Chapter 21 – New Friends, Old Habits
A/N: Slight departure from the original storyline, specifically in this middle section, may result in a few extra chapters being added onto the final chapter tally. I should technically be in June by now [based on my master plotline], but we have just barely gotten to April-ish. However, I feel like I'm back on track with my writing/muses from last week and I adore how this chapter came out. Word to the wise - middle story writing is rough.
Draco stomped angrily down the stairs, muttering at Granger's behavior. She could be so irritatingly obtuse and stubborn. He stopped by the kitchen, briefly considering boiling some water for a soothing cup of tea but quickly decided he didn't want to spend one more minute inside that blasted cottage. He snatched his cloak from the door hook and threw it over his shoulders in a single fluid motion that would have put his godfather to shame.
The sun blinded him with its midday glare and he promptly realized it was warm. Too warm for the thick cloak. Spring was in full swing and he wondered how it had passed him by. Grunting in annoyance, he yanked the fabric off and plopped down on a unsplit cut of firewood. Dropping his head into his hands, he glared at the ground.
"Bloody Granger." He seethed, digging his boots into the ground, "Bloody Cerridwen."
Watching an insect crawl its way across the soil, Draco was soon lost in his thoughts.
What had he done? Had he kissed her or more importantly, did she think he kissed her? He had been enraged at her clinical approach to their bond, in a way that had been most offensive. He wasn't the most emotional or romantic wizard out there, but her actions had felt like something akin to a visit with Madam Pomfrey back at Hogwarts. He had felt every fiber of his being reach out for her, in awe of her power. Yet, she had only responded with intense confusion and detachment.
He glanced up towards her bedroom window, a small part of him hoping she'd be there gazing down. He scowled bitterly when he found the frame empty. A chirp distracted him from his musings and he looked down to find the robin that she had supposedly befriended. Hugo, he remembered. Well, Hugo was the name she had made up for the small creature. He gave the bird a small smile and held out his hand gently, encouraging the animal to sit. It puffed up its little feathery chest and gave a squawk, refusing to move from its perch. Draco dropped his palm, the smile dropping from his face.
"Fine then, you little puffball." He responded, "Got any advice on how to deal with a witch-goddess hybrid who doesn't seem inclined to reciprocate their feelings?" giving the bird a bemused expression.
The robin, Hugo, hopped a little closer while tilting its light blue and gray head and watched with dark eyes.
"Me either." He sighed, "I thought woodland creatures were supposed to be helpful."
Hugo let out a brief chirp, eliciting a small chuckle from Draco.
"My advice," he added, leaning in towards the bird conspiratorially, "If you encounter one, just fly the other direction."
A melodic, second chirp drifted from the surrounding forest and Hugo turned towards the sound, twittering in response.
"Sounds like someone needs you." He mused, while making a shooing gesture towards Hugo, "Better get on then."
Hugo lifted away and soon disappeared into the freshly green trees, leaving Draco alone once more. He smiled gently into the quiet woods, just simply enjoying the peaceful silence around him. He inhaled deeply, various scents drifting by. The murky depth of the fresh, spring earth. The gentle scent of newly opened wildflowers and unfurled leaves. The nearby musk and tang of animals leaving their homes after months of hibernation. He swore he could even smell the crisp flow of the nearby stream. He found it odd how deeply connected he felt to this place. The woods gave no ounce of menace. He had sought its solace many times. The trees held no judgment of him, no contempt.
He thought back to when he had trudged through these silent sentries to remove the Mark once and for all. It caught him off guard to realize they would have been his final witnesses to the world had Hermione and Cerridwen not saved him. He looked around and released a low breath.
He decided he had sat there long enough, wallowing in some odd sense of misery. There was now a garden to tend to, along with their translation studies that had been neglected as of late. Despite the serenity of their location, the back of his mind always warned that a war was still ongoing. The Dark Lord was still in power, the Order was still in hiding, and, most importantly, Hermione was still in great danger of fatally succumbing to Cerridwen's power.
He turned towards the garden and its accompanying greenhouse. There were several seedlings in need of pruning and water while the garden beds needed to be tended to. Summoning a nearby shovel, he rolled up his sleeves and set to work.
