Chapter Six
Meaning
"Potter?"
"Jesus Malfoy," came the strangled reply, "I seriously hope you don't welcome everyone, with such, ah, enthusiasm." Potter groaned and eased himself into a sitting position with much difficulty.
The meager light of the hospital wing highlighted various scars on Potter's once boyish face, and Malfoy briefly wondered where he had gotten such markings. Rather gracelessly, Potter eased himself to his feet and limped to Hermione's bedside.
"So how is our Hermione?" Potter asked, turning to Malfoy.
"Er- just a few bruises and a nasty bump on the head. Pomfrey said she will be fine."
Potter sighed with relief, "Glad to hear it." Potter settled into the comfy chair next to Hermione's bed, while Malfoy merely watched him in undisguised confusion.
Malfoy had reason for such confusion. After the defeat of the Dark Lord, Potter had simply disappeared. All manner of rumors surrounded him, each making less sense than the last. The two men had not seen each other in almost five years. Uncomfortable silence filled the space between them and Malfoy shifted his weight from one leg to the other. In his sleep-deprived state, Malfoy could think of nothing to say to Potter. The two were never exactly friendly, but they had once maintained a forced congeniality for the sake of their shared friend.
"Dumbledore was quite stingy in providing any details. Tell me what happened here Malfoy," Potter demanded in tired voice.
Grateful for anything to fill the conversational void, Malfoy plunged forward.
"Well, it happened just after dinner last night, right outside the Great Hall. There were students everywhere. Hermione was talking to a first year about some essay and this kid, Jamison, over there," Malfoy pointed to the restrained boy on the other end of the hospital wing, "Well, he called Hermione a mudblood professor, blamed her for the defeat of the Dark Lord, and hit her in the back with a stunning spell. I don't think she evens knows who attacked her." Malfoy saw a muscle twitch in Potter's jaw at the injustice of such an attack. "Anyway, the spell sent her right into a wall, and she hit her head," he finished lamely.
"I suppose that beating an unconscious boy into the next world might get us into a spot of trouble," Potter said in a tight voice.
Malfoy laughed nervously, "Uh, yeah, Dumbledore already warned me."
"So am I correct in guessing that this boy is a Slytherin?" Potter inquired.
"Uh no, he's actually a Hufflepuff."
"Hufflepuff? You've got to be kidding me. I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be the quiet little mice of Hogwarts."
"Guess not. The boy also has a muggle father."
"Muggle father. Interesting." Potter stroked his chin in bemused contemplation. The silence once again fell upon them.
Potter looked at him now, with a half-grin gracing his features. "And tell me, just how did this kid end up in the hospital wing covered in what looks like the effects of a rather nasty fist fight?" Potter's eyes flicked over Malfoy, taking in the bruises and blood marring the young professor's face and hands.
"I, well, I uh," Malfoy started awkwardly, "I was near Jamison when it happened, and I, well I hit him." He paused, recalling the brutality with which he attacked the boy. "A lot. And then Snape stunned the boy and levitated them both here."
"Snape huh?"
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you just stun him in the first place?"
"I guess I wasn't really thinking clearly at the time." Malfoy immediately realized his mistake in admitting such a thing to Potter.
Potter gave a half-snort, half-laugh. "Imagine that, a Malfoy not thinking clearly."
"Cram it, Potter," Malfoy said lightly.
They settled into an awkward silence. Malfoy moved to sit on the bed next to Hermione. Every movement created a ripple of sound that added to the strange inelegance of the situation. When he finally settled himself into the bed, Malfoy vowed not to make a sound.
Although Malfoy didn't like Potter and didn't particularly want him here, he did provide a welcome distraction. He concentrated on Potter in an effort to push aside the distorted thoughts that plagued him tonight. He desperately wanted to ask Potter what had happened in the final confrontation, what he had been doing in the last five years, why he had left the wizarding world, and the like.
Of course, his fascination with Potter came full circle back to Hermione. Although Potter seemed to be the chimera of the wizarding world, Malfoy suspected that he still saw Hermione on occasion. While the Daily Prophet had screamed its frustration in its ignorance of the great Harry Potter's current situation, Hermione had been supremely unconcerned. When Malfoy asked her about Potter, she simply replied that she was sure he was fine and would speak no more about it. More than a little irked and jealous that Hermione would not share the details with him, Malfoy ached to ask Potter if he still saw her. Hermione would disappear without explanation on occasion, and Malfoy sincerely hoped that she visited Potter and not some unnamed new lover. Or was Potter the new lover?
