Hermione took a deep breath and inhaled the usually comforting scent of a hot summer day outside of The Burrow. Now, however, her insides twisted in knots at the aroma, and not just because she'd apparated on an empty stomach.
She'd left Draco that morning with some ginger ale and toast, promising to be back later in the day so they could discuss this trip he was so desperate to take. He'd grumpily waved her off and said he'd already decided on France and that he'd take care of everything, all she needed to do was tell her office she was taking all next week off. Hermione huffed and left, but had to admit, it would be quite nice to have someone else planning a trip instead of her. Any holiday she'd taken with Ron had resulted in him complaining about her meticulous itineraries that she'd spend weeks putting together.
Speaking of Ron… Hermione wondered if he'd even be here today. Well, no use delaying the inevitable, she thought, and strode toward the home. Before she could walk five feet, Ginny dashed out of the house and over to her.
"Should you be running in your state?"
Ginny frowned at her. "You're almost as bad as Harry. I'm pregnant, not an invalid! I'm not even that far along!"
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she eyed the home behind Ginny. "How bad is it in there?"
Ginny's face immediately softened. "Would you like it from best to worst?"
"Wait, what?" Hermione sputtered. Wouldn't Ron be the only one in a foul mood?
"Well after Ron left ours last night, he went to George's. He called a 'Weasley family emergency'—without me, mind you, the prat—and told the entire family about you and Malfoy."
"So everyone… the whole family… the whole family knows?" Hermione asked, stunned.
Ginny nodded, giving her a sympathetic grimace. "I'm sorry, Hermione, you know how he gets. Shoots his mouth off, asks questions later."
Hermione sighed and ran a hand down her tired face. "Right then. Best to worst it is."
Ginny smiled grimly. "Well, you obviously have mine and Harry's whole-hearted support. Charlie was quite outspoken in your favor, Bill told me he was very passionate in your defense." Hermione smiled, wondering if Charlie would heed his own advice from their heart-to-heart in the pantry from a few months ago.
"Next, we have Bill, Percy, and Audrey with tentative support. Bill said he has no quarrel with Draco, Audrey doesn't know him personally, and Percy believes anyone is worthy of a second chance if they can prove themselves."
Hermione nodded, that sentiment made sense coming from Percy, she thought fondly.
"Now we move on to the level of neutrality. Angelina is torn I think, both because of George and she remembers Malfoy as a little cockroach on the quidditch pitch… but apparently her cousin is Malfoy's boss and she's heard nothing but good things since he started working there. She has no real animosity towards him, and she thinks the world of you but…" Ginny trailed off with a resigned sigh and Hermione understood. Easy enough to figure out where George stood then. "Padma's in the same boat too," Ginny continued. "She respects your opinion and choices, and was never a personal target of Draco's at school… but she's obviously seen first-hand how this is affecting Ron."
Hermione sighed, and fought down the feeling of guilt that threatened to creep up.
"Which leaves Fleur, George, and as you know, Ron."
"Wait, Fleur? Has she even met Draco?" Hermione asked, bewildered as to how the French witch could possibly be upset by this.
Ginny shot her an apologetic look. "Fleur umm… well she blames Draco for Bill's injuries. Because he let Greyback into Hogwarts the night that Dumbledore died."
"Oh."
She was torn between both amusement and indignation that the entire Weasley clan had seen fit to discuss her romantic relationship behind her back, going so far as to hold an emergency conclave. "George and Ron still furious?"
Ginny shrugged. "George will get over it, I think it was the shock of it all that got to him. You know him and Ron can be quick to hold grudges, but George is soft-hearted, he'll come round. He can't shake how Malfoy treated you at school, it's an older brother thing."
"While that's all very sweet, I'm hardly some naïve little schoolgirl! I've fought in a bloody war!" Hermione finally exploded, sending a few nearby crows into startled flight. Ginny leveled her with a patient look and laid a comforting hand on her arm. "Hey. Ron made a right mess of things, and I'm not excusing his behavior, but try to remember that we all love you. There's not a person in this house that wouldn't do anything for you."
