Hello all. I'm back with another chapter! I hope you all love it. I know I loved writing it ;)
I'll keep this brief: thank you for the support you've all shown me! I so greatly appreciate hearing your feedback and it does help me write, and often gives me guidance for how I should develop the chapters I'm currently writing, so please keep it up!
Love,
Cherry
A funny sense of emptiness washed over Hermione as she carried the heavy jar of light purple potion down to the Floos on the main floor. She'd made this trek three times (four, counting the time Draco barged into her home uninvited for medical care), and since the overall treatment of mortuus textus was supposed to span four weeks, this was the last trip she'd be taking to Malfoy Manor. And while she couldn't quite place the feeling that flowed through her as she stepped into the fireplace - hand filled with Floo powder - Hermione was aware that some bit of her, however small it was, was going to miss her weekly ritual afternoons with Draco. No, she wouldn't miss the journeys to Malfoy Manor, or the looming sense of dread that tightened in her chest whenever she walked the first floor of the home, but she was just beginning to enjoy Draco's company as more than a patient.
There were moments when that wasn't the case, like when he analysed her in a way that felt far too personal and accurate to be done so by someone who was practically a stranger, but for the most part, Hermione found conversation with Draco to be stimulating and refreshing. He was intelligent, it was evident to anyone who held more than a ten second conversation with him, and well cultured, and conversations with him weren't solely comprised of sports, work, or family, unlike some men in her life.
Blimey, there she went again comparing Draco to Ron again. She'd have to stop that habit.
Draco was waiting for her in the drawing room, pensively scowling at a place near her feet as she stepped over the hearth. Despite her complaint that Draco knew her too well for a stranger, Hermione knew him as well, too, and she knew that whatever had Draco brooding was unrelated to her and private, though her curiosity was itching to know what it was that had him so wound up in thought. When he made eye contact with her, it was hollow and distant, though he did smile politely. Hermione reciprocated.
"Quite ready to rid yourself me already, eh?" Hermione jested as the two walked to Draco's study in silence. While Hermione was by no means short, Draco's height lent itself to long legs, and long legs meant long strides that Hermione could barely keep up with comfortably if he decided to walk quickly, as he did now. Unaware of his pace, Draco slowed to meet Hermione's needs.
"Sorry." He apologised, not offering any further explanation. Hermione wrinkled her nose in displeasure, having hoped for a more detailed explanation, but clearly whatever Draco was dealing with, he intended to stay tight lipped. She didn't press the issue any further, thought she didn't make herself easy to ignore.
"Though I suppose I wouldn't blame you if you were ready to rid yourself of me. After all, my presence is solely to rub ointment onto a wound of yours for six hours straight. I hardly think I would be inclined to let that type of person into my home if I were on the receiving end of such a process. Granted I will inform you, it's no more pleasant on the giving end, in case you were inclined to believe I got some enjoyment out of the process..." Glancing over, Hermione saw that not only wasn't Draco listening, but he still hadn't dropped the sour look he'd worn since she first arrived. "Actually, it is quite enjoyable." Hermione redirected, trying a new tactic. "I rather like the feeling of cold, somewhat slimy, medicinal goo between my fingers, especially if it's for a toxic wound. It just warms my insides thinking about it." When Draco didn't respond again, Hermione huffed and stopped walking.
"Malfoy." She called to him, waiting as he turned around, barely aware she wasn't at his side anymore.
"What?" He nearly whined, familiar with the expression Hermione bore. He'd seen her make the face at her friends during their schooling, which would lead Harry and Ron to dramatic fits as a result of her look, and he'd seen his mother make the face, when Draco would keep a secret that she was prepared to wriggle out of him, whatever the cost.
"Don't you 'what' me." She scolded, placing her free hand on her hip. "I know we're not friends, but I bloody well know you're hiding something right now, and whatever it is, it appears to be eating you alive. Now, am I going to have to Legilimency to get an explanation, or are you going to come out of your funk?"
"You're too kind to an old enemy, Granger." Draco deflected, knowing that yes, he could block even the most powerful of Legilimens, so Hermione shouldn't be an issue, but sometimes steering the conversation in another direction was more effective. "Maybe your concern would be better suited for one of your mates that actually have interesting lives worth prying into."
"I would hardly call you an enemy anymore, Malfoy." Hermione rolled her eyes, far too aware that any humour she held in her voice was only there to mask any sincerity she might've felt. "More like an acquaintance."
