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3
Hermione's Point of View
I slip down from the car seat; my feet sloshing into the dead leaves and debris caught against the curb.
"Looks like they're heading inside," Ginny notes. I squeeze my toes on my right foot together to try and get some blood flowing. They're completely numb against the cold, damp sock. I think absently about my boot forever lost somewhere on the hill of a sand dune in the English countryside. The boots I have worn the entire time I've been on the road with Ron and Harry.
I can borrow a pair of Harry's boots and triple lace them since he's only two sizes bigger than me; a fact Ron has brought up frequently as a point of laughter on especially quiet nights on the road.
Ginny nudges me, forcing me back to the situation at hand. The uninvited guest waiting at the door.
"Let's get you inside. You'll catch your death with only one shoe on in this rain," she says, pushing me away from the car.
I stand up on the curb as I watch them, huddled for a moment at the doorway. Remus and Malfoy argue before entering and Pansy ducks in behind them. Harry and Ron wait at the door for us. Ron rolls his eyes gesturing toward Malfoy and Remus.
"Don't ask," he adds, sardonically.
"Don't tell," I answer, trying to match his tone. But it doesn't hide my true feelings about the situation because I notice Ginny and Harry exchange a quick glance and that only makes me feel so much worse. I don't want to be the focus of anxious glances. I don't want it to be always so obvious what I'm feeling. Ron however, if he's picked up on my worried tone doesn't acknowledge it and I'm grateful. I truly don't want him to tell me what they were arguing about. I don't care. As childish and immature as that sounds, I don't.
I don't care what they said or what they're going to say. I want her to go away. I want her gone because as long as she's here my perspective is tilted and there is a very large line drawn right down the centre of all of us. Maybe she brought it with her, but I had done my best before she came to try and erase that divide but it's back again. Malfoy and Pansy are on one side and we're on the other. When she wasn't here there was a chance that very fine line might fade away altogether but now that she's here a wall has risen further solidifying its permanence.
Through the darkly lit corridor, an air of tension hangs above us. Everyone staying at the safehouse is conveniently not walking the hallways and conversing with one another. They have hidden themselves away at the sight of someone they're supposed to be fighting against just showing up at their safe house. In the dining room, Mrs Weasley sits by herself at the top near the hearth. She smiles when she sees us enter the room completely oblivious to the tension or at least faking extremely well.
"I have some soup on; chicken if you're peckish," she says, standing from her seat. She smoothes down the front of her dress with her infamous tea towel slung over her shoulder. I smirk a little at her. Chicken soup is something she always made me when I was at the burrow and feeling sick. I don't imagine that flavour was picked purely coincidentally. She smiles back at me sweetly before she gasps.
"Hermione, dear! Where is your other boot?" she calls, striding over to me.
"Oh yeah," I say nonchalantly angling my heel from side to side to inspect the wet and dirty sock.
"I lost it back at the dunes. It got stuck in the mid," I inform her. The others turn to me then, aware of another little commotion happening in our circle. Malfoy looks over his shoulder at me, noticing my missing boot for the first time. A serious, questioning pair of eyes follow and it's the first time I've made eye contact with her. She looks me up and down, noting the boot but cast her unfeeling eyes away, unbothered by it all and especially my presence.
"Oh, heavens above! That just won't do. You'll catch your death in this weather," Molly says taking my hand in hers. I turn to Ginny who holds an 'I told you so' face proudly. We cross the room and leave behind some concerned faces as we make our way through the kitchen and the ever-stirring spoon as it keeps the soup just right for whenever we might need it.
In the back room, Molly fusses over a basket of disorganised clothes left by some people who never quite made it back to Grimmauld Place somewhere or another.
"I don't need a matching pair Molly, it's fine," I say, pulling off my one remaining boot and peeling my filthy wet socks off. I throw them absently into the washbasin in the corner beside me, probably never to be seen again. Good riddance they had enough holes in them. The animated gloves that are washing the clothes stop, annoyed at the sudden addition to their workload before frantically getting back to work.
"Of course," Molly laughs, grabbing two odd socks from the bottom. One bright green and one knee length with small red bears on it. They probably belong to some of the other students of Hogwarts that used to stop by. Some are dead now. I stare at them for a while before slipping them over my cold feet. Molly fusses again for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself.
"Did she say anything?" I ask, trying to get the sock over my heel. I pause for a moment and we both listen towards the other room trying to see if we can hear anything.
"Not a word," Molly admits, nervously folding some of the clothes in the pile.
"She just said she wanted to speak to the Malfoy boy and then she sat on the front steps and waited. She wouldn't answer anyone's questions. Nymphadora sat with her after a while."
I pull the legs of my jeans back over my socks and Molly smiles at me.
"There, all better. Do you want some soup?" She asks, kindly. But there's worry there, hiding in the corner of her eyes. Whether it's directed at me I'm not sure.
"Maybe later, okay? I don't have much of an appetite right now. It smells lovely though," I say, hopeful to erase some of her worries. But she remains uneasy, her return smile not reaching her eyes. She hovers uncertain for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself when no one is asking anything of her. That I can empathise with.
