Title: Atonement
Part: 2
Author: Edie
Summary: Hermione has all but forgotten her world but has her whole world forgotten her? A post Hogwarts fic. Or, more chapter specific: Draco is one persistent little bugger and the joke is on Hermione.
Rating: R, for later chapters.
Disclaimer: Do I own? No, I think not. Do I wish I did? I think so.
Author's Notes: Branched away a little from my "mystery" in this chapter. Wanted some interaction. What can I say! Thank you as well for all of the positive feedback! blushes
Chapter Two: Faith Unfaithful
"His honour rooted in dishonour stood,
And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true."
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
"Six years, Granger," in a voice as supremely indifferent as ever, "and you still haven't managed to get that god awful hair under control."
Hermione wasted a few precious seconds gawking at Draco Malfoy- Draco Malfoy at her bloody door!- before doing something that she hadn't done in years. Thinking about it later on, she would give herself a pat on the back for still being somewhat of a Gryffindor; for still having enough stones to do something. In reality, however, Hermione simply panicked and slammed the door right in his cruelly smirking face.
Heart pounding (Son of a Death Eater! The Malfoy Manor Massacre! Son of a Death Eater! Holy bloody fuck, he was going to kill her!), she pushed her palm hard against the door and fumbled with the lock. Had it always been so hard to grasp? Why were her hands shaking? Why had she chucked her wand? Should have known they'd come for her, that they would never forget about her and her family and-
On the other side of her door, Malfoy let out a particularly harsh curse. She paused for a fraction of a second in harried surprise. It was all he needed. In her hand, the doorknob wrenched violently from the outside and before she knew what was what, he had thrown his weight against it and she found herself wedged between the wall and the door, effectively winded by the bloody doorknob and with a throbbing shoulder to boot. All of which paled in comparison, of course, to the fact that Malfoy used her momentary lapse to waltz into her flat as casually as if he owned the place.
Hermione wasn't casual. Hermione didn't feel casual at all. Her brain was spinning almost faster than she could keep up with, which wasn't anything new really. But what it was spinning with! She hadn't thought of it in a direct way in years or not as a face to face here's your reality wake up call anyway. Over and over, Death Eaters whirled through her imagination and Malfoy had always hated her. She wanted her wand; she wished she could call one single spell to mind that didn't require one. Six years ago, she could have taken her pick. Now, however, she knew exactly how much bacon and eggs cost, how long it would take to the second to cash out at work, every single way to make a tip and he was going to kill her!
Panicking still, she pushed the door off of her and grabbed the first thing she could reach: the remote control off of the side table near her door. She brandished it at him- how very threatening!- and tried to shake in menacingly.
"Get the bloody hell out of my flat, Malfoy!" Cringing because less with the hysteria, more with the force. "I'll brain you with this, see if I don't!"
Malfoy, being Malfoy, stared down his nose at her remote and looked beyond bored with her. Rolled his eyes, even.
"Beating me to death with that Muggle contraption?" he asked, "That's less than civil, Granger. Is this how you greet all of your old friends?"
The fact that he could still get a rise out of her after so many years only made her angrier.
"Get out. I have surprisingly good aim with this, Malfoy. Or would you prefer to be reintroduced to my fist?"
Which she didn't entirely mean, of course, because then she would have to leave the corner she most certainly wasn't cowering in.
He sighed and stared at her for a couple seconds, seeming to evaluate the situation. Then, almost because it was expected of him and he did so hate to disappoint, he drew his wand and took a threatening step towards her.
"I could hex you a thousand times over before you even have a chance to move, Granger, and you know it."
She did know it. Hence the cowering. And she didn't mean to cower even more at the sight of his wand, really she didn't, but it had been so long since she had faced the business end of one and, well, wasn't that earlier burst of Gryffindor courage/panic from seconds ago a false front? Couldn't help but press against the wall a little more; couldn't stop herself from looking away from his wand. Malfoy would do it, she thought. Malfoy had always hated her and his eyes were as cold as ever.
Shutting her own, she mumbled, "I don't allow magic in my flat."
And that was the end of it. Draco watched her shoulders slump and watched her wait for the inevitable hex and found himself so disgusted by the whole thing that he actually put down his wand. What was the fun in riling up Hermione Granger if she wouldn't fight back? And had he ever seen anything more pathetic than the sight of his once nemesis in ugly pajama pants trying to get up close and personal with her living room wall? He scoffed.