"Well, I suppose it could be worse." Draco mused, and as grey eyes met brown, the two shared a knowing smile. "I feel honoured to be an acquaintance of the Hermione Granger."
Hermione reddened, a queer feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach at Draco's use of her full name, and she dropped the subject since Draco was clearly returning to his normal state. Draco smirked to himself, knowing he'd successfully navigated Hermione out of territory he wasn't desperate enough for her to enter. At least not yet.
"So you like this then, do you?" Draco asked, clasping his hands behind his back as they walked. Hermione looked at him in confusion. "The treatments." He clarified. "Never struck me as a sadist; I suppose it shouldn't be all that surprising - what with Weasley being your choice of partner and all - but to derive pleasure from inflicting discomfort upon others? That hardly seems like the kind of person who would want to be a Healer."
Hermione ignored the playful jab about her sexual preferences and instead opted to return with something true. "I never wanted to be a Healer. I always thought I would do something more meaningful with my life. Something that could change the world for others so that they didn't have to be limited to what others expected them to be." She thought of the house-elves and her plight to free them all, yet Draco thought of her: Muggle-born in a world full of wizards where many bore prejudices against her kind.
"Once the dust had settled after Voldemort's demise, the Ministry presented Harry, Ron, and I with jobs as Aurors, but I was tired of being part of the destruction, so when I was offered a position as a Healer, following an extra two years of specialised education, of course, I accepted, knowing that while it wasn't my dream position, at least I would be helping people in some capacity." They'd come to a stop in front of Draco's office, neither interrupting the conversation to step over the threshold that transformed them from acquaintances to patient and Healer.
"Anyway," Hermione smiled sadly, "even if I was a sadist, Ron and I broke up, so...that's that." She shrugged, nearly refusing to make eye contact with Draco. When she did, she wasn't able to make sense of the look he wore, and she nearly asked what it meant. Was he disappointed she and Ron had broken up? Bothered? Annoyed? Guilty? But why should he care at all?
"I'm sure it's temporary." He finally spoke, offering words of reassurance. The words surprised Hermione, since they seemed far more caring than she would've ever expected from Draco. "It's not as if Weasley can take care of himself, so he'll need you back." There was the insult.
"Wow, Malfoy, you certainly know how to reassure a girl, don't you?" Hermione chuckled, rubbing her neck tiredly. "Not that I need reassuring, really. We'll get back together if things work out, and if they don't...then it is what it is." She wore a slightly bitter smile, knowing that things would only get better if either Ron or Hermione reevaluated what they were looking for in a partner, and both were likely too stubborn to make that kind of change.
"And you can't convince me you're not a little pleased I dumped Ron." Hermione pointed a finger in Draco's face and he looked down it, smirking a little too widely.
"You broke up with him? Oh how absolutely sublime." He gushed, though it did seem somewhat artificial. "Tell me, did he cry?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, taking charge and opening the door to the study. She walked in and took off her coat, hearing Draco enter behind her and busy himself at the desk. It had become somewhat ritualistic; Hermione turning her back to allow Draco to disrobe in private, so it was with embarrassment that Hermione realised she was imagining Draco unbuttoning his shirt, carefully removing just his right arm, keeping his left covered. Never before had she imagined him in undress, and she wasn't now, either. At least she wouldn't admit it to herself if she was. It was for privacy's sake that she had to visualise him as he changed, wasn't it? How would she know to turn around if she didn't know when he was finished?
When she imagined Draco was laying on the table, she turned, nearly correct in her prediction. Draco was adjusting his elbows to get comfortable when she saw him, and it was with a frown that she noted he looked thinner than ever.
"Malfoy," Hermione chided, carrying the jar of potion over to the desk. She set it down and tightened her ponytail. "Have you been eating?"
Draco groaned and put his clothed arm over his eyes, resting his head on the desk. "I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you start in on that again." He warned, well aware that he was losing weight. It wasn't intentional (and he didn't like the way he looked in the mirror) but the toll his new life was taking on him left him with very little interest in food. The last thing he needed now was an angry Healer Granger to add to the list of stressors.
"We've been over this." She said soothingly, trying to be supportive. "You need to eat; it will help with the healing process. Your body needs to be in prime shape to help fight this spell's damage, and starving yourself is the absolute opposite of what you should be doing." Hermione wasn't aware her words weren't soothing at all and rather had the opposite effect on Draco, so she continued. "To deprive yourself of proper nutrition is the equivalent of being ill while trying to recover. It's an essential element of helping yourself get well."