I follow her out of the back room towards the sound of rushes and disheartened words from the dining room. When we enter, I notice Malfoy and Pansy sitting beside one another at the table. Shacklebolt is here now, standing at the top of the room with Remus. I sit beside Ginny; opposite Malfoy and it strikes me when he removes his hand from the back of the empty chair beside him that he had expected me to sit there. I turn my eyes away guilty and tuck my legs up towards me on the chair, rubbing some warmth back into them.
"You understand, Miss Parkinson, that we can't give you any such privacy given the current climate and severity of the situation. You have come here. To our safehouse and therefore you must adhere to the rules we have in place here," Kinsley explains. His tone is calm, and it washes over me, reminding me of the way some of the professors used to speak at Hogwarts. Pansy grunts and rolls her eyes discretely.
"But it doesn't concern anyone in this room but Draco," she states harshly. Kingsley merely nods his head at her as if he completely understands her.
I don't like the way his name sounds coming out of her mouth. As if she owns it or feels like she's the only one allowed to call him that. As if he's hers. Maybe in some way, he is hers. She has known him for many years longer than anyone else in this room. Many years longer than I have known him. Perhaps I only really knew him towards the end of Hogwarts. I knew of him before, but it was much different. Like seeing someone without glasses on; unfocused with no particular hard sketch of them. Just an idea, still forming. Perhaps my idea of him is still forming even now.
"I think it's only fair if we're the judge of whether or not it concerns only Mr Malfoy," Kinsley answers her. His calm assured tone seems to be grating on her. I imagine she's used to getting a rise out of people.
"Whatever you wish to say to Mr Malfoy can be said to the entire room or you may leave the same way you came in," he states, his tone final on the matter. She stares between him and Malfoy, incredulous.
"Just get on with it Pansy," Malfoy says, his thumb and index finger holding his head up as he rests his elbows again the table.
"Fine," she sighs, turning towards Malfoy under the illusion that she's speaking to him alone as if we're not here waiting with bated breath.
"That night, when Yaxley took you from that house I didn't hear you leave. Blaise came into the room with Nott after you were already gone and told me what had happened. We went and sat in the sitting room when everyone else was sleeping and we just waited. But you didn't come back and eventually a day or two later Yaxley showed up.
Blaise asked to speak with him and at first, the others kept saying he was busy but Blaise cornered him the day after when he was trying to leave and asked him when you were coming back. They spoke outside I guess I'm not sure because Nott and I were sent to the marshland in Lincolnshire to go on a supply run for potion materials. When we got back to the house Blaise was gone."
I stare over at Harry's face beside Ron and he shakes his head at me, confused. Malfoy keeps his eyes cast down towards the table as she speaks and I wish he would look at me so I could try and see what he's thinking. Pansy continues.
"The next day I asked and asked but I was just told he was on a mission up north. It wasn't until Nott and I were moved to Manchester that we heard you were gone and Bellatrix was dead. We knew you weren't coming back then. It took us another day to figure out that neither was Blaise.
Nott asked around but no one has seen or heard from Blaise since that day. So I came here because I figured you'd be here with her," Pansy adds the last word with distaste.
"And I guess I'd hoped maybe Blaise might be here too," she adds, quietly.
"Here was never here," Malfoy admits.
"I know," she says solemnly.
"So where is he then?" Remus asks from the top of the table.
"He's wherever Yaxley is keeping him," Malfoy supplies tempestuously.
"How can you be so sure? I've asked Yaxley several times Draco. His story never changed. He always said he was away on the mission," Pansy retorts. There it is again; that possessive way she says his name.
"Because I know Yaxley, and I know what he's doing."
"And? What is he doing?" Remus asks tensely.
"He's waiting for me," Malfoy responds flatly. His voice void of emotion. He clenches his fists until the knuckles stretch and turn white. Without warning he pushes away from the table, his chair scraping loudly again the old titles as he stands.
A sudden hot flush soars up my back as I watch him turn to move away from the table. He motions to pick up his robe off the back of the wooden chair.
"Sit down!" I shriek across the room, my voice breaking and hoarse from the roar. Malfoy stops mid-turn and Pansy shoots me a death stare, but I barely see anyone's reaction. The panic is almost all-consuming now. The room falls deadly silent after my outburst, eyes exchanging worried glances back and forth, words spoken voicelessly. Even the soft shuffling of feet upstairs stops. The house is completely quiet. All I can hear is the loud thumping in my ears. Ginny tries to take my hand under the table, but I swat her hand away.
Malfoy turns his head towards me with a grave expression. Pansy turns towards the clock hanging on the mantlepiece.
"I have to go now," she says to him, breaking the silence that hangs. She stands, takes her things off the table and whispers something into Malfoy's ear.
"Remus let's talk in the hall," Harry asks. He and Ron wait at the bottom of the main staircase for Remus and Shacklebolt. The room slowly clears out. Everyone is only ecstatic to find a reason to leave after my sudden outburst.