"Except let me make my own decisions about whom I date," she muttered bitterly. Hermione pushed her hair back and shook off Ginny's hand. "Is everyone waiting inside, ready to either berate me or dole out unwanted advice?"
"No, everyone is in the backyard, waiting to see which hex you use on Ron first. Bill's betting on Jelly-Legs Jinx, but I've got a few Galleons riding on those lovely canaries you favor."
Hermione's anger deflated and her mouth twitched upwards. "Thanks, Gin. For everything."
She straightened her shoulders and took another deep breath, then a thought struck. "Hang on… your parents… what did they have to say?"
"Ah, see that's really why I came to intercept you. Mum wants to speak with you privately in the kitchen."
"Her and your dad… how do they feel about me and Malfoy?"
Ginny shook her head. "No idea. Charlie said they didn't say a word last night, just said they'd like to speak with you alone, if you'd let them."
Hermione tensed, wondering what fate awaited her in the kitchen. "You can come with me if you like. It might be nice to have an ally if your mother gets worked up."
"Actually, I was wondering… is Malfoy at yours? I thought I'd pop by for a chat with him."
"Erm, yes, he is. May I ask what—?"
"You may not. But fret not, this is a friendly chat, I swear. He and I are long overdue for this discussion."
Hermione dismissed the dozens of questions that rose in her mind, having more pressing issues to deal with herself. "All right, but… he had a rough night. I'm going to visit my parents after here, so you can take your time with whatever… whatever you've got to discuss with him."
Ginny hugged her then went back inside to the Floo, leaving Hermione to walk into unknown territory alone.
As the younger woman had said, Molly waited in the kitchen and turned to her with a smile as she approached. "Hello Hermione dear," she immediately engulfed her in a hug and Hermione relished in the maternal embrace. After the day and night she'd endured, the comfort of a mother's arms almost made her cry all over again.
Molly pulled back and held Hermione's face tenderly in her hands. "I'm not here to judge you or chastise you. I just want to talk. Tea?"
Hermione nodded weakly and sank heavily into a chair. Out the kitchen window she could see all the assembled Weasleys in the backyard, but didn't focus her gaze on any one in particular. Her attention was pulled back to the matriarch as she placed a steaming cup in front of her. Molly took a seat as well and regarded Hermione with kind eyes.
"Family ties are a tricky thing, are they not?" Molly began, stirring some milk into her cup. "The Malfoys and the Weasleys have always had bad blood between them, going back a few generations now. Even my own family, the Prewetts, didn't care for them. When I was a girl, my father used to rage about Abraxas Malfoy and his interference at the Ministry." She paused and sipped her tea delicately. "And as for Arthur and Lucius… well you've seen firsthand the animosity between the pair of them."
Hermione snorted as she recalled the brawl between the two grown men at Flourish & Blotts before the start of her Second Year.
"I know what Lucius used to say about Arthur. I know how he used to degrade my husband, besmirch his name to make sure he never advanced in his career. Lucius Malfoy was a spiteful, pitiful man, and I would be lying if I said I didn't take some comfort in knowing he's gone from this world."
Hermione nodded in understanding, silently telling the older woman she didn't begrudge her this opinion.
"As for Narcissa… I can't claim to know the woman very well. On the rare occasion our paths did cross I found she more than lived up to her reputation of being haughty and cold. And how a mother could simply stand by and allow her only child to be forced to serve that… that monster… well I'll never understand that. I have no sympathy for the woman, however…" Molly took a shaky inhale as her eyes filled with tears. Hermione placed a hand over hers and received a watery smile in return.
"She saved Harry's life. And for that, should our paths ever cross again, I will gladly clasp her hands and thank her."
Hermione stared back in surprise. Molly sniffed and continued. "I would, dear, no matter her flaws, she did save that boy's life, and for that, I owe her a debt of gratitude. Then there's the fact that I… that I… I murdered her sister," she finished in almost a whisper and Hermione was dismayed to see a tear leak out.
"Molly, no! You were defending your family, you were defending your child! Bellatrix was aiming to kill Ginny, to kill me! Do you have any idea how many lives you saved that day?"