"As if I'm not already aware." Draco lowered his arm and hissed, narrowing his eyes at Hermione. "You act as though this is some intentional attempt at starving myself; as though I want to keep from returning to being normal again...or whatever it is I was before all of this shit happened." He laid his head back and closed his eyes. "It may all come to light someday, Granger, but for now, know that this mistake I make is one made with eventual regret. I'm certain that in the future, I will view this period of my life with many regrets, let this be the greatest among them." He opened his eyes and looked at Hermione, who sat and watched him, transfixed. "If it so pleases Healer Granger, to be at the forefront of my mind."
A heavy silence fell between the two, and a strange tension that made it nearly unbearable for Hermione to look away from the eyes that bore into hers. Who was this person? This cautious, tormented, vulnerable man couldn't possibly be the same person she knew growing up. Hermione knew Draco had faced many trials following their formative years; first with his father's imprisonment, then Voldemort taking up residency in his home, the stint in Azkaban, and now the death of his parents, one of whom he seemed to love very much. He couldn't possibly be the same child he was when he offered Harry a hand in friendship in their first year. But who was he now, then? Who was Hermione supposed to treat him as?
"I shouldn't be one to judge." Hermione blinked, finally breaking the silence. "I suppose I suffered a similar situation after my parent's...well, I was living with the Weasley's until I found my own home, and since she didn't know what else to do for me, Molly cooked. And cooked. And cooked. And so in turn," she paused.
"You ate. And ate. And ate." Draco began to smirk, letting the tension fully dissolve.
"I almost gained a stone!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't know what else to do, she just kept feeding me, and I wasn't taking care of myself - I barely slept and Sleeping Draught did next to nothing - so I thought at least if I ate, I was doing something I was supposed to."
"Took it a little too far, did you, Granger?" Draco jested, his familiar sense of humour returning to the room. "Ate one too many ploughman's?"
"More like five too many." Hermione snorted, sitting in the large, leather chair. She unscrewed the cap on the jar and dipped her hand in, placing the first scoop on Draco's skin like it was second nature. "I was beginning to resemble Millicent Bulstrode by the time I came to my senses."
At that, Draco began to chuckle, which turned into a full bodied laugh, and Hermione scrambled to capture the potion as it slid off his convulsing frame.
"Careful!" She hollered, but it was lost on Draco, who was laughing harder than he had potentially ever, but definitely more than he had as of the last two months. Tears began to stream from his eyes and he clutched at his stomach, his muscles aching as he envisioned a puffed up Hermione, which hardly even seemed feasible, given that her frame was much smaller than their once classmate.
"Oh stop laughing, will you?" Hermione pleaded weakly, though she found herself beginning to giggle, partially due to the absurdity of the situation, partially because she'd never seen Draco laugh so genuinely, and she found it difficult to stop him in what was a moment he was so clearly enjoying.
"Granger," Draco began as his laughs began to fade, "you couldn't look like Bulstrode no matter how hard you tried." He chortled at the mention of Millicent's name, trying to calm himself.
"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel like her." The two briefly made eye contact and all seriousness was lost, both dissolving into a fit of giggles. As they returned to a normal state, Draco let out a breath and patted Hermione on the back of the hand, which was still clutched to his side.
"Thank you for that, Granger, I didn't realise how much I needed a good laugh."
"Yes, well don't expect me to bring you any photographs." Hermione retorted and Draco smiled blissfully at the thought of proof, completely unaware that his hand still rested against her's, though Hermione was fully aware, and now focused entirely on the way his lithe, pale fingers covered the entirety of her hands. It was odd to feel a sense of protection from such a motion, but the weight of Draco's palm served to reassure Hermione that whatever fears and concerns lingered following her parent's deaths, she wasn't alone.
"I don't have something stuck to me, do I?" Draco asked and Hermione jumped, looking up to Draco's face. "Besides a little Granger, of course, who won't seem to let go no matter how much I suggest otherwise." He looked down to her hands and removed his own, resting it under his head.
"Right." Hermione blushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. She went back to rubbing Draco's ribs vigorously. "Back to work, then."
Though neither was aware of the other's thoughts, both sat contemplatively, pondering the same subject: were they crazy for thinking that the other meant more to them than they were willing to admit? For Hermione, she thought it meant friendship - she had always loved making friends - but for Draco...well, for Draco, he thought his affinity for Hermione came from longing. He was lonely (now more than ever), and she was able to open him up like no one else and didn't reject him for whatever missteps he made, and to Draco, in his sad, small world, that translated into a desire to be more than just acquaintances with Hermione. To have more than just moments of necessity where she treated him for an illness he couldn't treat himself. To have more than just moments of amusement and joy when she was required to be there.
