Hi folks. So I'm very very sorry this has taken me so very long to get this to you. I've had a lot happen in my life in the last half-ish year that's led to me struggling with my mental health. I'm working through it now and through it all, your reviews have been helping me to remember that while things aren't going well for me, I'm bringing at least a bit of entertainment to some people out there, so thank you. Really. I've been (sadly) chugging away on this chapter since I left you all, so I'm sorry if it feels choppy or anything. I wanted to get it out to you all as quickly as I could so I'll likely go back and revise soon, but for now, here's chapter 15.
Lots of love,
Cherry
A pregnant pause fell between the two, both processing what had just transpired. Had she really called him Draco? Hermione wondered. She couldn't have, could she? He'd always been Malfoy, what would ever possess her to call him Draco? There was no familiarity between the two. Well, none that would justify such a change, of course. They were acquaintances. Not friends.
"Did I?" Hermione finally ended the silence, though she noted her voice sounded unsure. "Must've been a slip of the tongue." Before Draco could answer, Hermione turned her attention back to the expansive room before her. "Are you certain we can eat in here, Malfoy?" She made certain she spoke clearly this time, careful to use his surname. "This library is so immaculate; it doesn't look like a single person has used it, let alone eaten in it."
"It's needs wearing in, I'll concede." Draco also tried to brush past what had transpired, though it seemed to affect him more than her. Had Draco really ever heard her call him by his given name? Perhaps in passing, but never without the accompaniment of his last name.
"Though with the rate Thrump cleans at, it'll never get worn in." He muttered, following Hermione to a grand, round oak table in the center of the room. She set her plate down and placed Draco's next to her's, justifying that at an eight person table with a grandiose flower centerpiece, Draco couldn't possibly sit opposite her. So they sat next to each other, neither admitting that they much preferring the current seating arrangement over the alternative.
"So Thrump." Hermione spoke after they'd both settled in. "Has he been with your family very long?"
"Since his birth." Draco answered, washing down his bite with wine. "In 1862, I believe? His parents served some great grandfather of mine and they needed more help so," he shrugged, refusing to put to words to a known house-elf advocate that Thrump was a product of breeding, not love. "He's very sympathetic to the ideologies of his time." Draco explained, knowing very well that Thrump didn't like Hermione due to her upbringing, and while it might've once entertained him, the prejudices had become embarrassing, but his history with Thrump kept Draco from completely abandoning the elf.
"I can imagine." Hermione nodded, knowing that while Draco was practically apologising for Thrump's treatment toward her, she blamed neither for his treatment of her. Thrump had been indoctrinated by a family whose values hadn't changed in centuries. Well, maybe it was beginning to change, Hermione conceded with a blush. Only a fraction of the Draco before her resembled the angry, judgmental child he'd once been. He was so different, in fact, that not only was he apologising, but he was apologising for the facist ideologies he'd once condoned himself. It was nice.
"When Harry inherited the Black home on Grimmauld Place from Sirius, it came with a house elf, Kreacher." Hermione explained, taking a bite of her duck. "He didn't like me very much either." She chuckled and leaned back in her seat. "Didn't like much of anyone, I suppose, apart from Regulus Black. And 'Miss Bella' and 'Miss Cissy.'" Hermione snorted, recalling the way Kreacher got a far off look in his eyes when he spoke of his former masters. At the time, Hermione felt irritation as she was the only one giving Kreacher any respect or support and he was still longing for his previous masters that would happily see Hermione dead. Not that she was bitter or anything. Just stating fact.
Whatever humour Hermione had felt at her less than accurate impression of Kreacher faded as she looked to Draco for a response, realising she'd brought up the one thing he likely longed to ignore. Or at least longed to pretend he didn't have a magical painting of his mother hanging in an unused room that he clearly visited on a daily basis.
"I'm sorry." Hermione apologised, all too familiar with the sour look of loss gracing Draco's fair features. "I wasn't thinking. Well I was thinking, but just about Kreacher and his disrespect for the one person who was making a conscious effort not to ostracise him when he was alone after his master's death." She blathered on and on, her mind now moving to the portrait of Narcissa, which made her even more nervous. Hermione could see the internal struggle Draco was facing as he sat there, jaw working tensely and brow pulled low. She knew it all too well, some of her friends still refusing to bring up her parents for fear of her reaction, and now she was on the other end. Did that mean progress?
