Chapter 6
Draco was flung into reality before he felt ready. Drenched in sweat, the heat emanating from his body was unbearable. He kicked at his blankets until he lay only partially covered. The cool air of his room felt pleasant on his moist, warm skin.
He had been dreaming about her, again. It was now almost certain that he would dream of her whenever he fell asleep. Every night his brain was writing a new scenario. Sometimes they were arguing, sometimes she was on the fringes of some vague nightmare about school, and sometimes they were a little more adult-themed than felt appropriate.
This was one of those times.
Draco closed his eyes, trying to remember the way it felt. The desire to fall back into unconsciousness and continue the dream overwhelmed him. He sat up, vexed. He was just as likely to fall back asleep now as he was to actually live out the events of his fantasy.
He flung his legs over the edge of his bed and heaved himself up to use the loo. His heart was clenched as tightly as his fists. He forced himself to relax his hands. This was always the most difficult time of the day. The early hours felt like loneliness pressing in on him. All was silent and still. He alone breathed and felt.
Draco knew he had to slow his racing mind. She wasn't here. She would never be here. Not like last night, when she was here, in his bed. That wasn't real. No amount of wishing or magic would make that a reality. Not accounting for the pesky fact that she hated him, he didn't even actually know how to do it.
Well, he knew how. He'd just never done it before.
Draco felt himself blush in the blue light of his room. Isolated and alone, embarrassment still ignited in his chest. He wanted to do it with her. He wanted it to be good. He wanted her to want him the way a woman wants a man.
Perhaps the fulfillment of this deep desire would finally set him free. He could be free of her—free of thinking of her, free of wishing for her, free of waiting for her. He could finally touch her scar, stroke her wild hair, still her moving lips.
One time. That wouldn't hurt anyone. Her reputation would never be ruined because no one would ever know. His parents could never disown him. He'd still be a rich Slytherin prick, and she would still be the perfect Gryffindor princess.
He wondered if he was cunning enough to convince her, and knew immediately that he wasn't. He felt his mind clearing with the rising sun. It would be pure lunacy to ever even touch her. To have her would be absolute destruction. The most absolute fact of the matter was that she would never allow it. The world would never allow it.
Frankly, there were a million reasons why not.
He buttoned the collar of his shirt, and started combing his hair. This was his life. He was alright with this. He had to be alright with this. The other options were to be dead or rotting in Azkaban. He was lucky he had his parents, both still alive and free. He still had his money. And if he wanted to keep any of those things, he would have to control himself. He was just confused. Not too long ago, someone had tried to murder him. He was still recovering. The dreams were just a side effect of one of his medicines. Of course she was in them; he had to see her almost every day. His mind had simply grown unused to the stimulus and was processing this new development during sleeping hours.
Frankly, there were a million reasons why.
XXX
Hermione waited in the laboratory for Malfoy. She was here earlier than usual because she had a plan. Well, almost a plan. She was going to confront Malfoy about the dead woman—Victim No. 3.
The events of yesterday's adventure into the pensive still haunted her. Hermione couldn't stop thinking about the woman with the beautiful dark hair and olive-toned skin. She'd had nightmares about her all night. Who was she? In a short time, Hermione had become obsessed with the need to discover her identity and vindicate her.
Hermione had managed to convince herself Ron must be right—Lucius and Narcissa must know who she is. Ron had come over last night and told her himself that Malfoy was refusing to let them investigate Malfoy Manor.
"Why is it so bad that they would have to come into the ministry? Isn't it natural that they be questioned after their son was almost murdered?" Hermione had asked.
"Hermione—don't be daft. I don't care what it looks like to the press. I want to get into the Manor. I know the answer is in there. I just know it." Ron's eyes were gleaming the way they did when he played chess.
"What does Harry think?" Hermione pressed.
"He doesn't think we have a chance in hell at getting a warrant. All warrants have to be approved by the Wizengamot now and they want to avoid agitating any more pureblood families after what happened with the Parkinsons." Ron explained, leaning forward in his seat.
