CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Summary: Hermione suffers a terrible attack and who should find her but one of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. The relationship that builds between them is one no one saw coming, but no one predicted the danger that would surely follow. Post-War. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon events or characters, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.
AN:
Alright, there isn't much interaction between Oliver and Hermione in this chapter.
Page count: 9
Wood Manor - Monday 14th December 1998
"Where are ye aff tae, a've jus' finished making dinner?" Oliver asked with a raised eyebrow and leaning against the corner suite with his arms crossed over his chest.
Hermione slipped on her robes and scratched Merlin on the head, before slipping her wand into her pocket. "I've been summoned," she sighed.
Oliver's eyes moved over to the clock, seeing that it was not long after six o'clock.
"A've made tha' chicken pie, ye like," he commented.
She made a noise in the back of her throat. "I'm just going to have to go hungry until I get back," she sighed.
"Or ye could take it with ye, yer going tae see Malloy aren't ye?"
"I can't tell you and you know that."
He shrugged. "A'll put some on a plate fer ye, a'll be right back."
He disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared minutes later with two plates in hand. She raised an eyebrow but took them both from him with a smile of thanks.
"Right, I'll see you later, hopefully I'm not kept until the early of the morning again."
With those words she disappeared out of the room, down the stairs and outside to the apparition point.
Malloy's Apartment
With the plates in her hand, she struggled to knock on the door so she settled for giving it a kick with her foot to alert Malloy to her presence. The door opened soon after, as if he had been waiting by the door for her, but by now, he could've very well been.
It had been a week since the dinner at The Burrow and every day since, Hermione had been spending her evenings and the early hours of the morning with Malloy, trying to get him to open up to her, but he was still resisting. He was the most stubborn person she had ever met, and he outstripped Harry by miles.
When his eyes landed on her, he raised an eyebrow at the plates of food in her hand, before taking a swig from the fire whiskey bottle in his hand, and doing so with his eyes locked on hers. She gave him a look of disappointment, before walking into the apartment and into the kitchen, placing the plates on the table and then walking over to him, taking the bottle from him and emptying it down the sink.
She rummaged around in his kitchen drawers and found two forks and then took a seat at the table and she started eating in silence, feeling his eyes on her but ignoring him. Two could play that game.
She was half way through eating her meal when the chair opposite her scraped across the floor and Malloy sat down, poking at his food with his fork and reluctantly taking a mouthful. A look of surprise entered his eyes, before he continued eating.
"You cook?"
Hermione lifted her eyes to him, and then lowered them back down to her plate. He sighed, knowing what she was doing.
"Alright, I get it," he mumbled.
"Do you?" She replied, but it sounded more as if she were talking to herself than him.
"Yes, you're annoyed that I won't answer any of your questions," he grumbled.
She lifted her eyes and then sighed. Pushing him away when he was willingly talking to her was a stupid thing to do. He wasn't opening up to her in the way she wanted, but it was a start.
"No, I don't cook, I'm rubbish. A friend of mine made it. I was with him when I was alerted to my presence being needed here."
"It's good," he shrugged.
"I'll tell him you said that," she replied.
They fell silent and once Hermione had finished eating, she sat back in her chair and watched Malloy carefully. He finished not long after her and she took the plates to the sink, feeling his eyes on her as she washed and dried them the muggle way, before putting the forks away and putting the plates on the side, ready for her to take back to the manor.
"Why didn't you use magic?"
She looked over her shoulder, before turning around and leaning back against the counter.
"I'm a Muggleborn," she replied.
"There's not a wizard or witch that doesn't know who you are," he said.
She shrugged. "Sometimes I like to do things the muggle way, I was raised in The Muggle World until I received my Hogwarts letter of acceptance. By doing things the muggle way, it reminds me of where I came from and to not to take magic for granted. In addition to that, once I was legally allowed to practice magic outside of school, my parents would get upset when they saw that I used magic to do things I could've easily done myself."
He frowned. "Why? You would think they would be proud of you."
She ran a hand through her hair, and a sad smile appeared on her face. "I love my parents, and they love me, I know they do, but with them being muggles, they find it difficult to understand magic. When they learned of my grades at school, they were proud of me, but they were also sad because they couldn't understand what it was I was learning, they can't understand my life here. They know I'm a magical doctor, and believe me, they were beyond happy when they learned I had qualified to become a healer, but they don't understand the injuries and illnesses that I deal with, or the treatments I provide. Growing up, it was a strict rule to not bring up magic unless they asked me a question. They didn't understand it so they avoided it."