"Does Hermione ever visit you?" Malfoy asked impetuously, forgetting his vow of silence. He had never considered that Potter and Hermione might be an item, and now that his blasted mind had considered that possibility, he simply had to know.
Potter looked up, surprised, "Yeah, she does." Potter turned his attention back to Hermione and gently pushed a bit of hair away from her face.
Malfoy inwardly cursed Potter for answering his question, but making him ask another to find out just what he wanted to know. He hated being in an inferior position.
"So, where might she visit you?" Malfoy asked, as casually as possible.
"At my home." If the smirk on Potter's face was any indication, Malfoy had a feeling that Potter might be playing with him and was deliberately providing as little information as possible.
"And where might that be?" Malfoy attempted to keep his extreme irritation out of his voice.
"Wales."
"Nice place, that."
Malfoy didn't want to acknowledge that Potter had the upper hand, and he didn't want to give Potter any insight about his relationship, or whatever it was he had with Hermione. Although, if Potter and Hermione still saw each other, Potter probably already had quite a bit of insight about Malfoy. Or would Hermione simply not mention him to Potter? Malfoy didn't know which would be worse, Hermione telling Potter something about their friendship, or her finding him unimportant in her life, and never mentioning him to Potter. The answer to that question would express just how much he meant to Hermione, and Malfoy wasn't sure he wanted to know. This roundabout questioning made him tired and Malfoy was nearly ready to give up.
But it was Malfoy's lucky day, and Potter took pity on him, "Yes, my wife and kids enjoy it very much."
Malfoy tried to keep a show of his relief at a minimum, but he was sure Potter noticed anyway.
"That so," Malfoy said, attempting but not succeeding in sounding utterly unaffected.
"Mmm-mm."
Malfoy, rather hoping to keep the small talk going, asked, "And how is your family?"
"Good, my wife is pregnant with our third."
At one time, Malfoy prided himself on his social graces, but it appeared he was becoming negligent, so he could think of nothing else to say but, "Oh, that's. . .nice."
"Word to the wise Malfoy, if you ever have a frighteningly pregnant wife and she asks you if she looks fat – well, first off, make sure you say no, emphatically if possible, and then use the words radiant and glowing to describe her."
"Radiant huh?"
"Radiant," Potter said with the certainty of a man who had made such a mistake.
"What kind of idiot would say his wife looks fat?" Malfoy seriously hoped that Potter would admit to such a mistake. He just thought it would be funny.
Potter chuckled, "Apparently, this kind of idiot." Potter shook his head at his own stupidity and Malfoy openly laughed at him. The happy sound momentarily disturbed the graveness of the hospital wing. With a look that said, "I can't believe I said that," Potter continued, "Do you ever say something that you realize is utter foolishness before it even leaves your mouth?" Malfoy knew exactly what he meant. "I was in the dog house for a week for that comment." They looked at each other, boyish grins alighted their faces.
Potter turned his attention to Crookshanks and patted him on the head. "I see Crookshanks still likes the hospital wing."
"Yeah, he struts around here like he owns the place. I think he knows that Hermione has a position of power now."
"Lousy cat. Do you remember when Hermione turned our hair all different colors when she thought we were insulting her damn cat too much?" It was one of the rare instances the two men had acted together. And it was against a stupid cat.
Malfoy sniffed, "How could I forget? My hair alternated between blue and pink for three days. You had green and yellow hair as I recall."
"You know, sometimes I really think Hermione is too smart for her own good. Remember how she made us apologize to her bloody cat before she would change it back?" They both laughed hardily at this, while Crookshanks regarded them with his beady little eyes.
The grins slowly faded. It wasn't all that funny after all. Their interaction was one of self-conscious awkwardness interspersed with moments of levity. The two had a past together that wasn't all that pleasant. Talking and laughing together was something new to them both. Despite her best efforts, Hermione could never get her three closest friends to get along. Poor Hermione had to carefully divide her time between Weasley/Potter and Malfoy. There was simply too much ill will harbored between the three men – far more than could be easily overcome. Or so Malfoy had thought. Come to think of it, Malfoy's complaints were generally directed at Weasley, and not Potter. Potter was just a part of the Weasley/Potter package. Perhaps Potter wasn't such a bad fellow. Seeing the man's scars and obvious limp was blunt evidence of what Potter had been through
Potter then took up the lost cause that was their conversation.
