Chapter Two: Knocking on Heaven's Door
Hermione was belting out 80s tunes when Draco buzzed. "I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky! I should be so lucky in love!" she sang, bending down to grab Crookshanks. The cat, which had been happily napping, began kicking with his hind legs, but Hermione didn't care. Still singing, she held the big cat in front of the mirror so he could admire himself. "You're so handsome, aren't you Crookshanks? Yes, you are, my little handsome man!" The cat wiggled himself free, leaving Hermione watching herself get her groove on. Mid-spin, she caught sight of someone else in the mirror.
Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready, when she realized the intruder was not actually in the house. Draco Malfoy's ferrety face was pressed up against her bay window, with a look of shock on his face. Too embarrassed that Malfoy (of all people!) had just seen her doing something very private, Hermione flung open her front door, forgetting that this wasn't Hogwarts, she hadn't seen him in two years, and Malfoy had no earthly business showing up at her door.
"Malfoy! How dare you spy on me like that!"
Had Draco been his normal self, he would have had a searing comment ready for her. Instead, he was cold, wet and feeling a bit lost. All he could manage was a weak, "Uh, hullo Granger."
Hermione came to her senses. "Why are you here?" she demanded, shoving her wand in his face.
Draco couldn't hold back a smile; Hermione's face was twisted into that familiar fury reserved especially for him. Facing down the tip of her wand, Draco felt strangely at home, and much more like himself. Grinning, he pushed his way past her. "Is this where you live, then?"
His brass incensed her. "Malfoy. what. I didn't invite you in!" she sputtered.
Draco chuckled. "I'm not a vampire, Granger." He ignored her glare and took in his surroundings. Hermione's flat was a mixture of magic and Muggle. There were moving pictures on the mantle (all of which were currently glaring at him, as well), but there was a box with antennae against one wall, and a smaller box without the antennae on her desk, next to a pile of parchment and some quills.
Hermione couldn't believe Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy since she was eleven, was standing in her flat, dripping water on her rug and staring intently at her computer monitor. It would have been funny if he hadn't once been a Dark Wizard.
"Malfoy," she threatened. "You have ten seconds to tell me why you're here before I turn you into a ferret and let the Ministry deal with you."
Am I ever going to live that ferret thing down? Blasted Moody. "The Ministry's already dealt with me," he muttered.
"As far as I can see, you don't look anymore ferrety than usual, Malfoy, so what do you mean the Ministry's already dealt with you? And why are you in my flat?"
"Because I need your help." Draco was surprised at how easily the words came out. So was Hermione.
"My. help?" Despite herself, Hermione wanted to hear more.
"Those bloody Weasley twins turned me into a Muggle for a whole month."
"You're lying. I mean, it does sound like something Fred and George would do, but they wouldn't be able to do it unless you agreed to it. "
Draco looked at the puddle around his feet. Hermione studied his face. He looks like he's telling the truth. but then again, it is Malfoy. Hermione wasn't a Legilimens, but she didn't think he was lying. She saw the humiliation in his eyes. Still, it could be a trick. But Hermione couldn't help but notice Draco's features seemed softer somehow. Not entirely; the humiliation in his eyes still flickered with malice.
A quick chat in the fireplace with George Weasley's head confirmed Malfoy's predicament. "OK, so you're a Muggle now. That still doesn't explain why you came to me," Hermione said.
Draco wanted to sit down, but he had a feeling Hermione would be less likely to help him if he got her cushions all wet. Better play nice. "I don't know any Muggles and you're the only Mudbl-er Muggle-born I know," he said.
"What about Harry? He was raised by Muggles," Hermione pointed out.
Draco was taken aback. He hadn't even considered going to Potter. "You think I'd go to Scarhead for help? I bet he'd just love that! No way," he covered quickly. "Besides, isn't he on his romantic story-book honeymoon or whatever?"
Hermione's stomach gave a little lurch. Probably just nausea. "You don't know any other Muggle-borns? None of your old Slytherin chums you could go to?"
Draco looked at her like she was a moron. Which she is. Even if her hair isn't as big of a frizzball as it used to be. Maybe the frizz was the secret to her intellect. Either way, she was still a moron.
Hermione felt like a moron for saying it. Honestly, Hermione! Are there any Muggle-borns in Slytherin?
"All right, Malfoy. I'll let you stay here until we find something permanent, but you're going to have to play by my rules. You do what I say and you'll make it through this month alive. But if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I'll turn you into a ferret and let Crookshanks have his way with you. Got it?"