"Ron—"
"I know you can do it," he blurted, "He respects you, you know."
Hermione spluttered, attempted to interrupt, but Ron stopped her.
"He does Hermione, trust me. He listens to you. He doesn't look at you the way he looks at me or Harry. Its more… neutral. I think if you spoke to him, really laid out the facts in an objective way, he would listen." Ron had taken her hand, and squeezed it. He continued, "Anything Harry says he ignores. And you know he hates me, but he and Harry especially hate each other. I think if we keep asking him, it's just going to make him more stubborn."
He had spent almost an hour coaching Hermione on how to broach the subject. Ron's determination swayed her and she found herself hopeful that he was right. He had always had strong instincts. Hermione trusted him. She just had to figure out a way to get Malfoy to trust him too.
She was scribbling nervously on a piece of parchment when he walked in. For a moment Hermione lost her courage. He looked put-out. She wondered if it was a good idea to broach such an agitating subject when he already looked annoyed.
She greeted him, "Good morning, Malfoy."
He didn't reply.
In fact, he didn't even look at her as he briskly walked past her and entered his office. If she wasn't sure he was trying to avoid her, the fact that he closed the office door with a loud clang would have confirmed her suspicion.
I'm off to a great start, Hermione thought sarcastically.
She felt dejected, but she couldn't exactly waste the day. Perhaps his ten o'clock tea would lighten his mood. Until then, she could continue her research. Hermione busied herself for the remainder of the morning as best as she could.
Nothing she did could shake her anxiety, however, and she found herself reading and re-reading the same page, or even forgetting what she meant to write down mid-sentence. She finally glanced up at the clock to find it was close enough to ten o'clock that she could begin making tea.
Hermione had been using Malfoy's tea things without permission for about a week now. At first, he was extremely annoyed, and she was pretty sure he had insulted her tea purely out of spite. The next day, he had only given her a nasty glower out of what she liked to think was principle. By the third day, he started staring at the clock pointedly around 10AM and then clamoring about with the china.
Hermione wasn't surprised. She made an excellent cup of tea. Besides, she had no other way of softening him up.
So she set to work, brewing a different kind of potion. The trick to making a strong brew was to catch the water at the exact point of a rolling boil. If you let the water boil too long, all of the oxygen escaped and the tea would taste flat. Hermione watched the kettle carefully and just as it started to whistle, she removed it off the fire and placed it carefully in a tea cozy.
The other trick was to use loose leaf tea, as it had stronger flavor. Hermione selected her favorite from Malfoy's collection—earl grey cream—and carefully measured out two big spoonfuls of it into the kettle. The tea needed to steep for exactly four minutes before she could pour it, so she prepared their mugs.
Most of Malfoy's mugs were dark colors like black or grey, but Hermione had transfigured a mug whose shape she fancied into a bright yellow with little ducks along the handle. Malfoy had called it hideous and threatened to smash it "accidentally."
Hermione had told him he'd be smashing his own cup. She looked at it now and wondered why he hadn't just transfigured it back. It was a simple bit of magic, and as far as Hermione remembered, Malfoy had always been competent in transfiguration.
The tea was ready. Hermione poured the steaming brown-clear liquid into both mugs and carefully made her way over to his office door. Just as she was about to awkwardly knock, the door swung open to reveal a very angry looking Draco Malfoy.
She didn't have time to prepare herself for his attack.
"What do you want?" he snapped, looking at her with unbridled hatred.
Now the thing was, Hermione had gotten strangely used to their routine over the past couple weeks. Sure, Malfoy could be a prat and was generally difficult to work with, but most of the time they were silent. Hermione found that she enjoyed the silent companionship. After such a hectic residency, it was nice not to be in the busy hospital, running after interns and attempting to manage difficult patients.
Indeed, there were even times when she and Malfoy were amicable. He could never be described as nice per se, but she thought that maybe sometimes there was kindness there. Very difficult to uncover—but nonetheless, there. Unfortunately, Hermione also noticed that he was prone to intense mood swings, which could happen at dizzying speeds.