Draco, on the other hand, had found it jarring; to hear Hermione bring up his mother, especially in such a setting, was a reminder of her intended presence. She wasn't there for company, she was there to treat him for something that had killed his immediate family, something that he was still unable to solve. Draco had found that while life hadn't become any easier since his parents' untimely death, he had at least been able to push the memories of them toward the back of his mind; if only when he wasn't speaking to his mother via a portrait that reminded him far too much of the living version of her. He had found the painting several weeks after the attack, and it was only due to the fact that Narcissa began screaming at the top of her lungs and one of the portraits heard her that Draco ever found it. He'd found his father's too, but hadn't brought that one out to hang, much to his mother's disappointment.
"It's all right." Draco told her, even though he didn't really feel it was all right. Rather than focus on enjoying his limited time with Hermione, Draco was now focused on how little progress he had made regarding his mother's murder since he fired Rolph Caulfield. Instead of working toward an answer, he spent his days at work and his evenings, nearly drunk, talking to a portrait only animated by dark magic.
"You know, Mimmy really knows how to cook." Hermione changed the subject, knowing she wished others had done the same with her rather than instilling that they were truly apologetic. "Has she trained anywhere or is it a natural talent?" She took another bite of duck to show Draco she was still enjoying herself and things hadn't gotten awkward.
"She's travelled with us." Draco appreciated the effort and answered Hermione's question. "Met other house-elves from other places, explored their culture. She's very partial to Spanish cuisine but is ashamed of her paella."
"Ashamed?" Hermione asked curiously, wondering how bad the dish could be given how good the current was.
Draco smiled a little at Hermione's tone, lifting his wine glass to his lips for a drink. "Mimmy relies heavily on magic to complete her dishes and she can't seem to cook the rice just right. She's attempted it without magic, but either lacks the patience or skill required to do so."
Hermione pouted and put a hand to her chest. "Poor Mimmy." She lamented, receiving a look from Draco.
"Poor Mimmy? The house-elf can make any food in the world and is happy to do so, but struggles a little with one dish. Is that really so detrimental?"
"If it bothers her, it bothers me." Hermione continued and Draco grumbled something under his breath as she spoke. "She's a kind and passionate creature that's suffered for years at the hands of torment and self-inflicted punishment. Her disappointment likely stems from a deep rooted insecurity that haunts her to this day."
A small part of Draco appreciated Hermione's consideration for another soul and how deeply it clearly allowed her to sympathize with others, but a greater part of his mind was almost irritated by her goodwill. It reminded him of how twisted and selfish his own view of the world was, and only highlighted how very different they were. They would never be friends. This was just another reminder that someone as kind and humble as Hermione was too good for him to even call an acquaintance.
"Not that she's still receiving that kind of care." Hermione clarified, noticing Draco had gone silent. Had she offended him twice in the span of ten minutes?
"No, of course not." Draco shook his head, returning to the conversation, though Hermione observed a bit of a wrinkle between his brows that hadn't been there before. So she had offended him. Had it been because she'd brought up his mother? Implied that is care for Mimmy was subpar? She'd ruined their meal, hadn't she? With her insensitivity? Or had it been her hypersensitivity that had done it? She felt jittery after her meeting with Narcissa, maybe her anxiety still lingered and was having its affect on her ability to converse normally with Draco as she usually could.
"You mentioned earlier a sort of discontent, if you will, with your current position at St. Mungo's." Draco changed the subject in an attempt to lighten both their moods since clearly the two were retreating into their own concerns. "What is it you might pursue should you not be under their employment?"
"I don't know." Hermione answered honestly, taking her glass of wine in her hand as she leaned back in her chair. "I always thought potion making would be something I loved doing, so St. Mungo's was a great place to be, but I find that the majority of my work requires a wand and some bandages. You're the first case I've had in months that's allowed me to use the slightest bit of brainpower." She gestured to Draco with her cup before taking a drink.