Molly shook her head sadly. "I still took a life and that is a decision I have to live with. I'd do it again, but that doesn't mean the choice doesn't haunt me every now and then."
Hermione could only marvel at the strength and compassion of the older woman before her. Molly took out a worn handkerchief and blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. "My point is… what I originally said… is that family ties are quite tricky. Now I don't personally know Draco, nor do I truly know what the boy has lived through… pardon me, the young man…" She broke off and regarded Hermione with a faraway look. "You'll have to forgive me, dear, but it's ever so hard not to still think of you all as children."
Hermione's resolve completely broke then, and she shot out of her chair to hug the older witch tightly.
"Does he make you happy?" she asked Hermione softly once they parted.
"Very."
"Treats you with respect?"
"He does."
"Takes you on outlandish dates?"
"He's whisking me away to France all next week."
"Good," said Molly and wiped her eyes dry. "Merlin knows you deserve it, my dear. The others will come 'round eventually. You'd think after two wars people would learn to forgive petty schoolyard squabbles but alas…" she sighed and trailed off.
"No one knows more than Draco that he has an awful lot to make up for. But he's trying Mrs. Weasley, he's really trying," said Hermione and she stood, prepared to take her leave.
Molly smiled kindly. "You know to call me Molly. And if you wouldn't mind indulging another one of your elders today, Arthur's waiting in the garden for you. If you pop out the side door, you'll find him."
Gesturing with an encouraging smile, Molly pointed her to the exit. When Hermione reached the garden, she found Arthur seated on the lone, ivy-covered bench, looking on as two gnomes fought over a mushroom.
"Funny little things, aren't they?" he said in greeting when he'd spotted Hermione.
"Quite. Hello, Mr. Weasley," Hermione pecked his cheek and took the empty spot beside him.
"Arthur, dear," he corrected.
They sat in silence for a bit and watched as one gnome emerged victorious, sprinting away with the mushroom cap clamped beneath its sharp teeth, his rival hot on his heels.
"Molly said you wanted to speak with me."
The Weasley patriarch turned to look at her. "Yes." He removed his glasses and polished them on his robes, a move he often pulled when he wanted to gather his thoughts before speaking.
"From what I gathered of what Ronald—erm—shouted at us all last night…" Arthur began and Hermione rolled her eyes. "I understand that you are dating the Malfoy boy."
"Draco," Hermione corrected automatically.
"Draco," he echoed back and inclined his head in a slight apology.
"Hermione, you're an intelligent young woman and unlike a few of my sons, I'm not going to ask you to defend your choices or make a case for Draco. I am going to ask you to simply listen to what I have to say."
Arthur sighed then, and Hermione felt in that moment he looked older than she'd ever seen him; a man who'd raised seven children and lived through two wars. Hermione had nothing but the utmost respect for him and his wife. The least she could do was hear him out.
"A family like the Malfoys," he began slowly, "hold a certain exalted place in our world, the wizarding world. Their lineage is legendary, their ancestors notable, and they always seem to find themselves in the thick of tumultuous times."
He paused here to marshal his thoughts. "My personal feelings for Lucius aside, I feel it is my duty to caution you about what getting involved with a family like that could mean."
"Draco is not his father," Hermione asserted sternly.
Arthur held up a placating hand. "I'm not accusing Draco of anything. I simply want to stress that there is a certain burden that comes with the Malfoy name, warranted or not, and I would hate for you to have to suffer unduly. Pureblood family traditions being what they are, should you and Draco declare anything publicly, certain expectations could be thrust upon you, not to mention the media frenzy this would incite."
Hermione pursed her lips, heart clenching in her chest. She knew what Arthur meant to caution her against, and while she appreciated he cared enough to warn her, part of her boiled in indignation at the public's perception of her, of Draco, and of the moronic blood-based hierarchy that seemed to be the root of all the problems in the wizarding world. Why couldn't everyone just bloody move on already?
When she met Arthur's eyes again, he smiled wryly as if he knew exactly what she had been thinking. This man raised Fred and George after all.