"I was just bringing you your tea." she replied, extending his black mug towards him.
"I don't want it."
He pushed past her, making her lurch backward and spill about half his mug onto the ground.
"Look what you did!" He accused.
"Me?" Hermione protested, "you pushed me—"
"Pushed you? If you're weak and can't hold a stance Granger, don't put it on me."
"What are you talking—"
"You are such a nuisance. How many times have I told you? Only covered drinks in the lab. Do you think this is a bloody cafeteria?"
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off again.
"Little-miss-perfect can break any rule she wants, right? Just like Hogwarts. Entitled, know-it-all—
"Entitled?!" Hermione shrieked, "That's ironic, coming from you!"
"Oh please, no one was more entitled than Scarhead and his Sidekicks. I'm pretty sure McGonagall would have polished Potter's knob if he'd asked for it!" Draco sneered.
"You're disgusting!" Hermione spat, truly feeling contempt now. She couldn't believe she had actually started to get along with this total tosser.
He raised an eyebrow at her insult, but ignored it.
"Clean up this mess and get out of my lab." He demanded, crossing his arms as if daring her to refuse him.
"No." Hermione snapped, "I will not clean it, and I will not leave."
"I said; Clean. It. Up." He walked towards her, his entire stride and countenance calculated to intimidate her.
Hermione was incensed. Without thinking, she dumped both mugs onto the floor. Hot tea splattered everywhere. For a few moments, they said nothing. Malfoy was breathing heavily. Hermione was totally bewildered by his behavior.
"You are a pain in my arse." Malfoy stated calmly now, not moving as tea slid under his leather shoes.
"You can't tell me what to do." Hermione lifted her chin in defiance.
"You are a stubborn pain in my arse." Malfoy amended.
"You are a conceited, abrasive, arrogant, inconsistent prick!"
Malfoy simply smiled, "I love when you talk dirty to me."
"UGH!" Hermione slammed the empty mugs down onto the table in front of her and began to gather her things. "I didn't choose to be here. I hate this as much as you do! I do not understand why you have to make things so difficult—"
"You do not hate this as much as I do." Malfoy interrupted.
"What makes you feel so confident, Malfoy?" She challenged, shooting him a nasty look while roughly stuffing her books back into her bag.
"You're simply too high and mighty to stoop to my level. Has Miss Hermione Granger, lover of all things weak and pathetic, ever felt an emotion as dark as hate?" he mocked, swiping her quills off the table before she could pack them too.
"On the contrary, it's almost too easy to hate a pureblood supremacist like you!"
"Oh, spare me the lecture!"
"Lecture?!" Hermione upbraided, "Perhaps that's a lecture you should actually pay attention to, but you're too much of a coward to confront your bigoted beliefs!"
"Don't call me a coward!"
"Coward, coward, coward, COWARD!" Hermione bellowed, "Who could be a bigger coward than you? You could have saved us. You could have saved Dobby. Yet you did nothing!"
Malfoy looked briefly unnerved by the turn of conversation, but he quickly steeled himself and shot back at her, "What did you want me to do? Stand up to Bellatrix Black? If I had so much as frowned at her she would have killed us all and handed Potter to the Dark Lord on a silver platter!"
"You could've done something; you could have helped Harry and Ron, you could have—"
"I didn't have a choice!"
"You always have a choice!" Hermione corrected. She could feel her face burning with anger.
"Do you think," Malfoy sneered, "that I didn't want to help you? Do you really think that I was on her side? She was insane, and held me in complete contempt. If she had even a hint of a desire on my end to protect you, she would have given you to Greyback without a moment's hesitation!"
He stalked toward her now, and grabbed her forearm roughly, lifting her sleeve to reveal her scar.
Mudblood.
For a few seconds he stared at it, and she was too caught off guard by the sudden contact to protest. He was still holding her wrist when Hermione jerked away from him, totally furious.
