Here it is! Chapter 7. Bare with this chapter it might seem a little slow, but it's important to the whole flow of the rest of the story. I'm so happy because I finally mapped out the rest of the story, so now it is only a matter of how fast my hands can type it. I promise it will be good! Be patient, the mystery will be solved in the next chapter (already in the works). Please review!!!
Chapter 7 Vacation of Unrest
Hermione stepped from the platform at Kings Cross and searched through the crowd for the familiar face of her father. After scanning twice she noticed him frantically waving his arms above the mass of commuters. Hermione plastered a huge smile on her face and began jogging over to him.
When she reached her father he threw his arms open wide, and she gave him a tight embrace. The two laughed merrily as they spun in circles. Hermione never wanted to let go. She released her firm grip and took a step back pretending to examine her father. She was dismayed at what she saw. His normally well kept hair was in sad disarray, and was graying at a rapid pace. His eyes appeared to be a duller color, and the bags beneath them seemed to stretch down to his hollow cheeks. He looked very gaunt, and Hermione suddenly became sick to her stomach. She grabbed his hand and began leading him to the parking lot. His hand was tough and leathery feeling. She willed herself not to cry. 'I never should have left him alone. He's dying too, very slowly.' Her thoughts were interrupted by her father's calm voice.
"Hermione! What's the hurry? You act as though a pack of wolves are on our tails!" He said chuckling. "Did you make someone angry at school?" winking down at his daughter.
"No Dad, I'm just starving, I didn't eat anything on the train." she lied. From the looks of it, her father hadn't eaten anything in days.
"Oh, well, alright. Where would you like to eat?" He asked, swinging their clasped hands back and forth smiling cheerfully. Hermione sighed, she knew he was just putting on the happy face to keep her from worrying. He didn't want her to drop out of school. 'I bet he was up all night cleaning the house so I didn't think he was some sort of helpless slob. Poor dad.' She pondered.
"I think I would like some soup and sandwiches." She replied.
"Sounds good, I know just the place."
The two walked down several blocks, Hermione telling him all about being head girl, and the time she had to spend with Malfoy. Her father appeared to be quite interested, but she could tell he wasn't really listening because a few times he said "Oh really?" when he should have said " I know." Simple things like that. Hermione decided that she should continue to talk anyways, because if she suddenly grew quiet he would know it was his fault. She rambled on about the dance, and about her dormitory. Her father wheeled her in front of an old wooden building. The sign said "HOT S ND ICH S" because several of the bulbs were burned out. Hermione silently prayed that they weren't mugged while dining in such an establishment.
The two spent their day milling around London, going into various shops, and laughing about previous holidays. Her father again grew quiet, and Hermione assumed that he was thinking about this being his first Christmas without his wife in the past 20 years. He sighed deeply and pulled the collar of his coat tighter around his face. This change did not go unnoticed by his daughter.
"I'm ready to go home dad. It was a really long week at school." she said stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. The sun was setting and casting an eerie orange glow on the few snowflakes falling. Her father nodded his head in agreement and they turned back to the train station.
Hermione was the first to unlock the door because her dad's hands were filled with packages they had bought earlier that day. She pushed the door open and stood with a look of horror on her face. The curtains were all dark and drawn over the windows. A flashback of the way Malfoy's room had looked flickered across her eyes. The apartment smelled terrible, like stale cigarette smoke and old take-out. She drew in a few quick breaths as she heard her father lumbering up the stairs. 'This is what he lives in? This hole? This pit of despair? Oh mother would never forgive me if I left him like this.' Her mind screamed at her. She quickly stepped over a pile of old newspapers scattered in front of the door and made toward the couch.
On the once beautiful oak coffee table were several stains and a full ashtray. The ashes had flown all over the once bright surface. She looked down at the floor and an empty bottle of scotch was laying on it's side, partially concealed by the couch. Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes. Everything was just so terrible here. 'It's my fault, if I hadn't wanted to go to the beach mom would still be alive.' She cried internally.