Hermione woke up a couple hours later as the sun was beginning to set behind the trees. The dying light cast an orange glow across her room and she sat up with a groan. Her head was aching horribly, no doubt from Cerridwen's angry outburst earlier. Her mouth was terribly dry and she looked over to find her glass empty. She groaned once more, dreading having to walk downstairs and possibly face Malfoy. She cast a headache relief charm and frowned when it provided no relief. She tried once more and got the same result. Her frowned deepened when she cast an "Accio glass' and the glass remained on dresser, wobbling slightly.
Was Cerridwen's warning already coming true? Was she truly squandering her powers as they drained her magical core and, eventually, her life force?
She shook her head and stood on shaky feet, feeling slightly lightheaded. She realized with a start that she couldn't quite remember the last time she ate. Grabbing the glass, she padded down the stairs and peeked around to make sure Malfoy wasn't nearby.
Finding the downstairs empty, she let out a sigh of relief and quickly moved to the kitchen. While she waited impatiently for her food to cook, she peeked over at the table and noticed the stack of books they hadn't looked over yet. Looking at the titles, she found a thick and rather ornate tome bound in supple leather with shimmering runes on the cover. They wavered gently before stilling and Hermione peered hard at the characters.
Gospel of the Witches.
Hermione sniffed at the text. The book title suggested some sort of religious connotation and she wondered if it had anything to do with religious persecution of perceived witches, such as the Salem or Pendle Witch Trials. It certainly wasn't as exciting or intriguing as Pride & Prejudice, but she had neglected their studies long enough. She set the book down and finished cooking her food. She placed a fresh glass of water, the book, and her hot dinner on a tray and made to grab the tray when the door opened.
Hermione panicked when Draco entered and begin removing his boots, seemingly unaware of her presence. She tried to pick up the platter as quietly as possible but the clatter of silverware gave her away. Malfoy's head snapped up, his blond hair plastered to his forehead. Hermione let out a stuttered breath as her eyes made contact with his.
His face was flushed and covered in a light sheen. Sweat ringed the collar of his shirt while his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. Her eyes trailed to his arms and she had to stifle a groan at how unreasonably attractive he was. His eyes narrowed as she stood there motionless, only the sound of breathing and shaking dinnerware between them. He straightened up, his boots' laces half undone, and fixed her with an irritated glare.
Hermione managed to squeak out a petrified 'sorry' before she bolted up the stairs, water sloshing carelessly onto her plate. She ran into the bedroom, carelessly plunked down the tray, and swiftly locked the door behind her. She placed her ear to the door, listening for Malfoy's footsteps to follow. When none came, she released and breath and shuffled over to her rapidly cooling dinner.
She gasped when she realized that some water had splashed on the cover of the old book.
"Oh! No no no." She cried, gently lifting the text and inspecting for damage. "Bloody Malfoy! He could have waited two seconds and I would have been out of the room!"
She successfully cast a gentle drying charm and was relieved to find the book unmarked. She looked at her dinner and found her appetite had disappeared. She sighed dejectedly and cast a statis charm on the food, hoping her hunger might return. Luckily, her nausea and lightheadedness had disappeared for now. She took a couple sips of water, grateful for the pure liquid that flowed from their faucet. She flicked her finger to light the beside lantern and yelped in fear when the flame flared brightly, several feet tall.
The flame engulfed the entire lantern while threatening to scorch the ceiling and Hermione let out a small shriek before waving her hand again to extinguish the fire. Luckily, the motion worked and the flame disappeared. The lantern sat blackened with ash but relatively unharmed, the glass still in one piece. She grimaced and decided maybe she should hold off on using elemental-based magic for now. She rummaged through the bedside dresser for a box of matches and lit the lantern manually. Taking another sip of water, she crawled into bed and pulled the Gospel of the Witches into her lap.
Flipping briefly through the book, she saw several illustrations, lists, and diagrams. All in runes and not just regular runes, magical runes. She frowned as they wavered like a field of grass and she sighed heavily. Magical runes required a magical price. She could only read what she could give. It looked like this book would take its time revealing itself to her, draining her magic with each runic transformation. Thumbing back to the beginning, she readjusted the pillow behind her and set to work.
