Alright, so I'm a total loser, I know. Give me all the shit you feel is fair, I'll accept it with grace and dignity, though I might cry a little if you're not nice :(
Anyway, I hope everyone has had a very well holiday season (which I'm fully blaming for this delay, though I know it's really been an accumulation of school and work that's postponed me this much) and that you don't hate me too much. I promise I'll try to update more regularly, and I swear I haven't abandoned the story. I've even been writing a few future chapters, but until we get there, I don't know how often I'll be able to update. Maybe the more I hear back from everyone, the more I'll feel motivated to write...is that considered extortion? I think it might be.
To quickly address felesseta: I so appreciate your words! I'm glad to know that I'm staying within the realm of the original characters, since I like them for their personalities that exist, not new ones I create for them. As for reader response, as far as I can think of so far, everyone has been very positive or very constructive (sometimes a little of both), which I appreciate because yes, I've got a plan for everyone, but I think all the feedback makes me a better writer. I've noticed a change in my writing just since the first chapter, so please, tell me what you think!
That message goes for everyone, so as always, please review!
Love,
Cherry
Tuesday came after what felt like much too long (though the nights brewing the sana mortem potion kept Hermione aware of how many days had really passed), and it was with a newfound skip in her step, Hermione shed her terribly green workrobes and made her way to the Floo, glass jar of light blue potion in her arms. When she stepped through the green flames into the Malfoy Manor drawing room, Draco was waiting for her, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black trousers. Hermione smiled at him nicely, though his expression didn't shift from one of indifference as she did. She wasn't expecting it to, of course. Expecting any expression of emotion from Draco would be too much to ask so early into the evening. No, Draco, Hermione had learned, required coaxing and conversation to open up and express himself almost like a normal human, almost being the operative word.
Her brain reminded her that while her jesting was pragmatic for the most part, it could hardly capture all of Draco's hidden personality, something she learned just over a week ago when she'd broken down in his arms. She hadn't planned to take advantage of his checking on her, really. But he was there, and offering her kindness, and if Hermione was being honest with herself, she hadn't really been properly consoled about something in years so even if it had been Draco Malfoy that was patting her back in a soothing motion, she had enjoyed it quite a bit. Naturally, the reminder that she had been held by the pair of arms now folded across Draco's chest made her redden, and so Hermione made a show of blowing a strand of hair out of her face and tightening her grip on the jar.
"You know, standing around will only delay me, not deter me. I won't yield this time." She spoke, and Draco raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip lifting to match.
"I would say many things about you, Granger, but yielding is not one of them. You're like a niffler that's caught the scent of gold. I sense nothing could deter you from something you really wanted." Draco turned and began walking out of the room, clearly expected Hermione to follow. She did, and as they walked, she spouted her retort.
"Not when it's concerning the well-being of my patients." Hermione made certain to verbally place Draco in the category of patient lest she consider crossing the line again. Even disregarding their sordid history, Hermione sensed that both of them had stepped over a line they'd previously had in place, and she refused to lose her professional status now, to Draco of all people.
They entered the office used previously for treatment, and Hermione noted that Thrump seemed to have done a thorough job of scrubbing down every surface, even the mantle, which was nowhere near the place of treatment.
"I take it Thrump didn't like the news of the location of your last session." Hermione noted dryly, taking off her coat and draping it over one of the chairs.
"He was hardly thrilled at the concept, but I assured him that as a healer, your home was practically cleaner than ours." Draco smirked as he unbuttoned his shirt, remembering the discussion he'd had with the house-elf, who had hyperventilated nearly to the point of passing out when he discovered Draco had received treatment without his cleansing of the space. It had taken upwards of an hour to calm the creature into a state of contentment, and that was really only after assuring Thrump that he could take care of the setting for the rest of the treatments. Hermione smiled to herself, noticing that Draco had said 'ours' when referring to his home, and the thought that he shared his home with what were once his slaves was far more pleasing than it should've been.
Draco climbed atop the desk and sat up, waiting for Hermione to approach as she redid the braid she'd tossed her hair into that morning, pulling all the loose strands back tightly. Her fingers moved with a lithe speed as she tied it all together with a band, and Draco had to wonder if Hermione kept her hair back because she didn't know how else to deal with its natural inclination to frizz everywhere. Though he had seen it down when he'd Flooed to her home last week and it hadn't seemed frizzy then. Poufy, yes, with the natural curls that hardly seemed like they could be controlled without heavy intervention, but why else would she put it back so often then? She'd never done that during their days at Hogwarts. No, when they were children, not even her interest in that Quidditch seeker during fourth year could get her to change her daily appearance, which meant there must've been a reason behind the shift in hairstyle.