"That's ridiculous," he spluttered. "You shouldn't be ashamed of your magic, and you shouldn't let them treat you as such, parents or not."
She smiled at him softly and her head tipped to the side slightly.
"It may be ridiculous, Ben, but you have to look at it from their point of view. Growing up, strange things would happen around me and none of us knew what it was. When Professor McGonagall arrived with my Hogwarts letter, everything just fell into place and we understand what it was that was happening to me. They were pleased they had answers, they were happy to know that what was happening to me was normal, they were surprised to learn of the existence of magic and they were proud that I was special, but they could never understand our world, not like we do. They tried to, but after a while, it just became a rule to not speak of magic."
He frowned still, looking at her with an almost apologetic look, as if he could apologise for her parents' actions. This was the longest conversation she'd had with him and she saw an opportunity and took it.
"What about your parents?" She asked.
"What?" he said stupidly.
"Your parents," she clarified.
"They're not around anymore," he muttered, she was going to press further but the look he held on his face told her she wouldn't get the answers she wanted from him. She would call it quits for the night.
She stepped away from the counter and dug her hand into her pocket, pulling out a muggle deck of cards. "Come on then, Ben, let's play a game."
"A game?" He questioned with a frown, eyeing her as if she had an ulterior motive.
"A game, let's go."
Malloy's Apartment - Tuesday 15th December 1998
"I don't think so," Hermione said lightly.
She took the fire whiskey bottle from him and walked over to the sink, tipping the contents down the drain. Hermione noticed that there were only a few sips missing from the bottle. It was progress.
He didn't reply, but he did walk over to the couch and he sat himself down on the cushions, before shuffling the coffee table a bit closer to him. He looked at Hermione expectantly and she snorted as she made her way over to the arm chair, sitting down and removing the deck of cards from her robe pocket.
Hermione wasted no time in setting up the cards for a game of poker. A concentrated frown appeared on his face as he stared at the cards in his hand, trying to work out the best option that would allow him to win.
"Do you have any siblings?" He asked her, placing a two cards on the table and Hermione dealt them out to him, before retrieving two cards for herself. "I've never heard mention of one, but with you being a Muggleborn, it may have meant that any siblings you have may be muggles."
"No, I don't have any siblings," she replied, putting down her hand and frowning when his hand was better than hers. He smiled smugly, before taking the deck from her and dealing the next hand. "My parents always wanted more children, they struggled with conceiving children, my mother had two miscarriages before me, they had been married ten years before I was born. Once they had me, despite wanting a sibling for me to grow up with, after another miscarriage when I was three years old, they both came to the decision to no longer try. They couldn't take the pain anymore. They had considered adoption but then my accidental magic made an appearance and unsure of what was happening, they decided against it."
She put three cards down and he dealt them out to her, before taking two for himself.
"Do you have any siblings?"
He shook his head. "No, I always wanted a little brother or sister, but my parents didn't want anymore. It was an arranged marriage and they hated each other, they were only with each other long enough to produce an heir. Once I was born, they hardly saw each other."
Hermione frowned. That was no environment for a child to grow up in. She blinked when he put his cards down, showing that he had beaten her again.
By the time Hermione had sent him to bed, and it hadn't been easy, it was a little after midnight. She placed the deck of cards back in her pocket, before summoning the alcohol hidden around the room.
Hermione blinked in surprise as only one bottle came to her, opposed to the several that she had been finding over the last couple of weeks. A smile crept onto her face as she locked it away in the warded cupboard and then returned to the manor.
Malloy's Apartment – Thursday 17th December 1998
Hermione entered the apartment, took the bottle of fire whiskey from him and poured it down the drain, before she rummaged around in the cupboards and pulled out two glasses along with the jug of pumpkin juice he kept in the cooling cupboard. After pouring two glasses, she made her way to the living room, deposited the beverages on the table and pulled out the deck of cards.
"So, did you attend Hogwarts?" She asked him, her eyes scanning the cards in her hands, and looking at the card on the table. They were playing jacks, twos and eights this time.
He nodded. "I spent my first two years of schooling at Durmstrang." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "My Father didn't like Dumbledore, thought he was an old coot," he shrugged and Hermione snorted. "He sent me to Durmstrang, they're not known for their warm and caring environment."