"What does it say that you don't already know?" she demanded, "What does it say that you yourself haven't said before?"
Malfoy ran his hands through his hair, holding his head as if it were about to split open. He turned away from her.
"You can dress it up however you like," Hermione continued, seething, "but you can't fool me. You could have stopped her. Yet you looked into my eyes as she did it."
Emotions long suppressed threatened to overwhelm her. She felt tears pool in her eyes, and blinked furiously to make them go away. She was not going to sniffle in front of Draco Malfoy.
"I'm sorry." he murmured, still with his back to her. It was so quietly said that Hermione wasn't sure if she imagined it.
"You say you didn't have a choice, but you could have run," Hermione accused, "I know Dumbledore gave you multiple chances—"
"And what about my parents," Malfoy straightened up, turning around, "was I to leave them to die?"
"You could have all fled! Under the Order's protection—"
Draco scoffed, "Like the Order protected my mother's cousin?"
"Sirius wanted to fight—"
"Well I didn't! I didn't want to fight! I'm not brave and I don't throw myself into dangerous situations like some sort of suicidal maniac. I'm not 'Potter and the gang.' I don't have delusions of grandeur—"
"That's rich!" Hermione's laughter sounded maniacal to her own ears, "Were we supposed to just lay back and let Voldemort destroy everything and kill everyone we loved?"
"Have you ever thought to yourself," Draco asked, "if I could behave the same way and survive? My parents aren't in the Order. They weren't Dumbledore's favorites. You-know-who was in my house, sitting on our couches, lounging in our beds—"
"It doesn't change the fact that you and your parents could have fled—"
"Fled!—and where would we have fled? The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters hunted Karkaroff like a dog. He was begging to die by the time they were done with him!
"There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide where he wouldn't find you. He had minions everywhere, at home, at school, I saw him—" he ripped his robes open, and yanked back his sleeve to reveal his cursed tattoo—"thissss" he almost hissed, "I had to endure this. Still, thirteen years later, it stings whenever anyone says his name—it burns."
Malfoys eyes were wide and wild as he fixed his gaze upon her. Hermione's breath felt stuck in her chest. She had never seen a dark mark this closely before. She looked down shyly at his forearm, taking in the tattoo etched onto smooth white skin stretched over clenched muscles. The snake in the skull seemed to be writhing under his flesh. It turned its head to point one beady eye directly at Hermione, and she felt a shiver go down her spine.
"Do you regret it?" she questioned, raising a finger to trace the outline of the skull that so mesmerized her.
He pulled his arm away before she could touch him, and the spell was broken. His robes were lying on the ground, soaked in tea. Hermione could physically see him deflate, crumpling onto the chair he had been leaning on seconds ago.
He avoided her gaze. "I don't know what you want me to say. I did believe I was better than you. I believed that being pureblood made me superior to muggleborns, half-bloods, and blood traitors. Whatever the Dark Lord believed, I grew up believing. I didn't question any of it until I became a Death Eater."
"And you don't believe that now?"
"I don't."
"Why didn't you help us?" She accused.
He laughed bitterly. "I thought I did."
"Did you want Voldemort to win?" She pressed, unsatisfied with his answer.
"No." he mumbled, hesitated, then continued, "what did you call me? Conceited, arrogant, abrasive prick? I am all of those things, and worse. But I'm not a killer."
"I never called you a killer, but you have called me a mudblood." And even though she was referencing something that happened years ago when they were children, he flinched at the word.
"I was a second year for goodness sake, Hermione, use your brain!" His use of her first name silenced her. "I didn't know better. I was just parroting what was being said around me—constantly, I might add."
She said nothing, doubtful.
"After the Dark Lord returned, everything I had was stripped away from me—"
"People died, Malfoy." Hermione interrupted.
"You think I don't know that?" Malfoy snapped. "I'm not looking for pity—"
"Good, because I have none!"