"You can open up your eyes, idiot," he barked, a strange sort of disappointment adding more venom to his tone that he had intended, "Living among the common riffraff has obviously rotted your silly little brain. I'm hardly here to kill you; even hexing you isn't any fun with you whimpering in the corner. Although you being so honestly afraid of me is giving me a surprising rush."
She did open her eyes at that and he was perversely pleased to see that that remark had at least hit home.
"I'm hardly scared of you, you irritating little-"
"Ferret? Really, Granger."
Hermione huffed at that and raised the remote control again. "Get out."
He took a step farther inwards and cocked an eyebrow.
"Get out!" she repeated, starting to feel like a broken record. Lord, how she wanted to hurl the thing at his obnoxious head, except how could she afford to fix it if it broke? "I don't want you here, Malfoy. I don't want anything to do with you and your murdering-"
He cut her off by sighing exasperatedly and flicking open his robes. She started in confusion and opened her mouth to continue on when he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater. She was baffled for a moment, a sensation that she did not like; then she realized that she was staring at a bare unmarked forearm and understood.
"I expected more of you," he was saying, "Did you honestly think your side would have let me live after the war if it was any other way?"
Hermione wanted to ask him a million questions. Wanted to know about the raid on the Manor; wanted to know how he had managed to worm his way out of some sort of punishment. Longed to know where he had stood then-
hand on her back, books shoved in her face, and, "Are you crying? Merlin, Granger! Where's Potty and the Weasel?"
-and where he stood now.
Instead, she lowered the blasted remote and said, "Why are you here?"
Malfoy looked around her flat in one great big sweeping moment of observation.
"Thought that might have been obvious as well. I'm here about your ad, of course." Then, aristocratic nose all bunched up, "Merlin, it smells like poverty in here."
She started at that and was about to snap that it did not. But then… well… she supposed that it did have a certain older used sort of aroma to it and how embarrassing! Irritably, she glanced around her flat and saw it as Malfoy might: off white paint peeling on the walls, stained carpet, beaten up couch that did not quite match her colour scheme and… and ashtray on the coffee table. Not that she cared what Malfoy thought of it but-
He must have trailed her gaze because he said, "Don't worry about it, Granger. I smoke too" and seemed surprised at himself. Followed it up with, "Do all Muggles of an age with us live in such hovels?"
Hermione didn't have a ready comment for that because Malfoy as a smoker? For the first time, she looked at him hard. He looked pretty much the same, she thought. Impossibly pale hair, falling just past his shoulders in what he obviously considered to be the height of Malfoy fashion. Same biting cobalt gaze. He was taller now, that was true, and more filled out, less of a boy and more of a young man. His robes were of an excellent quality, not that she'd been expecting any less. Same old Malfoy all around except-
Except he looked different in a way she couldn't quite pin point. And not well, either. His eyes were lined with bags, surprisingly dark against his skin, and he seemed… well, held together by a thin thread in all honesty. Not for the first time since seeing him, she wondered just what had happened to him in the last six years.
Then, "My ad? Are you crazy?"
He blinked at that and actually looked a little taken aback. She thought he might interject a comment so she rushed on with, "You can't possibly live here! Really, Malfoy, the idea is almost laughable. And, even if it wasn't, I'm going to interview someone else in… oh… about fifteen minutes, so maybe we could cut this impromptu reunion short and never ever reschedule it."
There, her trump card. Malfoy immediately stomped all over it by bursting into laughter.
"Penny Lexington?" he harrumphed, "I think your reputation at Hogwarts was undeserved if you didn't even figure that one out, you daft bint."
Oh God. Hermione thought she might vomit. Voice small, she asked, "You know Penny Lexington?"
"Know her?" and he was scoffing again, "Of course I know her. She's the secretary in my department at the Ministry. Muggleborn so entirely useless but she did know how to use your blasted telephones and quite nicely arranged the whole thing." Smirking, he took on a higher pitched effeminate tone. "Oh, Hermione! I just love libraries! And books! God love them! I can't believe you fell for it."
Neither could she. Abruptly, she felt like crying again. She had liked that lying little sneak of a woman; had cut that bloody key and gotten her hopes all up. And that woman had turned out to by one of Malfoy's lackeys. Un-bloody-believable.
"Get out of my flat," she reiterated, "I don't want you here and you're daft if you think I'll let you move in."