"I'm not trying to patronize you, Hermione. Truly, I'm not. But you must know by now that we… that is, Molly and I… we consider you one of our own."
Hermione felt a tear leak out and cursed under her breath. Arthur smiled gently and Hermione willed herself not to completely break down when she saw his blue eyes mist. "Even though things didn't work out between you and Ronald, you're still a Weasley. You can come to Molly or me any time if you're ever in any sort of trouble."
She could only nod in response as her throat tightened.
"You've been through so much, and you're still so young, that I suppose what I am trying to ask, what I think you should ask yourself… is if Draco is worth the trouble."
Hermione already had her answer. Clearing her throat, she stood suddenly, making Arthur lean back in surprise at her swift movement. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand then took out a small square of parchment and tapped it once with her wand, restoring it to full size. She handed it to a puzzled Arthur.
"Here's something I think you should read. It's a comprehensive educational curriculum and cultural initiative that will benefit Muggleborn children for years to come. Three guesses as to the identity of the anonymous benefactor," she said primly.
Arthur's eyes scanned over the first page, brow furrowed.
"You can keep that copy, I've got the original at home. Maybe pass it on to Ron when you've had a chance to read it properly. There will be an inaugural gala in October and it would mean the world to me if you and the others would attend. As my family."
She squeezed his shoulder as she passed by, hopefully indicating that she harbored no ill will towards him.
"I won't see you next week as I'll be traveling to France with Draco. Please give the others my regards."
Hermione choked back a fresh wave of tears as she turned back and noted the slight tremble in Arthur's shoulders. Then, steeling herself for the discussion she now needed to have with her biological parents, she disapparated.
He felt like he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express.
If Draco had the energy to feel anything besides bone-deep exhaustion and melancholy, he would have been mortified. Sure, he'd had a few minor night terrors in Hermione's presence before, but nothing on this scale. Merlin, he'd thrown up in front of her. Disgusting.
She, of course, had handled it all in stride. The consummate survivor.
He scowled, furious with himself for being so weak. Even after all that, after asking so much of her (clean my sick, dab my forehead, dry my tears, comfort me for reacting to your torture…) he'd made her agree to go away together.
Sod it, they deserved this trip. If he was to be denied what should have been the celebratory evening he'd originally planned for making her fund official, then he'd whisk her away for a week and spoil her properly. He indulged in a smirk and an unkind thought about how the Weasel surely had never treated Hermione to such extravagance when they'd dated.
And maybe, just maybe, an opportunity would arise that would finally allow him to tell Hermione how he really felt about her. Somehow between his mother's untimely arrival, Hermione's breakdown at the Potters, and Draco retching all over her floorboards he'd been unable to summon those three little words. It hadn't been quite the romantic evening he'd envisioned.
But oh, he'd been so very close. When she pinned him to the spot with those overlarge eyes of hers and asked why he'd done all this work on her behalf, it almost tumbled out. When she'd chased away his nightmares and made him feel safe under her healing touch, it almost lurched from his throat. Fuck, but he was pathetic.
Would it have been rather audacious of him to tell her though? Honestly, the nerve of him, thinking he had a right to say those words after what he dreamed about his family doing to her. Not just a dream, he thought bitterly, a real memory. Back in November when Draco had begged her forgiveness for his non-interference as she suffered under his aunt's knife and wand, Hermione had said she wanted to discuss that night, eventually, when they were both ready. Perhaps it was best he'd held his tongue until they'd well and truly come to terms with that awful night at Malfoy Manor.
I am okay with this.
Draco rubbed his tired eyes and set aside the parchment for the fresh ink to dry. He'd finished drafting the request to Bellamy for the time off the following week, pleased that he would only be missing practices and a single match. He'd also already sent off correspondence to his solicitors letting them know he'd be out of the country as of Friday evening and used Hermione's Floo to make the proper reservations at his preferred hotel in Paris. Galleons were no object for this holiday (or any holiday, for that matter) and apparently throwing enough of them around combined with his surname was enough to secure the exact suite he desired.