Draco blinked as Hermione raced up the stairs and slammed the door shut, completely perturbed by her evasive reaction. He sat in silence for a couple moments before he leaned over and resumed untying his shoes. After kicking his boots to the side, he sauntered to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of cool water. Drinking deeply, he leaned heavily against the counter and groaned tiredly.
He wasn't a complete stranger to manual labor, his hunting days and more recent fire chopping days had built up his tolerance. However, he found true gardening to be much more exhausting than the simple pruning and weeding he had done with his mother. The house elves had been responsible for that sort of work, their magic not hindered by elemental laws. Elves could manipulate earth, water, air, and fire in a way that witches and wizards could not.
He had attempted to move the soil himself but found he could work quicker by non-magical means. If anything, after a nice, long bath, he could slip into an uninterrupted sleep and avoid any further awkward interactions that evening. A lot more work had to be done in both the garden and greenhouse, not to mention restocking their dwindling firewood pile.
Yes, he concluded, he had plenty of things to keep himself out of Granger's way. He fixed a quick dinner and mentally made a note to remind himself to set some traps the following morning. Their meat supply was nearly gone along with their original food reserves. He guessed their food supply would be dangerously low by the time they could begin harvesting food and herbs. Yet, he was confident they'd make it til then. He remembered how gaunt the Golden Trio had been, more specifically Potter and Hermione, when they were brought to the Manor. There had been a thin sharpness to her features that he could only assume was prolonged hunger.
He shook his head and returned back to the reality. He found he didn't much like dwelling on any memories of Malfoy Manor, except for those of his mother. He thought if he ever returned to that place, he would raze it to the ground in a most spectacular fashion and rebuild from scratch. He would save a few precious family heirlooms along with the private Malfoy library collection, but everything else could burn for all he cared. Long, empty hallways and looming, dark rooms held no interest to him. He had felt more at home in the Slytherin common room than he had at Malfoy Manor. Hell, this cottage had been warmer and more welcoming than Malfoy Manor. He snorted rudely, imagining of his mother's aghast expression at the Malfoy scion slumming it up in a muddy field and dirt smeared on his aristocratic features. Pushing his hair from his face and away from the counter, Draco sauntered to the bathroom and ran a much-needed bath.
An hour later, freshly scrubbed and his muscles aching tenderly, he dropped unceremoniously on his chair and summoned both a glass of water and a random book from the haphazard stack on the table. A thin, black journal filled with thick, vellum pages zoomed across the room and landed tidily in his lap. He looked down at the cover and sighed testily, realizing the text was in another language. He waved a language indicator incantation over the book's title and grunted when the spell revealed the text to be in Middle Welsh. He felt it interesting that the spell indicated a particular age for the language but determined that would probably be helpful in deciphering the text. He summoned their assortment of translators texts, scowling when he found none for Middle Welsh specifically. He scoffed internally knowing he shouldn't have hoped it would be that easy.
He thought about the Welsh language's roots and selected Latin, Old Irish, and modern Welsh primers. The Welsh plus the other two languages were as close to accurately translating Middle Welsh as he was going to get. Grabbing a quill and some parchment, he spread out the journal and subsequent language primers and set to work. Periodically, he got up to refill his water or stoke the fire. The translation process was excruciatingly slow and he had only managed to transcribe and roughly translate a couple pages or so. He stared down at the choppy translations and threw the quill down in frustration. At this rate, they'd never get anything accomplished and Hermione might perish in the meantime.
Dropping his head into his heads, his eyes begin to sting with frustrated tears. Sniffing angrily, he roughly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and snapped the journal shut. Clearly, he wasn't going to get any more work done this evening and a quick glance at the window indicated it was well beyond dark. Draining the remnants of his water, he extinguished the kitchen lamps and went to the couch. He cast a Cushioning Charm and transfigured a pillow and blanket while making sure the fire was properly contained. Draco removed his clothes and gently folded them while clad only in his boxers and settled beneath the blanket. With his arm draped casually above him while the other arm absentmindedly traced patterns on the couch's fabric, he watched the embers of the fire pop and flicker before he drifted into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.