When Hermione turned, she realised Draco was watching her, rather unabashed given that he had just been caught staring. Shying under his gaze - still as strong as it had been when she wasn't aware of his eyes - Hermione lifted the jar from the end table she'd set it on and brought it over to the desk, setting it by Draco's hip. She was relieved to see that when she looked up this time, Draco had found interest in the stack of books he'd prepared, no longer looking at Hermione as he sorted through the books. He settled on a particularly worn looking, leather bound book, its pages beginning to fray at the upper corners from constant page-flipping. There was no name on the spine, and as she sat, Hermione noted that there wasn't even a name on the cover. How did Draco even know how to find that book if it was so unidentified? Was it a family journal? A record book? His diary? She didn't ask, knowing Draco would only brush her off with some cryptic answer, and opened the jar, beginning her afternoon's work.
As she sat and kneaded and prodded, Hermione chewed on her lip, trying to determine if she could sort out exactly what Draco was so enthralled with without his discovering her motives. It wasn't likely, but whatever it was, every so often, Draco would summon his paper and quill with his wand, writing something down before guiding it back to the stack of papers and books on one of the shelves of his bookcase. It was almost as if he knew what she was doing; the way he flicked his wrist and banished the parchment out of her sight. In fact, Draco knew exactly what Hermione was doing, and while he wasn't opposed to her knowing what he was up to, she would just have to wait like the rest of the world. After all, she was only a healer in his eyes. A healer that definitely didn't have a rogue tendril of hair just above her left ear that was currently planning its escape from her plait.
"You've changed your hair." Draco finally commented under the guise of keeping Hermione's mind preoccupied with nonsense as opposed to his personal business. No part was willing to admit that the question was just as much to appease his curiosity as it was to distract her.
Hermione's hands quit working for a moment, and she nearly reached for her hairband, wondering if it'd come undone.
"Since school." Draco clarified, reading her actions correctly. "I can hardly remember a day where that mane was actually under your control."
Hermione raised her eyebrows and looked at Draco with wide eyes. Had he noticed such a thing? Was it so evident and worth discussion? It had to be a dig of some kind, didn't it? It wouldn't be the first time Draco had chosen to target her hair as a point of insult. But they were past that, weren't they? They had crossed some line at some point so that they were no longer schoolmates from two diametrically opposed backgrounds, but two acquaintances on a possible path to common ground. At least it felt that way for Hermione, hadn't it?
"I suppose so." Hermione finally spoke, aware she hadn't actually answered Draco. She resisted the urge to reach for her locks and continued rubbing the potion into his pale skin. "It's hardly professional for a healer to run around with her hair everywhere though, isn't it?" It was true enough. When she was at work, Hermione was required to keep a tidy appearance, but she knew keeping her hair back had been a habit she'd developed as a result of Ron's input. Perhaps now that she was on her own, she should let her hair go free once more. She nearly snorted at the thought, aware that if she did indeed change her appearance now, it could be directly attributed to Draco, which was just as bad as letting Ron influence her looks.
"Mm." Draco hummed, closing his book and setting it next to his head. He placed his right hand under his head and shifted his legs so one was propped up into a more comfortable position. "I don't think it's that."
Hermione slowed her ministrations once more and scoffed aloud. "And what would you know about my habits, Mister 'I've used the same hair gel since I was eleven?'"
"I know you're the girl who was on the receiving end of bullying and torment for nearly six years, and never once did you make any effort to change who you were." Draco countered, lying back and staring at the ceiling to avoid Hermione's questioning look. "And as someone who took advantage of that element of your look, I can tell you how very aware I am that you never were concerned with what others thought of you, but something's changed, hasn't it? Something that has made you hyper aware of what your hair looks like and what you can do to limit its natural inclinations.
"You say work, which is a feasible answer, I'll grant you, given that you likely do have to maintain a certain level of cleanliness, but I think it's likely more to do with something personal, something that impacts how you present yourself outside of just your place of employment. And no offence, Granger, but you hardly seem like the type to have a booming social life, so that leaves your close friends. Potter wouldn't have room to judge your grooming habits, I don't think he even owns a hairbrush, I hardly imagine that his little wife's opinion would matter enough to you to make such a change, so that leaves Weasley, who, last I knew, is just filled to the brim with opinions, and if you're the kind of girlfriend I imagine you to be, you likely saw your alteration in hairstyle to be something minimal that you could do to make your partner happy. And if it is Weasley - which I'd bet one hundred galleons that it is - your continuation of such appearance either stems from the hope that you'll win back is affections, or you've developed a habit." Finally finished with his rant, Draco licked his lips and didn't bother looking at Hermione. He didn't have to to know that she was openly staring at him just as he had done to her earlier, though this time, it was justified.