He desperately needed a shower. Dragging his exhausted body to Hermione's bathroom, he let the shower heat up until the water could almost be classified as scalding before getting in under the spray. He closed his eyes and some of the tension had finally left his muscles when he heard it—the voice he hadn't heard in years.
Oh Draco, what has become of you?
Draco jolted, and his eyes popped open at the sneering drawl that seemed to echo all around him.
You love her, do you? Honestly Draco, the Mudblood?
"Shut up," Draco snarled aloud. "Shut up, shut up, shut up." He tried to throw himself into his occlumency, but his deceased father's voice would not be silenced.
It's pathetic, pining over such filth. Do you really think she could ever return your affections? How could you let yourself be so weak?
Draco slapped his palms against the shower wall. "Enough!" He was arguing with a ghost, with a figment of his deranged imagination.
Her kind is deceitful. Don't you see how she has fooled the world around her into believing she is some sort of powerful witch, to be revered and adored? She's nothing but a common, dirty Muggle, same as her parents.
Draco growled and shut off the water. He pressed his fingers against his temples and tried to massage his growing headache away, determined to ignore the insidious voice of his subconscious.
Fooled you too, hasn't she? But you remember, son, don't you? How she begged and screamed for mercy under your aunt's wand like a pathetic animal?
Draco stumbled out of the shower, held himself up against the sink, and glared into the mirror still fogged with steam from the hot water. In the misted reflection, he thought for a moment he could see another presence in the bathroom; a visage of white-blond hair and gray eyes too startlingly similar to his own for comfort.
You're a fool, Draco. Pretend all you like that you're a better man than me. But we both know the truth.
Draco let out a scream of fury and slammed his closed fist into the mirror, cracking the glass.
"You're wrong," he whispered brokenly. "And you're dead."
A ringing silence greeted his statement as he staggered back from the counter and cradled his bloody knuckles. A movement in the corner of his eye startled him, and he turned to see Crookshanks watching him beadily from the doorway.
"Made a bit of a mess, haven't we? If you're quite through with your tantrum, you'd best clean this up before she gets back."
Draco frowned at the animal but retrieved his wand and in two flicks had repaired both the bathroom mirror and his bloodied knuckles, though some bruises remained.
Crookshanks let out a sniff of approval and then sauntered off, leaving Draco alone to berate himself for falling prey to the haunting apparition his mind had created. Salazar, this holiday with Hermione could not come soon enough if hearing the lilting taunts of Lucius in his head rendered him mad enough to punch a mirror with his bare hand.
As he emerged dressed from the bedroom, determined to finally master Hermione's Muggle coffee machine, the Floo lit up and a familiar red-head stepped through.
"Afternoon, Malfoy."
"Weasley."
"It's Potter."
"Whatever."
Ginny regarded him thoughtfully for a moment and Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't need or want any gestures of sympathy from her.
"Well? What do you want? Granger isn't here. In fact, she's supposedly at the Nest or Pigpen or whatever your oversized brood calls your home."
"It's the Burrow," Ginny replied calmly, not taking his bait. "And she is there, but I asked her if I could come speak with you while she finishes up and heads to her parents. Couldn't make us a cuppa?"
"Do I look like a bloody house-elf?" he sneered.
"No, you look like you've been trampled by a herd of hippogriff."
Draco turned on his heel and strode into the kitchen. "I'm fixing myself a pot of coffee. You can either accept that or make your own damn tea."
Ginny followed and plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table, making herself quite at home. "Thanks ever so, my most gracious host!"
Draco scowled and made no response as he fiddled with the Muggle coffee maker. Surely this wasn't that difficult if it required no magic? As if she could sense his dilemma, Ginny appeared at his side.
"Oh you are a pathetic one, aren't you? I'll do it this once, you prat, Harry and I have one of these at home."
Draco folded his arms and stalked over to the table, throwing himself down in her vacated seat. Neither of them spoke while Ginny prepared the coffee, the red-head only breaking the silence to ask if he needed cream or sugar. He shook his head and accepted the steaming mug with a grunt of acknowledgement. She then prepared a kettle for her own tea, leaving Draco to frown into his acceptably made brew. When she'd finally settled herself across from him, Draco stared at her impatiently, waiting for her to say her piece.