"No," Malfoy answers her. Pansy nods her head solemnly.
"I must go. No one knows I'm here. I have to be back," she tells him, and he finally breaks eye contact with me to turn and look at her. They exchange a few words briefly at the door. I can barely hear them over the sound of Molly moving around in the kitchen. Trying to make as much noise as possible to quash the awkward feeling hanging in the air that I've created. I don't blame her.
I hear the front door shut and just like that Pansy Parkinson is gone almost as quickly as she came. Just a quick visit from an old friend to upset the balance of things that I had spent time creating and then off on her way to cause havoc somewhere else, I'm sure. I hear the start of an argument in the hallway about whether Pansy should have been allowed to leave so easily without further questioning. Remus tries to engage Malfoy in the conversation, but he walks past him and back into the dining room. I watch his reflection in the mirror above the mantlepiece as he shuts the door. He fumbles for a moment in his pockets before noticing the key in the door and turning it all the way around.
He slides into the seat beside me, resting his dovetailed hands on the cool mahogany table we were calmly eating breakfast at this morning. With the door closed the heat from the fire has a chance to find its way to my feet, making the pain more manageable.
"What was that about Granger?" he asks, calmly. But it's a farce. He's anything but calm right now.
"Probably the most rational thing anyone has said all evening I reckon," I argue. I can see him roll his eyes in the reflection of the mirror and I turn to glare at him.
"Look, I get how you feel but I…
"Actually, you don't. Not in the slightest because if you did you wouldn't have immediately jumped up to grab your robe to leave!" I shout back at him, aware that the conversations outside have simmered down. No doubt in an effort to hear what's happening in the room.
The lack of privacy that is so prevalent in war times has changed me. Long gone is the girl who worried about raising her voice and seeming un-ladylike in public. Unfortunately, long gone are a lot of things that I thought I'd never lose.
"This is so hypocritical of you, honestly," he starts, the anger showing ever so slightly. If he can feel my anger, he doesn't shift away or acknowledge it.
"If it was Potter or Weasel you would want to go. You would have jumped up quicker than I did. But because it's someone I know; someone from that side you don't care," he explains angrily.
I bit my bottom lip to stop the heat from rising in my chest. How quickly the anger can change to desperation and then swiftly to misery. I turn my head away, ashamed as the tears start pouring down my face. I hold my breath to try and hold back some of the pressure and the lump in my throat from escaping.
Stop crying, you idiot.
I let my hair fall from behind my ears to hide my face, creating a wall between us. The tears fall heavy, soaking the front of my shirt that was just starting to dry.
"Granger, you get that I can't just abandon him. You would never abandon Potter or Weasel, would you? I think it's pretty unfair if you expect me to," he asks and I can feel his questioning eyes on me, but I bow my head trying to keep my breathing even, hoping to regain a little bit of self-control.
"Hey?" he calls, trying to get my attention. His hand catches the front of my hair to pull back the curtain I've put between us. I shift away in the chair and rub my robe sleeve over my eyes quickly.
"Granger, look at me!" he demands, more intense this time. I allow him to pull my arm around and tuck my hair back behind my ear.
I can't imagine what my face must look like to him, but his mouth hangs slightly parted for a long time just looking at me before he finally speaks.
"What the fuck is going on? Why are you crying?" he practically shouts, his voice taking on a frantic tone I've rarely ever seen Draco Malfoy use.
Things have been different since I saw him that day in the forest of Dean. I knew it was different from our first time at Hogwarts. I knew that if I let him close again and he left that I wouldn't recover this time around. I couldn't do it a second time and I get now why everyone else is so wary of him. Ron and Harry especially. They are the ones that had to deal with the consequences of his first departure.
"Hey," he says stroking my cheek with his hand. "Talk to me," he says softly.
"I thought you were just going to go," I stammer, wiping at my nose again.
"When you stood up. I thought that was it and you were just going to disappear!" I explain.
"I thought you were going to leave with Pansy and that would be that."
"Why would you think that? I'll be back before you know it," he says quietly.
I tilt my head to the side to look at him, taking in his face again. His solemn, heavy eyes holding a lifetime of secrets and his hair falling low over his brow, getting longer and longer every day. The face of the first person I truly loved especially back when I thought it was impossible for me to love anyone. I had thought I wasn't hardwired that way. That I was only meant to love platonically and be there for my friends and love was reserved for the words others had written in books and to be experienced as such.
One day when he was looking at me, I noticed that he was actually looking; really looking and that he saw me, complete and unguarded and he chose to keep looking. It had been a moment a long time ago in Slughorn's potion class. It feels like someone else's life that I'm remembering. Or a story I read a long time ago I'm retelling myself. But things were different after that. Because no one had ever looked at me like that before.
"If you walk out that door Draco, I'll never see you again," I say. He laughs a little, uneasy, perhaps at my use of his first name.
"Why on earth would you think that?"
"Because besides Harry, you are the most wanted man in England right now."