"Good!" he almost shouted, "You're the last person I would expect to understand, but I couldn't obliviate my parents and send them to Australia—oh yes, I read all about it in the papers. Must have been really convenient to simply remove your problematic parents from your life until you had time for them again. But I couldn't abandon mine, and I certainly couldn't convince them to abandon You-know-who. I had no choice. If I had left, they would have dipped further into disgrace, further into the very real possibility that You-know-who would decide that their pureblood line wasn't worth preserving—even if they had all the money in the world."
Hermione was unimpressed.
"First of all, Malfoy," she enunciated his name with total disdain, "do not presume to know a thing about my family because of an article you happened to read years ago. Furthermore, disgrace isn't the same as death. People died. Some of those people were your relatives that you never knew because of the backwards beliefs your parents taught you. What do you have to say to that?"
"Nothing."
"People are rightly angry at your family. If the Malfoy name means nothing now, it's because you've brought it on yourselves." And that was it—her final nail in the coffin.
Tension panged through the air. They stared at each other, both disheveled, a wet cloak on the floor, splatters of tea still around them, Hermione's quills scattered on the table, some of them still in Malfoy's clenched fist. Hermione realized she was still holding her bag.
"You're right," he finally said.
Hermione felt vindicated, like she'd won an argument that had spanned over almost twenty years. She felt a sudden gust of inspiration, and she seized the moment.
"Now it's time for you to show everyone that Malfoys are capable of doing what is right. That you are capable of acting when it is needed, not just passive resistance!"
She felt so close; so unbelievably close. She was about to convince him to let Harry and Ron into the Manor, she just knew it. Malfoy knew where she was going with this; he'd always been quick on the uptake. She was on the brink, the edge of success—
And then her optimistic bubble burst.
"There's that Gryffindor bravado I detest." He jeered.
"Don't make this about houses," Hermione argued, "it isn't about houses, it's about right and wrong—light and dark!"
"I know that I'm dark." Malfoy disparaged, "I know what I did was despicable and unforgivable. I don't want to be your Gryffindor pet-project—"
"You're not—"
"Look at me; Hermione Granger!" he sing-songed, "Turned another evil Slytherin snake into a good guy Gryffindor today!"
"Will you let me speak?" Hermione snapped. When he didn't answer, Hermione continued, "You're not a good guy, and you're definitely not my pet-project. Frankly, I don't believe you couldn't have run. You had a choice—whether you think so or not—" she raised her voice to overcome his protests—"You chose to stay. Your reasons are your own. You could have fought. You chose to antagonize Harry in the middle of the final battle—"
"I just wanted my wand back!"
"Well, you destroyed the Room of Requirement and almost killed all of us in the process!"
"If Crabbe wasn't such a blithering idiot—"
"And Harry told me you were planning on taking him to Voldemort—"
Draco winced, clutching his arm now openly. The snake on his tattoo slithered slightly when Hermione said the name.
"I wasn't." He disagreed quietly, "I just let Crabbe and Goyle think that so they would stay behind with me. I only wanted my wand."
"And what was Harry supposed to do? Fight Voldemort with his fists?"
The snake twisted its head, almost glaring at Hermione.
"What do I care about Potter?" Malfoy spat, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Exactly, you're so selfish, it's despicable—Harry saved your life!" she chastised.
"I am selfish! Why should I die defenseless so Potter can be The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice?" He demanded.
"You're incorrigible!" Hermione fumed.
"Yes," he agreed. He seemed completely unashamed again. Hermione felt reality gush over her. She was never going to convince him. She never had a chance.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "What is the point?"
He didn't seem to have an answer for her.
Instead, he picked up his wet cloak and left the lab, leaving her standing alone in the empty room in a puddle of tea.
XXX
thank you so, so much to AuntCori, Catulla, "A fan", and jadely31 for leaving reviews on the last chapter! I am lucky to still have readers after a 2 year hiatus, LOL. I'm loving writing this story again, hope you enjoyed this chapter :)
lots of love, xx