"I'm here to officially welcome you to a very special club."
"No offense, but the last time I heard those words I ended up with a dark image burned on my skin and loads of memories no amount of potions or alcohol has allowed me to repress, so I'll pass."
Ginny idly stirred her tea, ignoring his sarcasm. "You and I have a lot in common, you know."
Draco didn't respond but to raise one disbelieving brow.
"It's true!" she asserted. "Both pureblood, both war survivors, both quidditch fanatics, and," she waggled her eyebrows up and down. "Both hopelessly in love with saviors of the wizarding world."
Draco leveled her with an icy glare. "Is there a point to all this?"
"The other thing we have in common, is that we both know what it's like to live with Voldemort."
His grip tightened on his mug as he hissed out a shocked breath. "What the fuck Weasley?"
"It's Potter and I told you," said the witch patiently. "We have more in common than you think."
He glared at her mutinously, itching to throw a hex her way, pregnant with Potter's spawn or not.
"You know nothing of my life, nothing. Do not presume that because of my relationship with Granger that you can claim to understand me," he fumed.
"I'm claiming nothing of the sort. But I do know what it's like to live with that monster."
"Is that so?" His tone low, dangerous. "Tell me, at what point in your coddled childhood did you go to bed with the knowledge he was sleeping but a few doors away? Did you ever have to take meals with him, hoping beyond hope that your occlumency was strong enough to not show the revulsion you felt? Did you watch him take your father's place at the head of your dining room table and wonder if tonight would finally be the night he'd snap and kill your entire family with a swish of his wand?"
This stupid, insipid witch knew nothing of that sinking pit of despair he'd existed in for two straight years. The constant fear, the feeling of being on the edge of a knife, never knowing when you'd be tortured or asked to torture another…
"Oh, Tom and I were much closer than roommates. Didn't you know Malfoy? My entire first year of Hogwarts we shared my mind," she said flatly.
"What?"
Ginny took a deep breath and a fortifying sip of tea. "Like I said earlier, I'm welcoming you to the club. Your initiation is long overdue, but then we weren't exactly on speaking terms until recently. Anyway, you, myself, and Harry are part of an elite group of humans. Welcome to the 'I Shared Living Quarters with Voldemort Club!'"
Draco stared back at her in horror as her lips split into a grin. "Is this… funny to you?"
"I mean, a little," she said and shrugged at Draco's disgusted expression. "Oh come on Malfoy, if I can't laugh about it I'll dissolve into a useless heap of tragic anguish and frankly, I've never been one for angst, and Harry's got enough for the both of us, so yes, I like to laugh despite the objectively horrifying situation I was in at 11 years old."
Draco didn't know whether to admire her or forcibly admit her to St. Mungo's.
"I had a diary, like most girls that age, and I poured my little heart into it. Only my diary wrote back. Tom Riddle was my personal correspondent all year, giving me advice and encouragement… until one day he was giving me more than that. He invaded my mind and made me do things. Awful things. Soon I had no control over my own thoughts and actions until I woke up on the stone floor of the Chamber of Secrets, barely alive."
He couldn't look away from her blazing eyes. That loss of control at the hands of a maniac… Draco knew that feeling all too well. I am okay with this.
"I know that suffocating feeling of his… tainting presence. He stole my mind from me and I had to live with that. He inhabited part of Harry's soul and he inhabited your Manor, so there you have it. The little trifecta of mental, spiritual, and physical that comprises our morbid and esteemed club."
She dabbed at a stray tear then, looking surprised that her eyes were even wet. "Harry wanted to be here for your initiation, of course, but he's busy making my arsehole brother see reason."
Draco swallowed, unsure of how to process everything Ginny had confided. "Why did you tell me all this?"