And he hated himself for it.
He didn't deserve Hermione's kindness, or companionship, or anything more than what she gave him now. Hell, if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't deserve even that. He had tormented her when they were children; hated her for her blood; spewed vitriol at her because of her superior intelligence. He had been cruel and deceptive and what right did he have to accept her generosity? He was no better now than he was as a child. He was still a coward willing to take whatever he was given, whether or not he had earned it.
Draco stewed in his sorrows while Hermione worked, and after some time, the rhythmic motion lulled Draco into a light sleep, his arms going limp as he drifted off. Hermione was aware Draco had fallen asleep, but she recognised some of his behaviors from her own time following the war, and she let him nap, hoping that if it meant he wasn't sleeping at night, maybe this now would help to heal him. Alone with herself, Hermione thought back to his words. Was she at the forefront of his mind? As a healer or a friend? Something more? No, Draco wouldn't think of her like that. She was certain he had moved on from his childhood prejudice against Muggle-borns, but to assume he wanted anything more than a healer was just vanity claiming that her excitement at making a new friend was misplaced.
Not that she wanted something more with Draco - she had just broken up with Ron after all, she wasn't ready for any relationship - but to consider the idea felt harmless enough. That maybe someday, she could go out to lunch with Draco as friends, and maybe they would flirt innocently, sharing a dessert and tea before wandering the streets, window shopping. Maybe a stray photographer would see the pair and snap some pictures, Draco taking Hermione by the hand and pulling her away from the public eye and into a small bookshop where silence was revered and no paparazzi would dare disturb. Maybe they would wait out the photographer and browse the shelves, Draco picking up the books for Hermione that were out of her reach. Maybe she would turn to show him one of her favorites as he was placing another back on the shelf, positioning the two just inches from each other. And maybe, just maybe, they would kiss, and all the turmoil and distance that had ever kept them apart would crumble around them, leaving just two souls standing, reaching for each other amidst a sea of nothingness.
Hermione's hands slowed, preventing her from losing track of her pace as she became aware of what her daydream had morphed into. Blimey, did she have feelings for Draco Malfoy? She couldn't possibly! Could she? It felt far too confusing and impossible to even entertain, but what had that train of thought been if not some manifestation of her subconscious?
Draco began to rouse at the lack of motion, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to nod off." His voice was heavy with sleep and it brought Hermione back to the present. "Are we finished already?" He asked, looking at the nearly empty jar by his hip.
"Almost." Hermione confirmed, nodding quickly. "Just a few more rounds, I imagine."
"Brilliant." Draco sighed. "You know, it seems you've finally managed to find a pattern to all of this that quickens the process, and it's just in time to be finished with it all."
"It is, isn't it?" Hermione mused, having forgotten for the briefest of moments that this was indeed the last time she would have reason to see Draco. While she could've potentially fudged and pretended she needed to see him once more for a final checkup, Draco was a smart man and had likely done his research and knew that if the potion had been successful, it would be evident immediately after the final treatment. This really would be the final day Hermione got to see Draco without some personal reason.
"Does that disappoint you?" Draco asked her, trying to gauge the look on her face. "That you won't have any further reasons to torture me?"
"No." She answered quickly. "No, not at all." Hermione chewed on her lip as she poured another dose of potion into her hands. "Does it disappoint you?" She looked up to Draco, who seemed to be hiding all kinds of secrets behind those dark eyes.
"No." Draco responded with the same speed Hermione had. "I thought we had established that I hardly enjoyed being on the receiving end of such a...slimey process."
"Fair enough." Hermione nodded. "Then let me be the first to congratulate you," she poured the rest of the potion out, working quickly to rub it in, "on your completion of the mortuus textus treatment." She removed her hands and smiled at her work, watching as the light purple potion dissipated, revealing an expanse of fresh, nearly white, healthy skin.
"Is it really finished?" Draco asked, sitting up. He stretched to view Hermione's handiwork, aware only that his skin looked normal. "Quite anticlimactic, actually. I was expecting something grand for the finale."
Hermione balled up her fists and in a flash, spread her fingers out, willing the magic to flow through them. It did (just barely) and the tiniest bit of sparkles erupted from her palms. "That better?" She asked and Draco sat, unmoving, trying to work out what she had just done. He'd never seen any magic quite like it.