"What is it that you teach here Malfoy? From what Hermione says, you teach a bit of everything." Potter shifted in his seat and made an admirable show of actually caring about what Malfoy had to say.
"I do. I fill in for people when they want a sabbatical or just a break and whatnot. Sometimes there are overflow classes, and I take those. Mostly the younger years, seeing as how I have no actual expertise in anything," he laughed at himself, and Potter followed.
"Do you want a permanent position?"
"If one were to open up. It's kind of tiring not knowing when I'll have work or not. There was a whole year when there wasn't anything for me. I had to move out and get a real job," he said, grinning.
"A real job?"
"Yeah, Hermione convinced me to work at Flourish and Botts so I could get her a discount on books. Damnable woman and her books. At one point, they threatened to fire me if I bought any more books with my discount."
Potter laughed, "Yeah, Hermione does have a thing about books."
There was nothing more to say on the subject, so Malfoy decided that it was his turn to ask something.
So, er- what is Weasley up to these days?" Malfoy figured he might as well get all his questions answered tonight, or as many questions he had that actually had answers. He had a nasty tendency to ask questions that didn't have any answers.
Potter sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not really sure. He gave up his post at the Ministry for a reserve spot on the British National Quiddich Team, but it didn't work out. He never did say why." He paused a moment. It seemed to Malfoy that Potter was trying to decide if he could trust Malfoy with the information he was about to give. "The last I heard of him, he was drinking his way through the Continent, trying his best to forget about Hermione."
"Oh."
Silent contemplation. And then, Malfoy asked, "Do you think that he'll try to get back together with her?"
"Who knows? I gave up trying to figure out their relationship long ago." He grinned, "I think it was sometime in third year, actually."
"Sexual tension at thirteen huh?"
"Or something like that." Potter let his frustration out, "I swear the two of them have always had the most fucked-up relationship of anyone I have ever known." Potter regarded Malfoy with a quirked eyebrow set in a questioning and unfriendly countenance. "Well, almost."
Malfoy refused to let Potter see his uneasiness. So, Hermione obviously did speak of him to Potter. He seriously doubted that Potter could be that perceptive left to his own devices. Not that he thought his relationship with Hermione was fucked-up; it was just. . . different.
"Are you trying to say something to me Potter?" Malfoy asked, just a little coldly.
"Apparently," Potter sighed, sounding thoroughly unconcerned.
"Well, you better say it then." Malfoy gripped the side of the bed and prepared himself for battle.
Potter, however, took a different tactic. He leaned forward in his chair. The frown, the scars and the lines in his forehead made him look vastly older than his twenty-nine years. "Listen Malfoy, I'm not trying to start anything with you, and even you can't deny that the two of you have a genuinely strange. . . whatever it is you have. You know everything about each other, and yet, you know nothing about each other. You treat each other like a devoted couple, but Hermione claims there is nothing romantic going on. You spent every waking moment in each other's company, and yet you desert each other on occasion."
"I don't desert her Potter." Malfoy defended himself. He really didn't want to go down this road.
"Then what is it that you do?" Potter shot back.
"Listen, I'm not the one who does the deserting, alright," Malfoy said, sufficiently riled. How dare anyone question him like this? He raged internally. And then he realized just what he said. And to Potter of all people.
Potter's face changed. His expression became totally unreadable. Malfoy really wished he could comprehend people better. Malfoy raised himself off the creaky bed, walked a few steps away and turned his back to Potter. This was getting a little weird. He had no intention whatsoever of having a heart to heart with Potter. They were men. Men didn't do that sort of thing. Merlin, he could barely do that sort of thing with Hermione.
"Listen Malfoy, you have to understand," Potter started uneasily, "Hermione is my best friend too, and I just want the best for her. And I'm not really sure that you are the best thing for her. I don't want you messing with her. She deserves better than that."
"I do not mess with her," Malfoy seethed, turning to face Potter. He would never mess with her.