Her father kicked his way into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He made a big scene of tossing this way and that with all the bags. "Little help here?" He pleaded in a muffled voice. Hermione rose from the couch in a trance of disbelief. She reached out a took several bags and made a motion to set them on the stained couch. Her father noticed the shock in her eyes.
"Uh, I know it's a little different then you remember 'Mione, but I've been really busy. I meant to clean up." He offered.
Hermione refused to look at him. "Oh, it's fine dad, it is just a little bit of a shock." she said flatly staring around the room in utter disbelief. There wasn't even a Christmas tree. She started walking towards her room.
"I'm really tired, goodnight." She said softly.
"Oh, um, alright, goodnight then." He stammered, looking longingly at his daughter's retreating back.
Hermione closed her door gently and shut her eyes. She pressed her back against the smooth surface and slid down into a sitting position. She was afraid to open her eyes and see the destruction of her bed room. She forced them open and heaved a sigh of relief. The room was exactly as she had left it. It was virtually untouched by the devastating hurricane that was her father's misery.
She sat in that position for a long time, tears she didn't even know she was crying were sliding down her face. After several long minutes she forced herself up and laid down in her bed. She could hear her father putting ice in a glass, and assumed he had another bottle of scotch hidden somewhere. she fell asleep knowing her life was forever changed.
Draco had been met at the station by his mother. She was still beautiful. He offered her a genuine smile and his arm as the two walked to the car. His mother held him tightly.
"I've missed you terribly Draco." she said in her soft musical voice.
"As have I mother, as have I." He remarked distantly.
They drove in relative silence to Malfoy Manner. Draco silently wondered what was in store for him on this return visit home. He was sure something bad was going to happen. It always did.
"Is Dad home?" He asked while toying with the electric window buttons.
"No dear, he won't be home until tomorrow. It's just you and me. What shall we do first?" She asked running her soft hands down his face. She noticed the remote look in his eyes, and felt a moment of stabbing guilt.
"If it's all the same I just want to go to sleep in my own bed. Tomorrow perhaps we can do something." He offered loftily.
"Oh, of course, I understand." She said, dropping her arm back onto the seat. The rest of the long trip was spent immersed in the musical talents of Bach.
Hermione woke up early the next day and dressed quietly. she had decided last night before she went to sleep that she was going to clean up the house and try to snap her father out of his depression. She opened her door and looked in the direction of her father's bedroom. She could hear him snoring, and that satisfied her. Hermione decided she would start with the living room first. She spent nearly an hour in that one room alone. the table was cleaned, the trash thrown away, the decorations dusted, and the curtains wide open. She even dared to let the chilly December breeze into the room to air out the stench. The room looked more like she remembered, not exactly, but close. She moved onto the kitchen, which was even worse than the living room. After nearly two hours of scrubbing and straightening she decided to give it a rest.
She slipped down the hall and rested her ear against her father's door. She could no longer hear him snoring, but she heard the tell-tale sound of a lighter being struck. She rolled her eyes and decided she would have to work on that one some other time. Hermione felt exhausted in both body and spirit. She walked back to her room and decided a little nap was in order. 'Tomorrow is Christmas, and if I'm not careful, dad may forget it entirely.'
She woke up to the sound of very loud whistling. It was a barely recognizable Christmas carol. Hermione squealed with joy and flew out of her bed. Her father was up! And singing to boot! She hurried down the hall nervously trying to fix her hair. She turned the corner to the kitchen in time to see her father putting a bottle back in the freezer. She stopped dead in her tracks. She scanned the counter top and saw a carton of eggnog. She smiled lightly and assured herself that loads of people drink rum and eggnog. This didn't mean her dad had a problem.
"Hermione!" He greeted while turning around. "The most amazing thing happened last night."
"What's that?" She asked with a gleam in her eyes.
"Why the angels came down and cleaned our house up for Christmas. Isn't it wonderful. I knew your mother would hear my prayers. Come let's celebrate."
A look of confusion crossed Hermione's face as her father clapped her and the shoulder spinning her around. 'Angels? He can't be serious. He couldn't have gone daft!' She followed him into the spotless living room.
"So you like how the place looks?" she prodded.
"Of course, miracles are always beautiful." He replied wistfully.