"That's because you're brilliant." Draco retorted and Hermione choked on her wine, surprised at the compliment.
"I'm what?" She questioned, not particularly believing what she'd heard. A compliment from Draco Malfoy? What had she done to deserve it?
"Oh don't make me repeat it, Granger." Draco rolled his eyes. "You know you're brilliant and my pointing it out is simply stating a known fact. You're bored by your work because it's so basic compared to the experience you procured as a student. You want to be intellectually stimulated by your endeavors, and instead you're having to treat fools for their injuries they likely sustained over some arseholed bet."
"That's...fair." Hermione conceded with a sigh. She'd become complacent with time, and only with the upheaval of her life as of late had she begun to recognise it. "I have something I'm working on. As a side project, of course." Hermione admitted, comfortable enough with Draco to share the news. "I recently went out with Ginny and Luna, and Luna brought up something I haven't ever thought of. A plant called Witch's Ganglion, have you heard of it?" When Draco shook his head, she continued. "I'm not surprised, it's hardly known of in eastern culture, let alone ours. It has disappearing properties, but it only lasts moments. If I could find it and test it, I might be able to make a potion or cream or something that masks the appearance of cursed blemishes." Hermione found herself reaching for Draco's arm - the one that hid a deep and terrible secret he likely wished to be rid of, given how intently he tried to hide it - but she stopped herself, aware that that wasn't her place. That didn't mean Draco wasn't aware of her intentions, but he was grateful she didn't follow through on the action. He didn't let anyone touch his left forearm, even his mother, who had promised him that the mark didn't define him. While the tension in his body was beginning to dissipate, Draco could see that Hermione had seen it and was once again in her head, likely fretting over his reaction.
"This plant." Draco spoke, Hermione bringing her eyes to his. "Witch's Ganglion, was it?"
"Yes." Hermione nodded. "I know not if it'll even work; my research has been slow, there's so little written about it."
"I might have something of interest." Draco suggested, aware that his book collection was vast and varied. "If you can find it, you can borrow it."
"Can I?" Hermione asked excitedly, setting her fork down on her nearly empty plate. She brought her hands into her lap to keep from displaying her emotions too much.
"By all means." Draco gestured to the room and watched Hermione stand, pulling her wand from her pocket. She cast a Summoning Charm over the room and set her wand down, folding her arms across her chest.
"Now this is likely far too specific to gather anything, but let's try searching for Witch's Ganglion or Strawberry's Cure."
Draco watched contentedly as she scrunched her nose and tried again.
"How about Eastern potion making plants?" This time, her search produced a number of books, which hovered in line for her approval. She sorted through them one by one and those that had more than a paragraph pertaining to her subject of interest were set on the table while the others flew back to their places on the shelves. She continued her search, broadening and adjusting her search terms in order to find more books. As the time passed, the collection of books on the table grew to the point at which Draco could no longer look up from his own book and see Hermione chewing on her lip as she attempted to think of new related subjects to find.
Eventually, the reappearance of Mimmy with two dishes floating above her head reminded the two that Hermione had agreed to stay for dessert, so as Mimmy cleared the dinner plates and glasses, she set down two smaller dishes and what looked to be two mugs of hot chocolate.
"Mimmy hopes this pastry shall suffice as a proper dessert. Mimmy knows espresso is the preferred drink to accompany such a dish, but Mimmy thought it might keep Master Draco and Miss Hermione awake despite the late hour so Mimmy has prepared hot chocolate instead." Mimmy wrung her hands, and though Draco was about to reaffirm for Mimmy that whatever choice she made was sufficient, he stopped short when he saw what exactly Mimmy had made. Sitting on each plate was a perfectly made éclair, reminding him far too much of his mother. The memories of their excursions in Paris with her made him feel sick with longing for the time in his life when his mother was his protector and best friend; for the days when their biggest worry was whether or not his father would catch them and scold their frivolous behaviour. And while this desperation and upset at the memory might have rattled his temper, it was the awareness that his current house guest would have never wanted to know the boy he was in those memories that made him lash out.