"How- what- You're incredible, Granger." He breathed, truly humbled by the level of magic she seemed to possess.
"No, it's just some trick George taught me." Hermione tried to ignore the blood rushing to her cheeks and shrugged, placing her hands in her lap. "He was trying to find a trick for his exploding whistle snaps, and he came upon this bit of magic. Useless, really, but very simple to master because of its ineffectiveness."
"You're selling yourself short." Draco argued. "Wandless magic, brilliant Healer, party tricks; you're far more talented than you're willing to let on."
"Thank you." Hermione tucked a loose curl behind her ear, scrunching up her nose as the remnants of potion on her fingers stuck to her hair. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom? I fear I'm making a bigger mess of myself than I already am."
Draco watched the strands of hair coil upon themselves, now coated with a shiny liquid that made them curl. "Please do. I have too many bathrooms to use all by myself." He stood up and re-buttoned his shirt as Hermione shrunk the jar and put it in her purse. Draco led the way down several halls, twisting and turning until he stopped in front of a large, ebony door.
"It's just a left turn then right to the stairs." Draco gestured, placing his hand in his pocket. "I expect you'll be able to find your way to the dining room for dinner."
"I...you don't have to put up with me you know." Hermione said, worried she was pushing some unspoken boundary by having invited herself to dinner. "I'm happy to find scrounge up something at home."
"It's no trouble, Granger." Draco responded. "Mimmy will be pleased to see you if you stay. If you want to see her, of course."
Hermione paused. She liked Mimmy; the elf was well meaning and an impressive model of her kind, but she didn't understand boundaries, and brought up memories and emotions Hermione had worked so long to bury.
"I would love to see her." Hermione nodded reassuringly and smiled tightly. "I'll meet you down there, yeah?"
Draco nodded and mirrored Hermione's expression before turning and walking down the hall, leaving Hermione to her business. She went into the bathroom and washed her hands thoroughly, scrubbing herself of every inch of potion that remained on her skin. With irritation, Hermione noted that she'd gotten some in her hair, and while there were charms to clean, there was something about magic that didn't mix well with her hair, so instead, Hermione took the band out of her hair and gathered some warm water into her hands, rubbing the affected strands between her hands until they were clean of any potion. They hung limply against her cheek, cleaned of whatever sweat and humidity had poofed up the rest of her hair, so Hermione quickly ran her wet fingers through her hair, practically resetting whatever kinks and frizz had accumulated through the day. As she stared at herself in the mirror, Hermione weighed Draco's words from just a week ago. He'd suggested that Hermione's obsessive tendency to put back her hair stemmed from a desire to please Ron. He hadn't been entirely wrong, she knew, but what now? Now that Ron was no longer her partner, why did she still choose to continue her grooming habits that were for him?
With a newfound confidence, Hermione left her hair down and exited the bathroom, a bit of pride coursing through her veins as she realised that she was turning over a new leaf. A leaf that didn't involve doing things for other people. And in her excitement, Hermione walked right past the hallway that led to the stairs, finding herself utterly lost within minutes. Now which turn had Draco said to make? First left, right? But how many turns had she made since then? Which of the many, identical hallways was the path back to the staircase?
"It's straight behind you, fourth hallway on the left." A muffled voice rang from the other side of the door Hermione found herself facing.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, wondering if she should open the door.
"The stairs to the main floor. Fourth hallway on the left." The feminine voice spoke again, repeating itself. "I've been lost before, too. Believe me, it's far too easy in this home."
"Right. Thank you." Hermione hesitated.
"You may come in, I won't bite." The voice goaded and ever the Gryffindor, Hermione was too curious to pass up on such an invitation. She turned the handle and pushed the door inward, walking into the room. It appeared to be a drawing room, filled with books, two sofas facing each other, and a piano by the window. Hermione looked around the room as she walked through it, no one coming forward to meet her.
"Turn around." The voice, clearer than ever, spoke, and Hermione turned, her stomach knotting up tightly when she saw who the voice belonged to.
There on the wall, looking more alive than ever, was Narcissa Malfoy, smiling knowingly at Hermione.
"Hello, Miss Granger."
"A mother knows all, Miss Granger." Narcissa smirked languidly, the expression eerily similar to one Draco had made many times in his life. "No matter how terribly Draco tries to mask his true intentions from all those around him, I'm aware. And I suspect you are too."