Hermione knew that all too well; Viktor had told her what it was like to grow up in Durmstrang and the fit of rage it had sent her into had surprised him. He had to restrain her from storming the castle and giving Karkaroff a piece of her mind. He'd locked her inside an abandoned classroom and watched her as she raged and paced and flung curses at the walls. She had never had someone look at her so intensely before and still shivered when she remembered the way he had backed her up until her back had hit the wall and he'd snogged her until she could barely remember her own name.
"My Mother put her foot down; she wanted to send me to Beauxbatons since it was closer to her. My Father refused to send me to a school for, and I quote, 'pansied minded incompetents.' Despite his dislike for Dumbledore, they came to an agreement and I transferred to Hogwarts for my third year," he shrugged. "Despite how strange Dumbledore was, Hogwarts was a good school."
"Did you always want to be a Quidditch player?"
"No, don't get me wrong, I love the sport, but I wanted to be a Professor of Arithmancy, it was my favourite subject in school."
Hermione blinked in surprise, Arithmancy was a difficult subject which was why it wasn't popular with the students. Even she had struggled a few times with some of the problems she'd had to solve for homework and it hadn't been easy for to get an O in her exams, but she'd pulled it off.
"My Father forbid me from pursuing a career within education when I told him of my wishes in my fifth year. I threw myself into Quidditch, I loved flying, it was the only place I was free of expectations, there was no one telling me what to do or how to behave. By the time I graduated, there was some interest in me from scouts of the league, and with not many options available, I took their offer. I spent three years going from one league team to the next, before Puddlemere accepted me as a reserve. A couple of years later, one of the chasers retired and I took his place."
"Do you regret it?" She asked.
"No, at least I got to do something that I actually wanted to do, that I actually liked. Did you always want to be a healer?" He asked her.
"No, I wanted to work for The Ministry with the RCMC department, helping to better the lives of magical beings and creatures that are treated poorly, helping them have basic human rights and ensuring that they could live safely and happily."
"What changed?"
"The war came," she sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. "I knew that I would be needed and I knew that there was going to be so many injured and in need of help. I knew there wouldn't be enough healers to keep up with it all, especially when Voldemort..." He flinched. "Took control of The Ministry and St. Mungo's. The healers were forced to heal Death Eaters and sympathisers, and those that fought on the opposite side of the war had to suffer. I knew I couldn't stand back and watch it happen; I had to help where I could. So, when I was still in Hogwarts, I was secretly taken under the wing of a healer and he taught me everything I know. I trained under him for years."
"When the war ended, I took my healer examinations and I passed. Since I had practical experience spanning a few years, as well as references from some other healers and influential people I didn't need to do a residency. I've resigned myself to the fact that I am not the one that is going to be able to help these poor creatures in the way they deserve, but someone else will. I love my job, it brings me into contact with people from different walks of life, from different backgrounds and occupations, and I get to help them. I've yet to fail a patient, and I'm not going to start now."
Malloy's Apartment – Friday 18th December 1998
Hermione knocked on the door and Malloy opened it, stepping aside to let her inside. He shut the door behind her and Hermione reached for the bottle of fire whiskey held in his hand, but he stepped away from her and held it over his head so she couldn't reach.
She stared at him, her eyes darting between the full bottle of fire whiskey that looked to have been barely opened, and the frightened look that spread through Malloy's eyes.
She frowned when he took a deep breath and then walked away from her, over to the kitchen and stopping in front of the sink. She watched silently as Malloy removed the lid from the bottle, and then with his gaze locked on hers, he tipped the entire bottle down the drain and put the empty bottle into the nearby bin.
Hermione was surprised to say the least, but she felt pride fill her at his actions. She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, then into his bedroom, and then he dug his hand between the couch cushions, leaving him holding three more bottles. All of which, he poured down the sink until there was nothing left.
He drew in a shaky breath and she watched as his hands shook as he placed empty bottles into the bin. He made his way over to the living room and sat on the couch, his hands fisted into his practice robes which he had yet to change out of.
He looked to her and she slowly made her way to the arm chair, taking a seat and remaining silent. She had feeling this would be the day she had been waiting for.
"Ask me?" He spoke, his voice quiet and his eyes trained on the floor.
"Why do you drink, Ben? What are you trying to get away from?" She asked him softly.