Draco eyed the fat ginger cat snoring on the sofa. "Crookshanks is the cat, then?" At the sound of his name, Crookshanks opened a sleepy eye to Malfoy. He didn't look like the kind of cat who took kindly to ferrets. "Right then."
Hermione sighed, wondering why she was being so damn valiant all of a sudden. That was usually Harry's role. She rationalized that she was keeping hoards of unsuspecting Muggles from Malfoy. Even without magic, she was sure he was still dangerous. Though it was true Malfoy had stopped being a Death Eater after his father died, he didn't give up Muggle- baiting, and not all his "tricks" had been light-hearted body part switching, from what she'd heard from Ron, who heard it from Fred and George, who heard it from Mundungus Fletcher, who always seemed to show up just in time to witness the prank, but just late enough to be of any use in helping the victim or catching Malfoy.
Just be careful, Hermione. He may not be a wizard, but he could still hurt you or rape you or. No. He wouldn't have come here if he didn't really need my help. Oh dear. What is wrong with me? Malfoy is in my house. And I'm letting him stay.
Hermione seemed to be arguing with herself. Her eyes would dart left, then she would set her jaw, let out a determined sigh and her eyes would dart right. This went on for about three minutes. After the first thirty seconds, Draco's eyes began wandering around the room. Hermione's flat was less Wizard than Draco had first thought. The only evidence that a witch lived here were the pictures and a heavy text book lying open on the table, where Draco noted the chapter heading: Introduction to Concealment and Disguise.
So Danger Granger wants be an Auror. Draco covered the gulp form in his throat by clearing his throat. "Er, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a bit wet over here," he said in the snarkiest tone he could manage.
For the first time since Malfoy had arrived, Hermione noticed he was soaking wet. His hair was a darker, more natural shade of blonde when wet. Longer strands were pushed off to one side, but every now and then one would rebel and fall across his eye. Hermione had rarely seen Draco Malfoy looking anything less than perfect. Drops of rain rolled down his face, and for a moment, Hermione let herself imagine they were tears, and the man in front of her wasn't her childhood nemesis, but a vulnerable stranger in need of rescuing.
Hermione was belting out 80s tunes when Draco buzzed. "I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky! I should be so lucky in love!" she sang, bending down to grab Crookshanks. The cat, which had been happily napping, began kicking with his hind legs, but Hermione didn't care. Still singing, she held the big cat in front of the mirror so he could admire himself. "You're so handsome, aren't you Crookshanks? Yes, you are, my little handsome man!" The cat wiggled himself free, leaving Hermione watching herself get her groove on. Mid-spin, she caught sight of someone else in the mirror.
Hermione whipped around, wand at the ready, when she realized the intruder was not actually in the house. Draco Malfoy's ferrety face was pressed up against her bay window, with a look of shock on his face. Too embarrassed that Malfoy (of all people!) had just seen her doing something very private, Hermione flung open her front door, forgetting that this wasn't Hogwarts, she hadn't seen him in two years, and Malfoy had no earthly business showing up at her door.
"Malfoy! How dare you spy on me like that!"
Had Draco been his normal self, he would have had a searing comment ready for her. Instead, he was cold, wet and feeling a bit lost. All he could manage was a weak, "Uh, hullo Granger."
Hermione came to her senses. "Why are you here?" she demanded, shoving her wand in his face.
Draco couldn't hold back a smile; Hermione's face was twisted into that familiar fury reserved especially for him. Facing down the tip of her wand, Draco felt strangely at home, and much more like himself. Grinning, he pushed his way past her. "Is this where you live, then?"
His brass incensed her. "Malfoy. what. I didn't invite you in!" she sputtered.
Draco chuckled. "I'm not a vampire, Granger." He ignored her glare and took in his surroundings. Hermione's flat was a mixture of magic and Muggle. There were moving pictures on the mantle (all of which were currently glaring at him, as well), but there was a box with antennae against one wall, and a smaller box without the antennae on her desk, next to a pile of parchment and some quills.
Hermione couldn't believe Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy since she was eleven, was standing in her flat, dripping water on her rug and staring intently at her computer monitor. It would have been funny if he hadn't once been a Dark Wizard.
"Malfoy," she threatened. "You have ten seconds to tell me why you're here before I turn you into a ferret and let the Ministry deal with you."