He hadn't meant to go into so much detail. Yes, he had been thinking about it for the past hour, so logically, he'd ruled out possible causes and focused in on what he likely believed the cause to be: a certain ginger with far too much to say. It was surprising, to say the least. Draco would've never thought any man, let alone one from the Weasley clan, would be able to affect Hermione in a way that actually made her change something she had always been so undeniably principled on. Admittedly, it bothered him. Hermione was a beacon of stubbornness and determination, two elements that made her so uniquely her, so the fact that she had let someone impact her so greatly was an insult to the Hermione of yesteryear.
"I was concerned with what others thought." Hermione finally put together her words, hardly prepared to formulate a coherent response after that monologue. Had it really meant so much to Draco? How had he even noticed? It made her uneasy, to know that not only was he so concerned with the minutia of her life, but that he was so spot on with his assessment. Hermione knew that she'd fallen into a rut of sorts following the demise of Voldemort, but to think that she had become so predictable was disheartening.
"I was never willing to compromise my own values because of someone else's words, but of course I cared how people perceived me." She continued, refusing to make eye contact with Draco while she spoke, which was all right with him as he was doing the same thing. "You might not have known it, but when I first met them, I hardly got along with Harry and Ron. I was nervous that I wouldn't fit in with all of you, having been raised to believe witches and wizards only existed in fairy tales, so I studied everything that I could get my hands on, absorbing every bit of magical information I came across in hopes that maybe I wouldn't be so inferior to my peers once I began school. Ron didn't understand it, having grown up in this world, and Harry was happy just to be away from his aunt and uncle, so when I came along with my overeagerness and need to prove myself, they didn't like me very much and I heard them making fun of me. I spent the majority of that afternoon locked in the lavatory, crying my eyes out.
"So yes. I was concerned with what others thought." Hermione scrunched her nose at the memory, and went back to rubbing in the potion, splashing another scoop across Draco's ribs. They were both silent, for which Hermione was grateful, and Draco went back to his books, willing to let the subject drop if it didn't mean further addressing his embarrassing outburst.
Hours later, when Hermione had only a quarter of the jar remaining, there was a quiet knock on the door, to which Draco answered with a tired yet commanding "enter." The door opened to reveal a small house-elf dressed in a navy blue blazer that reached its knees, its hands covered by the too long sleeves, though it held the tray in her grip with strong fingers. Its ears twitched nearly imperceptibly when its round, blue eyes shot to Hermione.
"Ah, Mimmy." Draco greeted the house-elf and sat up, gesturing for the house-elf to approach. Mimmy shuffled over to Draco, wearing a pair of too large loafers, and held the tray out to him.
"Master Draco's tea, sir." Mimmy waited as Draco poured himself a cup, her knees wobbling as she held the tray above her head so he could reach it without climbing down from the desk.
"Want one, Granger?" Draco asked, gesturing to Hermione, who secretly wanted a break from rubbing, though she knew part of the healing process required a steady effort, something she'd looked into after last week's treatment.
"No, I'm working, in case you haven't noticed." She held up and wiggled her pruning fingers and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Your loss. Set the tray down and introduce yourself then, Mimmy." Draco waved a hand at Mimmy who obediently set the tray down on the end table between the two chairs, her ears fluttering as she looked at Hermione, wiggling her sleeve covered hands.
"Mimmy is so pleased to meet Miss Hermione." She bent at the knee and bowed her head. "Mimmy knows all about Miss Hermione, and her support of the house-elves, and her bravery against the Dark Lord." Mimmy stood up straight again and looked at Hermione with wide eyes.
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mimmy." Hermione stilled her hands against Draco's side for a moment, not wanting to lose count of which stroke came next. "And I think you might give me too much credit. My efforts with S.P.E.W. weren't appreciated by the house-elves they affected."
"No, no, Miss Hermione." Mimmy admonished. "Mimmy knows all about Miss Hermione from Dobby. Dobby told Mimmy how supportive and kind Miss Hermione was to those who deserved it."
"You knew Dobby?" Hermione asked, her heart softening a little at the mention of the house-elf who made her second year a living nightmare, and saved her from certain death.