"Why not?" he asked, moving around her living room and poking at her television set cautiously with his wand, "You know I'm good for the rent. I could probably buy this whole building although why anybody would want to do that is beyond me."
Hermione wished Crookshanks would make an appearance and attack her unwanted guest. Ungrateful beast.
Frustrated now, she all but hissed, "Why? Don't you have anyone else to bother? I don't want you here! Are you listening to me speak?"
"Have you said anything worth hearing?"
Out of her living room now and into the kitchen. He shuddered at her stained and cracked countertops and prodded at her fridge and the stove with his wand as well. She found it immensely irritating and discovered that it took a great deal of control not to grab it out of his hand and snap it in two.
"My fridge and stove aren't going to attack you," she snapped instead, "Stop touching my stuff with that thing."
"It's called a wand, you great big ninny. And how am I supposed to know what you've put a curse on, what with all of your anti-Apparation wards?"
"Pleasure seeing you again," Hermione tried again, through clenched teeth.
Malfoy ignored her entirely, seemingly interested in the way her tap functioned. Lifted the handle with his wand and raised an eyebrow when the water began to run.
"As to why," he began after the sink had lost his interest, "I have many reasons, only one of which concerns you. You might be surprised to know that the name Malfoy does not command as much respect as it once did. I'm sure you've been able to deduce that it is my responsibility to change that. It occurred to me-"
"Now who isn't saying anything worth hearing? Spare me the Malfoy family history."
"-that living amongst… you people for a small amount of time might show the wizarding world that I am not some sort of mini-Death Eater who is going to go all Voldemort on their asses at the first opportunity."
Hermione winced at the name but lifted her chin anyway. "I don't care and I want you to leave."
Malfoy paused by the counter and elegantly arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Granger?"
"Yes. I don't give a shit about your situation." But the look in his eyes made her feel the tiniest inklings of fear because she knew Malfoy and she wasn't dumb enough not to sense that the other shoe had yet to drop.
"I think you'll let me stay," he told her, running a fingernail oh so casually along her countertop, "I think you'll only be too happy to help me adjust to life in your world because if you're not I'll tell them all where you are. I'll take out a story in the Prophet; you know they're all dying to see just how far everyone's favourite little Mudblood has fallen. I'll end your anonymous Muggle existence faster than you can blink. You can't even look at my wand. How are you going to handle that? Everything you've worked for; everything you've run away from… I'll lead it straight to your door, Granger."
It was like third year all over again. Her feet were moving before she knew it and her arm was raised and-
Malfoy was ready for it this time. He caught her fist effortlessly in his palm.
"You wouldn't dare," she hissed, trying to wrench her hand free.
"Wouldn't I? Bet you wouldn't want to try me."
"Bastard."
He shrugged and let go of her hand so quickly that she almost stumbled. For one horrifying second, she thought he meant to wipe his hands on his robes but what he did was even worse. He saw it resting on top of her stove where she had so optimistically placed it. She was an idiot. The battle was lost and she hadn't even gotten to fight it.
"A spare key?" Malfoy asked, grabbing it up before she could stop him, "How disgustingly hopeful of you."
She lunged at him; once again he proved quicker. Neatly sidestepping her, he stalked calmly to her door and paused before exiting.
"See you in a couple of days, roomie." Then, smirking, he slammed the door in her face.
Hermione stood in front of it for a horrified second; blanched when she heard the pop that signaled his leaving. She should have put that bloody ward everywhere. How short sighted of her. What had she been thinking? Something inane about what if other wizards lived in the building. But what wizard would want to live here anyway? Should have put it everywhere, should have thought ahead, should never have placed that sodding ad, and-
And she wasn't ready for Malfoy or for any of it. She had been safe here, so safe and secluded. She didn't want to see him; didn't want her past dragged up and examined in the light of day. Breathing heavily, she considered her options. She could move out but was there time? She could move back in with her father, but was Malfoy and her past worse than Marnie? She could change her locks but with what money? Fighting the urge to cry, she fell back onto her couch and promptly found her cigarettes.
Wouldn't do, not any of this, and…
… Malfoy smoked?