"Um, dad, you do know I did this don't you?" She asked searching his face. When she saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes her heart stopped. Her father had actually believed angels had cleaned the house. He continued forcing a smile he no longer felt.
"Oh, uh, yes of course, I knew that. Thanks for the help Hermione, but you didn't have to go to so much trouble." He finished. He placed the glass to his lips and finished his drink in one long gulp. He set the cup onto the freshly polished coffee table letting a solitary drop land on it's surface. Hermione frowned. Her father stood up and stretched.
"Well kid, I gotta run to the store for a few things. I'll be back in just a little bit. I bought some of those frozen dinners for you, but I should be back before then." He said reaching for his coat. He smiled one last time at his daughter and opened the door.
"Wait! Dad can't I come with you?" She pleaded.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry sweet heart. This is important, uh, stuff that I uh, have to do. It would just bore you." He lied, never making eye contact. "I'll make it up to you. I promise." He said as he walked out the door.
Hermione stared after him for a long time. She could not fit all the pieces together. Had her father really believed that the divine had some hand in his house keeping? What was he really doing today? She wondered. She fell asleep on the couch waiting for an explanation that would never come.
Draco woke up unusually early the next morning. He dressed quickly and went in search of his mother. He hadn't meant to be cruel to her yesterday, and wanted to make it up to her. He walked down the main corridor and passed his father's study. He heard the muffled voices, and prayed he wouldn't hear him.
"Draco, in here, now." Came a stern voice from the other side of the door. Draco froze in his tracks and hung his head. He walked slowly to the entrance and turned the knob. Inside the room were three adults. Draco's father was sitting behind his large desk, and two fidgety gentlemen were seated across from him.
"Please excuse me gentlemen, my son has just returned from school and we have much to talk about. You will find refreshments out on the north lawn. I will meet you there shortly." He dismissed the men with one decisive nod. They both stood and made sullen greetings to Draco. After the door closed his father started in on him.
"Sit down boy." He commanded. Draco obeyed. "A few important members of the wizarding world have brought it to my attention that you have been spending unnecessary amounts of time with that mudblood Granger." His father drawled. Draco remained motionless. "I had to spend a great deal of time telling them about your circumstances as head boy. You will under no condition spend any more excess time in the presence of that filth. I expect you understand." He finished.
"Yes sir. Believe me I would not spend any more time with her then I would absolutely have to. I hate her, and I should hope there will be no further confusion." He replied smoothly with his jaw clenched.
"Yes, well Draco," his father continued, pacing around his study, "we all seem to know that you have an incessant sweet tooth for the forbidden. Let me remind you that I will not have some muggle born bastard running around with so much as a drop of our noble blood. The consequences would be quite grave indeed. I will not have some poor mudblood whore begging on our front steps for a hand out for her and your child. I don't think I need to inform you of the drastic measures I would take to ensure a stable reputation for you and this family. Now, go amuse your mother. We will continue this after dinner." He sneered with a flick of his wrist indicating the door.
Draco stood up stiffly and walked with his head held high. When he made it out into the corridor he expelled the breath he had been holding during his father's entire speech. He turned on his heel and headed back up to his room.
Hermione spent the rest of her vacation trying to fix what was wrong with her father. She realized it was going to take more then she could give. He was drinking and smoking, and talking to himself. He didn't eat, he barely bathed, and he rarely slept. He was slowly losing his mind and there was nothing Hermione could do to stop it. She dreaded the thought of leaving him again, especially in his present state. She couldn't handle the thought of losing her father too. She begged for him to seek some sort of help, but he would just shrug off her attempts and make a brilliant facade of normalcy. Only in the late hours of the night when Hermione would sit outside his bedroom door could she glimpse what he had become.
Her father constantly talked to himself and his deceased wife. He told her how lovely she looked, and what they were going to do that weekend. He often finished his romantic trysts with the dead by smashing his empty liquor bottle against the bedroom wall and cursing loudly. Hermione decided there was only one person who could fix her father, one who could make him whole again. That person was her mother, and Hermione swore to herself that she would bring her back.