"I want to get away from the memories," he replied quietly. "I want to forget everything. Do you know who my parents are, Hermione?" She shook her head, but he didn't see with his eyes looking to the ground, but he took her silence as her answer. "My Mother, she wasn't from here, she was originally from France, a Pure-blood from the House of Labelle. She had been arranged to marry my Father from the age of eleven, and married him not even a week after she graduated from Beauxbatons. She hated him," he whispered. "My Father was also a Pure-blood, and given my name, I'm sure it's not unusual for you to learn that we are distantly related to The Malfoys. Both Houses originated from France, there was a disagreement five centuries ago in which my many greats of Grandfathers went to court and had their assets split between them. One of them moved to Britain and kept the name Malfoy, the other changed their name to Malloy. My family moved to Britain less than two centuries ago."
"My Father, he wasn't a nice man, he treated me as though I were nothing but dirt on the ground he walked on and my Mother he treated even worse. He wasn't afraid to raise his wand to either of us..." his voice trailed off and he took a shuddering breath.
He finally looked up at her and she saw guilt and tears swimming in his eyes.
"He was a Pure-blood supremacist, he was a Death Eater." Hermione's only response was that of her eyes widening slightly. "He spent my childhood drilling it into me that Muggleborns were vile, useless, barbaric, undeserving of their magic which they stole. But my Mother, she would heal me of the injuries he gave me and speak her own views, but she never pushed them on me. She told me of a Muggleborn friend she had in Beauxbatons. They were inseparable for the seven years of their schooling. She spent part of her summers with their family, and she told me of everything she'd learned, and everything she spoke disproved my Father's words."
"When I was in my sixth year, I received word that my Mother had died. The report stated that she'd fallen over the safety barrier on the balcony of the manor house. It was ruled an accident. I knew otherwise. I knew he'd killed her. I was pulled out of school for a week to grieve and attend her funeral. I confronted him; he didn't even deny what he'd done. He laughed in my face, told me she deserved it for disobeying him, for coddling me."
Hermione could feel her eyes stinging with the effort to hold back her tears, but it was futile as they fell the moment she saw his tears trailing down his cheeks.
"When I turned seventeen, I got as far away from him as I could, and then You-Know-Who returned. My Father insisted that I take the mark, insisted that I did my duty of the heir to House Malloy to protect it from the abominations that were Muggleborns and blood traitors. I refused, and he disowned me."
"After the war was over, I learned that he'd been captured somewhere in Wales, he was sentenced to Azkaban. With other high profile cases such as The Malfoys, Lestranges and Notts, my Father's case was overlooked by the public and therefore my association with him is unknown. He died not even a month after being there."
Hermione took a shuddering breath of her own before she stood and moved to sit beside him on the couch. She lifted a hand and placed it against his shoulder, and with that contact, he broke down.
His tears fell forcefully and his shoulders shook with his wracking sobs. He doubled over on himself, his body twisting so that he could rest his head in her lap as he sobbed. Hermione didn't say anything, she just placed a hand against his back and rubbed comforting circles and her other hand went into his hair, pushing it back from his face and running her fingers through it lightly.
She didn't know how long she'd sat there for, silently crying as she comforted the Quidditch player, but even as his sobs died down and he'd fallen quiet, she continued to run her hands through his hair. She had thought he'd fallen asleep.
"Thank you," a cracked voice whispered. "Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for caring."
Bloody hell, she felt her chest tighten painfully, as if her heart broke with his words. She took a deep breath, pushing back the tears that threatened to fall again.
"I'm not just your healer, Ben, I'm your friend," she said softly. "I make it a point to bond with each of my patients. I want them to trust me, to understand that I truly do care for their health and well-being. And the same goes for you. I thank you for sharing your secret with me, I know it was hard and it took a great deal of courage, I'm proud of you. I'm going to help you, but I need you to understand that drinking yourself to death isn't the answer."
He nodded, before he pushed himself up and away from her. His face was blotchy and his eyes were red and puffy. "I need help," he whispered.
"And I'm going to help you," she promised. "For now, I want you to go to bed and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning; I'll be here bright and early." He frowned. "I'm going to owl the stadium and let them know that it isn't safe for you to be training. As your healer, they have no choice but to listen. And you can argue with me all you want, I'm not letting you anywhere near the stadium tomorrow. If things go to plan, you can return on Monday." He reluctantly nodded. "Good, now get yourself to bed and get some rest."
He stood and made his way to his bedroom; he turned and looked over his shoulder before disappearing from her view.
Hermione sighed and flopped back against the couch.
'Finally!' She thought relieved.