Am I ever going to live that ferret thing down? Blasted Moody. "The Ministry's already dealt with me," he muttered.
"As far as I can see, you don't look anymore ferrety than usual, Malfoy, so what do you mean the Ministry's already dealt with you? And why are you in my flat?"
"Because I need your help." Draco was surprised at how easily the words came out. So was Hermione.
"My. help?" Despite herself, Hermione wanted to hear more.
"Those bloody Weasley twins turned me into a Muggle for a whole month."
"You're lying. I mean, it does sound like something Fred and George would do, but they wouldn't be able to do it unless you agreed to it. "
Draco looked at the puddle around his feet. Hermione studied his face. He looks like he's telling the truth. but then again, it is Malfoy. Hermione wasn't a Legilimens, but she didn't think he was lying. She saw the humiliation in his eyes. Still, it could be a trick. But Hermione couldn't help but notice Draco's features seemed softer somehow. Not entirely; the humiliation in his eyes still flickered with malice.
A quick chat in the fireplace with George Weasley's head confirmed Malfoy's predicament. "OK, so you're a Muggle now. That still doesn't explain why you came to me," Hermione said.
Draco wanted to sit down, but he had a feeling Hermione would be less likely to help him if he got her cushions all wet. Better play nice. "I don't know any Muggles and you're the only Mudbl-er Muggle-born I know," he said.
"What about Harry? He was raised by Muggles," Hermione pointed out.
Draco was taken aback. He hadn't even considered going to Potter. "You think I'd go to Scarhead for help? I bet he'd just love that! No way," he covered quickly. "Besides, isn't he on his romantic story-book honeymoon or whatever?"
Hermione's stomach gave a little lurch. Probably just nausea. "You don't know any other Muggle-borns? None of your old Slytherin chums you could go to?"
Draco looked at her like she was a moron. Which she is. Even if her hair isn't as big of a frizzball as it used to be. Maybe the frizz was the secret to her intellect. Either way, she was still a moron.
Hermione felt like a moron for saying it. Honestly, Hermione! Are there any Muggle-borns in Slytherin?
"All right, Malfoy. I'll let you stay here until we find something permanent, but you're going to have to play by my rules. You do what I say and you'll make it through this month alive. But if you so much as look at me the wrong way, I'll turn you into a ferret and let Crookshanks have his way with you. Got it?"
Draco eyed the fat ginger cat snoring on the sofa. "Crookshanks is the cat, then?" At the sound of his name, Crookshanks opened a sleepy eye to Malfoy. He didn't look like the kind of cat who took kindly to ferrets. "Right then."
Hermione sighed, wondering why she was being so damn valiant all of a sudden. That was usually Harry's role. She rationalized that she was keeping hoards of unsuspecting Muggles from Malfoy. Even without magic, she was sure he was still dangerous. Though it was true Malfoy had stopped being a Death Eater after his father died, he didn't give up Muggle- baiting, and not all his "tricks" had been light-hearted body part switching, from what she'd heard from Ron, who heard it from Fred and George, who heard it from Mundungus Fletcher, who always seemed to show up just in time to witness the prank, but just late enough to be of any use in helping the victim or catching Malfoy.
Just be careful, Hermione. He may not be a wizard, but he could still hurt you or rape you or. No. He wouldn't have come here if he didn't really need my help. Oh dear. What is wrong with me? Malfoy is in my house. And I'm letting him stay.
Hermione seemed to be arguing with herself. Her eyes would dart left, then she would set her jaw, let out a determined sigh and her eyes would dart right. This went on for about three minutes. After the first thirty seconds, Draco's eyes began wandering around the room. Hermione's flat was less Wizard than Draco had first thought. The only evidence that a witch lived here were the pictures and a heavy text book lying open on the table, where Draco noted the chapter heading: Introduction to Concealment and Disguise.
So Danger Granger wants be an Auror. Draco covered the gulp form in his throat by clearing his throat. "Er, I don't know if you noticed, but I'm a bit wet over here," he said in the snarkiest tone he could manage.
For the first time since Malfoy had arrived, Hermione noticed he was soaking wet. His hair was a darker, more natural shade of blonde when wet. Longer strands were pushed off to one side, but every now and then one would rebel and fall across his eye. Hermione had rarely seen Draco Malfoy looking anything less than perfect. Drops of rain rolled down his face, and for a moment, Hermione let herself imagine they were tears, and the man in front of her wasn't her childhood nemesis, but a vulnerable stranger in need of rescuing.