"What possessed you to prepare this?" Draco directed his irritation at Mimmy, who - knowing exactly what she was doing - feigned ignorance.
"Mimmy prepared a French dessert to accompany a French dinner, a requirest Miss Hermione made."
At the accusation, Hermione looked between the wide eyes of Mimmy and frustrated gaze of Draco, who was staring at the plate with sharp disdain. Before she had a chance to defend herself, Draco cut in.
"Do not identify me to be a fool, Mimmy." He spat back, his eyes finding the small house-elf with inflammation. Hermione noticed that Mimmy didn't recoil at the confrontation and wondered if there was more to this scene than she knew, but no matter the case, this was an argument she had no place in and after the awkwardness strewn throughout the evening, maybe it was best she take this as an opportunity to remove herself and clear her head.
"Would you look at the time!" Hermione looked at the watch on her wrist and began piling the books she'd collected from Draco's library into her bag, lined with an extension charm. "I should be heading home, I believe I have much research to conduct now. Thank you for the books."
"But the éclair!" Mimmy cried out and Hermione took the pastry from the plate, took a bite, and set it back down, chewing. It took all her restraint not to reach out and take another bite of the delicious dish, but she maintained control.
"Delicious as always, Mimmy." She complimented, and Mimmy pouted, knowing there was no point in arguing.
Draco's stare shifted to Hermione and softened to a point that he looked as if he'd crumble if touched. He knew what he'd done; by making her distressed with his mood he was no better than his father had been to him, and now he was driving her away. Helplessly, he watched her fill her bag and when she finished, he stood and offered to walk her to the Floo, which Hermione politely accepted.
The two walked in silence, their shoes clicking loudly as they walked across the marble tiles, and when they passed the room that Hermione had been tortured in, it was clear that whatever ease she had felt during their evening was gone. It was with disappointment in himself that Draco realised his outburst had made their interaction less than ideal, and that he couldn't offer her support through her turmoil.
When they reached the drawing room, it was clear both had something they wished to say but neither knew how to express it. For Draco, it was to apologise for his outburst. For Hermione, it was to ask if this was the last time they'd see each other.
"Well, your curse should be healed." Hermione spoke, knowing her duty as a Healer was to inform her patient of their well being. "If you find it feeling or looking like anything other than a normal side, owl me and I'll come check it."
"Thank you." Draco responded, restricting his emotions as they bubbled within his chest. "I trust that with your proficiency, I'll be just fine." He smiled tightly and Hermione reciprocated the expression. For a moment, they looked like two strangers who had just met, and not the almost friends they were.
"I suppose I'll be off, then." Hermione answered and with a nod, collected a small handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace, glancing once more at Draco, willing him to speak to her. The look nearly broke Draco then and there with the desire to beg her not to leave on such terms. Instead, all he could do was extend her some sort of acknowledgement that everything around them was shit. That this anger and discomfort that they both felt toward things larger than they could bear
"I know the feeling, Granger." Draco pressed, willing himself not to bear his soul once more to the woman he feared he was growing too close to. "You might feel as though you've suffered at the hands of a villain, and you have, but I promise you, you are not alone."
They were both silent after Draco's statement and held each other's eyes for more than a moment. Draco worried that he'd made everything detrimentally worse, but the corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up at his statement and she blinked twice.
"What a lovely sentiment." She spoke, and Draco sighed contentedly, feeling the familiarity between the two return just a bit.
"I have them on occasion." He joked, his pride rising dramatically when she giggled, looking at him through her lashes. It made his heart flutter in a way he hadn't felt in years. Huh. That was new.
"Goodnight, Draco." With the statement that meant more than either was willing to acknowledge, Hermione stepped into the green flames, and just as quickly as she'd come into Draco's life, she was gone.
"And what are these?" Ginny thumbed through the stack of books on her table, and Hermione's eyes widened.
"Nothing! Well, research, really. For a side project." She amended, trying to act nonchalant.
"Right. A side project." Ginny repeated, eyeing the Malfoy family crest stamped onto the inside cover of the journal in her hands.