"Oh really," Potter asked, in an imperious tone Malfoy could have done without.
"Yeah really, you stupid arse." Malfoy's voice got a bit louder.
"That's not how Hermione sees it."
Malfoy's heart plummeted and his rather flimsy world shattered. Hermione thought he "messed" with her. If he were to be brutally honest with himself, he would admit that he did indeed mess with people sometimes, especially if Weasley was involved. But he would never do such a thing to Hermione; he loved her far too much to do such a thing.
"I er- really don't want to talk to you about this," Potter said.
"Yes, the feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you," Malfoy said dryly, desperately trying to conceal how much Potter's statement had disturbed him. He really didn't want this. This night had screwed with him enough. Malfoy turned to face Potter, but didn't look at him. He was surprised to see his own unease mirrored in Potter. Neither man met the other's eye; both shifted their bodies and twisted their hands.
Potter regained his composure faster than Malfoy though possible. "Look, what is Hermione to you? What does she mean to you?"
Everything. Hermione was everything to Maflfoy. Unfortunately, he knew she didn't feel the same. Paradoxically, he felt nothing at the moment. He was drained from his own version of "This is Your Life" he felt the need to play in his head tonight. Idiot that he was anyway.
Potter watched him intently and Malfoy finally met his gaze.
"I-" Malfoy stopped. Still fully shocked from Potter's revelation, Malfoy simply lifted his gaze to that chaotic ceiling, hoping to find something, anything.
He didn't want to tell Potter what Hermione meant to him, but he could empathize with Potter's concern for Hermione. They both wanted the very best for her. They both wanted her happiness.
But Malfoy wanted a bigger share of her life. Thinking of her and what they had was making him crazy. He generally tried not to think too hard on what they had, but often did anyway. He guessed that seeing her attacked and lying unconscious and covered in bruises did strange things to him. It all culminated in this night. He didn't want to admit it, but Potter's questioning made him realize that perhaps Hermione was as confused as he was. He barely let the thought cross his mind because it could only bring disappointment, but what if he did mean more to her than he thought he did. He quickly buried that thought beneath the myriad of others.
Neither party really understood what the other wanted. This had to be the case if Hermione thought he was toying with her. He had to make a change. He did not want her to experience the anguish he felt.
"I don't know what to do," Malfoy said honestly. Potter once again started shifting in his chair.
"Can't help you there mate." Potter cleared his throat signifying the end of their oh-so-strange discussion. Malfoy didn't know what he expected from Potter, but it certainly wasn't that. "I better be going. Sun will be up in a couple of hours – I don't want any early birds to catch me." Potter stood up and rummaged in his cloak. He produced a sealed bit of parchment and set it by Hermione's bedside. "Will you make sure that Hermione gets that?"
Malfoy nodded dumbly.
"Uh, you know, maybe you and Hermione would like to visit over the Easter holiday. Luna," Potter stopped for a moment, obviously considering his options, "Luna and I would really like to see the two of you."
Again, Malfoy just nodded as Potter limped his way out of the hospital wing. He stood for a moment at Jamison's bed, his back facing Malfoy.
"You know I don't claim to know a thing about women. I just as well called my beautifully pregnant wife fat, but you might want to try talking to her," Potter said, intently watching Malfoy for a brief moment.
The two men looked at each other and nodded in some kind of salutation. And then Potter was gone.
Malfoy dragged himself to the bed next to Hermione. He felt that he should think about what had happened tonight and the things that were all jumbled inside his head, but he really didn't want to. He stared at the ceiling for a bit. Perhaps he had grown up – that ceiling didn't make him feel anything at all. He decided that he might sleep for awhile.
The blaring garishness of the sun woke him. The hospital wing looked vastly different in the daytime. He stretched his arms and legs out and turned on his side to face Hermione. She was still asleep, with Crookshanks' head resting on her shoulder. Malfoy had only gotten a couple hours of sleep, but he felt infinitely better. The thoughts, memories, and his conversation with Potter had faded. He felt them far less intensely now. But as it was with most unpleasant life-changing experiences, remnants remained, tucked in the corners of his consciousness, and he would have to face them eventually.
Hermione started to stir. He immediately moved to her bedside and looked down at her. She opened her eyes and once they focused on him, she smiled.
"Hi," she said airily.
"Hi," he whispered.