Later that night and Draco was perched in his favourite chair in the Malfoy library, hot coffee on hand and a book on his lap. He had ran into his mother in the hallway outside of the dining room (handy thing about manors, really. Hadn't seen his mother in weeks) and had told her flightily all about his plans; all about how her precious little son was going to become a Muggle for a few months. He thought now that he really was a bastard, brassing off his mum simply because he could and because-
But he wasn't going there, not tonight or any other night. In fact, he was going to sit in the same chair until the sun rose and nurse his coffee and not go anywhere in any state whatsoever. Nervously, he glanced at the clock and willed his eyes to stay open.
Soon. The realization was staggering but he knew deep within himself that Granger was the only one smart enough to diagnose him… and removed enough from his world that nobody else would ever know. Sure, she seemed to have grown a little dimmer since he had last seen her but that was to be expected. Surely once he forced his presence on her, she would remember that she had once been a smart little witch and find some way to fix him.
The thought that she wouldn't barely even crossed his mind. He was the one who had ruined everything for her; she would never dream of doing such a thing. He only hoped that she was quick enough to discover his problem fast. Malfoy reputation be damned. He wasn't sure how long he could possibly be expected to live in such… poor conditions. Nose in the air, he fluffed up his robes and tried to convince himself that the smell of her flat hadn't drifted out with him.
Malfoy Manor smelled nothing but pristine when he took a deep breath. Pristine and cold. Shuddering, he gulped his coffee and bellowed loudly for a house elf.
Arrangements had to be made. His man had to be contacted. This was certainly a change in plans.
Hermione spent the next four days completely on edge.
On the first day after Malfoy's unexpected and unwelcome visit, she had frantically begged and pleaded everybody at work whom she got along with even slightly to room with her. She had interviewed two last minute candidates and had even been willing to overlook the fact that she was sure the first looked like a drug dealer and the second a pervert.
On the second day, she considered going to Diagon Alley and owling Harry for assistance. Surely he couldn't possibly hate her as much as Ron…? Surely he was willing to forgive and forget…? Surely one of them would come and save her from big bad Malfoy…? But she was afraid of Diagon Alley; even more afraid of what Harry and Ron might have to say to her and so she had done nothing except for call her dad and complain about her lack of success. What about Penny Lexington, he had asked, and she had almost chucked the bloody phone at the wall.
Day three and she was entirely too frazzled to do much of anything. Had called in sick for work despite her desperate need of money and had spent all day organizing the bookshelf in her bedroom, first by author, then by alphabetical title, then by subject matter. She had tried to read but had ended up rearranging them all again, this time by publishing date.
On day four, she was so out of it at work that she almost lost her job entirely.
By the time she left her flat on day five, Hermione had done a pretty good job of convincing herself that he was not coming. All a game and ha ha but wasn't Draco Malfoy funny! Toying with the silly little Mudblood and making her panic for the better part of a week! All a bloody riot really. She made it through work without messing up a single order; without spilling so much as a drop of coffee on anybody or anything.
3:15 in the morning and Hermione was out of her taxi cab, rushing up the steps of her building and looking this way and that for whoever was out there. Key in the door and up the 21 stairs and all she wanted to do was collapse on her bed and sleep. She was so flooded with relief over Draco Malfoy's big bloody prank that all she wanted to do was sleep for a week and laugh a little at what a fool she'd been to fall for it.
Tripped on Crookshanks near the door and muttered a quick, "Sorry, sweetie" before darting into the bathroom. Didn't notice the fact that her computer had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor by the door to her balcony. Didn't notice that Crookshanks was actually on the couch. Didn't notice anything until she reached for her face cloth in the bathroom and came back with a deliciously soft black towel monogrammed with an elegantly curved M.
Then Hermione noticed everything in a panic, from the perfectly polished shoes she had tripped on to the closed door of her spare bedroom. She stood in the hallway and gawked at it; considered bursting in there and telling Malfoy to get the hell out of her flat and now before she called the police.
In the end, Hermione didn't do anything other than stare at the door and get rather hysterically giggly. Wasn't fair, after all, that her whole entire world should come crashing down around her feet twice.
Should have known better, of course. She had always been able to count on Malfoy, in some twisted way. His hatred of her had been so predictable after all and he'd never let her down before. Never even pretended to let up on her-
"Your mum? Bloody hell, Granger..."
-so why should he start now?
"Joke's on you, Hermione," she murmured to herself, pressing her fingers to her temples, "The joke's on you."
TBC...
I apologize profusely for any typos etc in this... it's 3 am and I have a funny feeling I don't catch many mistakes this late. :) Also I have a cold from hell. Blame the sickness, baby!