Eyes dry, Ginny met his stare resolutely. "To help you understand that you're not some woeful, misunderstood loner. I know exactly what it's like to have that bastard in complete control. After what happened to me I felt… dirty. I felt sick… used. And I thought that when Harry finally killed him, that the feeling would go away. But I still feel it sometimes… that stain of darkness. A permanent mark if you will," she finished softly and glanced at Draco's sleeve-covered forearm.
He pulled his arm off the table and into his lap, out of sight. He flushed angrily, but Ginny was unperturbed.
"You're more than your Dark Mark, just as I'm more than the girl who opened up the Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle had a gift for telling people exactly what they want to hear, seducing them with just the right words until it's too late."
She sighed and took another sip of her tea. "My point is… it's not too late for you. Voldemort is long gone and it's high time we all moved on from his reign of terror. If I can do it, if Hermione can do it, Merlin, if Harry the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Wallow-in-Guilt can do it, then so can you."
She nodded at his other arm still on the table, noting the bruises along his knuckles.
"I had a feeling after last night you might be prone to a bit of brooding and I thought from one former Voldemort roommate to another, you might need an arse-kicking from a kindred spirit."
Draco couldn't stop the snort that left him. "Was this supposed to be some sort of pep talk? Because I have to say Weasley, this went a bit dark."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Would it kill you to call me Potter?"
"Possibly, and I'd hate to gamble my life. Besides, 'Potter' is reserved for your four-eyed nuisance of a life companion."
"You really do have quite the fascination with my husband."
"Feeling threatened, Ginevra?"
Ginny burst out laughing. "Ooh, that's grand, only my mother calls me Ginevra! Touché, Malfoy."
She stood abruptly. "Well, I think this concludes your first official club meeting. Future meetings are whenever any one of us is on the verge of mental collapse."
Draco stood too, following her back to the fireplace with his mind reeling. He had a thousand or so more questions for Ginny, but his brain felt too full to take in any more information.
One question couldn't be suppressed. He shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "How did you… how did you come back from…?"
"From living with a psychopath inside my own mind and not being able to trust my own thoughts?"
"Err yeah, that."
Ginny shrugged, taking a handful of Floo powder.
"Hermione helped me loads. Everyone else around me, my whole family, they tried to handle me with kid gloves after that and it only made me feel worse. But not her, no, she saw me moping one too many times and she really let me have it, pulled me right out of my self-loathing. Don't spurn what she has to offer you," she advised.
Draco didn't respond, thinking bitterly that he had nothing to offer Hermione in turn. I am okay with this.
A sudden, sickening thought occurred to Draco as Ginny turned to leave.
"Your diary… the one filled with dark magic. It came from my father, didn't it?"
She gave him a sad smile, and the sinking in his gut threatened to overwhelm him. An 11-year-old girl. His father had callously handed an 11-year-old girl a cursed object, not caring if it hurt her or worse.
"But you never said… why didn't you say?"
"What would be the point?"
"Merlin, my father almost killed you and you were just… fuck, I'm sorry I—!"
"No," she said firmly, cutting him off. "Stop. Do not apologize for your father's crimes."
Draco opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off again. "No. You're not him."
He clenched his jaw and blinked at her. Ginny seemed to take this as a positive sign and tossed the powder into the fire.
"Be kind to yourself, Malfoy. And if you ever want to chat, you know where to find me."
I am okay with this.
Draco stared at the fireplace long after she'd disappeared through it. He knew he needed to return home, if only briefly, but his muscles didn't seem to want to move forward.
The past 24 hours had been too much, his emotions surging from nervousness, to despair, to impatience, to hope, to misery, to gratefulness, to despondency, to confusion, to whatever he felt now after the bizarre, soul-baring conversation with Ginny.
But he could no longer delay this confrontation with his mother. Upon arriving back in his traveling parlor, he immediately summoned Crick.
"Sir?"
"Is my mother still here?"
"Yes, sir. Watson has just prepared tea service for her in the garden."
"Fantastic," Draco grumbled, annoyed that she'd made herself right at home.
The skies were gray with the threat of impending rain and the air rather uncomfortably humid, but Narcissa looked perfectly at her leisure sitting on Draco's verandah.