"Oh yes! Dobby and Mimmy shared a room! Even after Dobby's freeing, Dobby came back to tell Mimmy about Harry Potter and Mister Weasley and Miss Hermione." Mimmy's expression brightened at the thought of Dobby, though it darkened all too quickly. "Mimmy saw Miss Hermione that day," the spindly house-elf wrung her hands, her ears pointed back and downward. "Miss Hermione is braver than anyone Mimmy knows."
At the mention of the second worst day of her life, Hermione's stomach dropped and a lump rose in her throat. She didn't ever think of that time,quite intentionally because thinking about it just brought back the pain she suffered from it, both physical and mental. The Cruciatus Curse had been pure torture, lighting Hermione's body on fire before crushing every bone, only for Bellatrix to pause and give Hermione a moment to breathe before returning to torturing her. When that didn't prove to force information out of Hermione, Bellatrix resorted to more primal forms of torture in the form of threats and actual bodily harm. She peppered in more curses along the way, but after the first hour, it all became a hazy blur.
Forcing down the memories and nausea she felt now, Hermione smiled tightly at Mimmy and nodded quickly.
"I think Dobby deserves that title, but thank you." Merlin, she didn't even recognise her own voice. This was going downhill quickly and Hermione felt helpless to stop it.
"Thank you for the tea, Mimmy." Draco spoke with a hardness Hermione hadn't heard before, and when she looked over at him, she was surprised to see more than just indifference in his eyes. He looked angry, and Hermione could only hope it wasn't directed at Mimmy.
"M-my pleasure, Master Draco." Mimmy stuttered, aware that something had shifted and her presence was no longer welcome. She curtsied clumsily before clumsily scooting out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Hermione tried to even her breathing and closed her eyes, taking a moment to return to a normal state. When she felt calm again, Hermione opened her eyes and looked to Draco, about to apologise for her reaction when he beat her to it.
"I hadn't thought to warn Mimmy about her oversharing." Draco explained, his brows knit together. "I hope you know I didn't intend to insult you by dredging up such a horrid moment."
"I think I must need my hearing checked, did you just apolgise, Malfoy? Now I've seen everything." Gobsmacked at Draco's admission, Hermione tried to lighten the mood in hopes that things could return to the way they had been prior to Mimmy's appearance. Well, at least before Mimmy's recounting of such a bad memory.
"You would do well to accept it, before I change my mind and take it back." Draco countered, more than pleased to let the tension dissolve. He set his teacup down and laid back, acutely aware that Hermione's little hands lay against his side still, waiting to pick up where they'd left off.
"Then I accept." Hermione said, beginning to rub in the potion again. "And while the thirteen year old Malfoy might've thought that was a clever plan to trick me into crying, I know your current self wouldn't jeopardize treatment for the sake of a mean spirited prank."
"That's true." Draco conceded, both of them knowing that the current Draco wouldn't dare hurt Hermione's feelings on purpose. No, Hermione was beginning to think that more than anyone she knew, Draco had grown the most since they were children. She recognised the sarcasm and superiority complex that were still present in his personal expression, but he was quieter, and more thoughtful, and dare she say it, pleasant to be around. It wasn't always so picture perfect, of course. He was still probing and judgmental, as evidenced by their conversation earlier in the afternoon, but underneath that, he wasn't too terrible. That was a strange thought. Draco Malfoy: not too terrible. If only Harry and Ron could hear her now; actually starting to like the newest version of Draco. He would make quite the partner for someone someday.
In what felt like a bizarre twist of fate, Hermione realised the changes she'd hoped to see in Ron throughout their relationship were changes that Draco had instead been the one to make. He wasn't nearly as rash or hotheaded as he'd once been, nor was he as reckless, and in its place, he was tactful and deliberate. And not only had she identified these qualities in him, but now she was viewing him as a proper gentleman. Merlin, she needed to work things out with Ron.
As Hermione continued to work through the remaining potion, she forced her thoughts of Draco out of her mind, refusing to even entertain positive thoughts of the man if it meant she was making the leap from neutral acquaintance to good boyfriend material.
"Mimmy, does being your employer earn me no respect? For the love of Merlin, I gave you your freedom and I still get spoken to like that?"
Hermione smirked as Mimmy stamped her feet, ears twitching enthusiastically. She rather enjoyed having another defend her, even if it was clearly just as a pawn in Mimmy's power trip.
"Mimmy gives Master Draco much respect, but he must not treat Miss Hermione like a criminal." Hermione nearly stuck her tongue out at Draco but Mimmy continued. "That being said, Miss Hermione must stay for dinner if she does not have a pet to care for." Mimmy turned to Hermione with eyes round as saucers in an obvious attempt to guilt Hermione into staying. Hermione hated that it was working.
