.
He must have been thinking, wondering the same things as her. How could he not? Unless he wasn't. Unless she was seeing and thinking and feeling things that weren't there. Her chest seized. This could be simply what it appeared, surface attraction, bodies being bodies.
Except, that first time …
The first time had been something more. There had been so much there. The things they said and didn't say had woven around them, making it perfect, making her feel things she couldn't begin to put words to.
"Yeah," he said simply. He stood at the door his shuffling beginning to drive her mad.
"You can come sit down," she suggested. He looked at the bed behind her, and his eyes moved slowly to her body, heat behind them that sent a shiver down her spine. Maybe meeting in her room had been a terrible idea. They seemed to have an issue with keeping control. She turned away from him, moving around the bed until she took a seat nearer her pillows. Draco moved across the room as well, taking a seat across from her, his legs crossed before hers. He ran a hand through his blond locks as the silence filled the room around them.
"Well, this is a good talk," Draco said finally, a grin turning up the corner of his mouth.
Hermione laughed nervously and shook her head as he broke the tension of their awkward dance. "Yeah, it's great."
Draco moved then, leaning his body into hers, and Hermione flushed as he moved closer to her, his grin spreading wider as he watched her face with rapt attention. When he reached her, his lips touched her neck, softly moving up her throat to her own mouth. "We could not talk," he suggested against her lips. The idea sounded extremely appealing to her, especially when one hand moved from her blankets to brush lightly against her breast through her shirt.
"Draco," she said, her voice cracking, "as much as I want to …" she trailed off, and he sighed as he sat back.
"It was worth a try." He shrugged, seeming to resign himself to the conversation at hand. She needed answers. As much as she didn't want to talk about feelings and definitions and need labels, she needed to know what in the hell they were doing.
"What are we doing?" she asked, her bravery slowly returning.
"Honestly, I have no idea," Draco told her, and she hated to admit, even just to herself, that his words hurt, cutting her somewhere she would rather ignore. Part of her hoped that he knew more that her, that he had figured this all out, but another part of her knew he was just as lost as she was, navigating this ride on sensations and reactions.
"You didn't want me with Ben. You kissed me," she reminded him, hoping he would be able to tell her what that moment had meant at least. That inability to control himself, his desire to have her not with someone else, that had to mean something more than just a random kiss that led to more. People didn't just go around kissing people they used to hate for no reason.
"I know," he agreed. His eyes moved down to watch his thumb stroke the back of his opposite hand.
"So …" she prompted, starting to get annoyed with his lack of response as silence spread again. She was quickly beginning to hate the thick weight of quiet between them. Over the past few months, she had grown used to being comfortable in his presence. She didn't want to go backward, but what did forward look like.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he told her, and she heard something tense in his voice. She couldn't pinpoint the exact emotion, but she desperately wanted to.
"What do you mean?" she asked, encouraging him to dig deeper. Give me more.
Draco looked up from his hands, his eyes asking the question before his lips could catch up. "What could we possibly be?"
Hermione licked her lips, bit down on the soft flesh, pulling at it hard. Her eyes fluttered shut as she blinked, an image of them out there in the world, laughing with Harry and Ron flashed behind her lids, and then she opened them, and he was still staring. "I don't know," she admitted. Surely not that. Ron and Harry wouldn't understand. No one would understand. "I like you," she whispered. It was stupid, utterly stupid, but she didn't know how else to relay her emotions to him. It was something deeper than like. She knew that. Her fingertips on his mark had ended like. His tongue on her scars had buried something deep inside of her that was growing at a terrifying rate, something her words could not express. She wouldn't let them.
Draco moved forward again in response, kissing her deeply as his fingers touched hers, their hands intertwining. "Just don't make me stop," he told her.
She knew he wasn't talking about this, about his body pressing hers down, and his fingers pulling at the hem of her shirt, but she didn't stop him anyway. She let him pull her trousers down and lick his way back to her center, let his tongue slide between her lips, let him bring her shuddering to release, let him move inside of her as she gripped his back with desperation. She let him curl up behind her, his arm across her waist, let him pull her wild hair aside to kiss her shoulder good night. She let him think she was asleep. She let him whisper in her ear that he wasn't ready to let go. She let him think she didn't hear.
She let him hold her tightly as he fell asleep behind her and tears slipped silently down her cheeks. That something deep inside her was gripping at her heart, holding it tightly as she tried to breathe and pretend like somehow it was okay that she was falling for him even though it was clear neither of them knew how to proceed.
A/N: You are all the best and that is all.
Love you.
xoxo
Meg