She said nothing as she watched Draco approach and take the seat across from her at the table laid out with a sumptuous tea service.
"I see you've settled in," he clipped.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed over the rim of her tea cup.
"I noticed you neglected to return home last night," she replied neutrally and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Yes well, being that I am an adult in a relationship, I find myself not returning home most weekend nights," he drawled. His mother's eyes, somehow, found a way to narrow further.
"That's rather improper, don't you think?" she sniffed and Draco chuckled.
"It's realistic. I'm 28 years old, Mother."
"Yes, old enough to know what is expected of a young man of your upbringing. Tell me Draco, do you enjoy defying hundreds of years of our family's customs and sacred traditions? What do you possibly hope will come of your association with that… that girl?"
I am okay with this. I am okay with this. I am okay with this.
Draco allowed himself to count to thirty before responding. His mother, ever the unruffled lady, waited him out, seemingly filled to the brim with indifferent patience.
"Her name is Hermione Granger," he said in a low voice. "You may remember her from the night she was tortured on our drawing room floor."
Narcissa made no reply but to purse her lips unpleasantly, as if Draco had made mention of an unseemly event not appropriate for conversation over tea in the garden.
"As for our family's oh-so-sacred traditions," he continued quietly. "Would you like to see what obeying those beloved customs got me?"
He stood and yanked up the sleeve of his left forearm, exposing the dull gray Dark Mark in all its faded glory. Narcissa merely set her chin and turned her head sharply, casting an icy gaze over the grounds behind Draco's estate. Her refusal to acknowledge his revealed Mark incensed him.
"LOOK AT IT!" he roared, slightly gratified when she deigned to cast her steely blue stare at his pale skin, forever tainted with a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull.
"We reap what we sow, Mother. Were you proud to have your only son branded? Is this everything you and Father envisioned for your child? What about all the attempted murder and torture? Is that part of the grand Malfoy legacy too?"
Her eyes snapped to his, cold in their fury. "You're being ungrateful and dramatic. Everything your father and I did was for you. Every choice we made was for you."
Draco let out a mirthless laugh. "I hope that thought lets you sleep at night."
"Quit talking nonsense," she snapped irritably. "You claim to be an adult yet you act like a petulant child. You haven't the faintest idea what I've had to do for you to survive."
Fuck this. If she wanted to sit there and apportion blame onto his shoulders instead of giving him an explanation or Merlin forbid, some sort of apology, then he was through with the circular conversation.
Wordlessly, he raised his wand and summoned a copy of Hermione's fund information as well as an old slip of parchment, yellowed with age.
"I find myself growing tired of this disagreement. You're welcome to stay in my home, but it might be for the best if you keep to your own wing for the next week. I'll be leaving for 10 days this coming Friday, I've decided to take Granger to France. I'll let Crick and Watson know they're to care for you while I'm gone."
He clocked the downward turn of her lips when he mentioned his trip with Hermione, but otherwise, she didn't react to his pronouncement.
"Some reading material for you," he threw down the paperwork for the student fund. "There's to be a gala in the next two months or so. I'd hoped to recruit your assistance in planning such a large-scale event, but given your current feelings towards Granger, perhaps it would be best if you kept your distance. After all, we wouldn't want to sully our good public image any further, now would we?" He finished with a sneer.
"Still," he drawled. "I think it's important for you to see what I've been working on. As for this," he gently laid the folded letter from Andromeda beside her tea cup. "I found this inside the piano bench. You know the beautiful instrument you're so fond of? Muggle-made, as it were. Fascinating, that."
Narcissa's eyes zeroed in suspiciously on the folded letter, but she made no move to open it. Draco decided it best to leave her then, seeing as he'd said his piece and anything further would only be in anger. He gave his mother one more beat to respond before turning on his heel and stalking back inside the house.
He'd just turned the corner of the threshold when he heard the sound of delicate china smashing against the stone of the garden verandah.
A/N: For those wondering, this story is 51 chapters long (unfortunately ffnet doesn't let you add total chapter count like ao3). Thank you so much for reading, feel free to say hi on tumblr: heyjude19-writing.