As promised, one week later, an update!
I was so thrilled with the response from the first chapter, and I hope you enjoy The Gift of Joy as the story unfolds. There were a lot of questions about what happened to Draco under the influence of veritaserum, and you get to find out this chapter!
Enjoy and I'll update again soon!
The day after Dumbledore's funeral had been surreal for Hermione. She spent the day lounging by the lake with Harry and Ron, both of them putting off packing as long as possible. Normally, she would have nagged them for their laziness, but she found that she didn't have the heart for it just now. Instead, she chose to splash in the water with them, trying to look for any source of distraction they could find before the dark days looming ahead arrived.
They were definitely coming. Everyone knew it. But if for just 24 more hours they could find reasons to smile, Hermione wanted to seize that time and hold tight.
She and her boys had emerged from the Black Late sopping wet and grinning ear to ear. Hermione had traded her usual robes for a pink T-shirt and cotton shorts, and Harry and Ron had made similar choices. Those items were far better swimwear than heavy, woolen wizard wear.
Stumbling to the shore, the three of them collapsed onto the grass below a large tree. Hermione laid between her best friends, breathing deep, cleansing breaths and soaking in the summer sun. After several minutes Hermione looked to her right, where Harry had his eyes closed.
Harry had grown so handsome these past few years. Though she felt nothing romantic toward him, she could see why Ginny did. It was lovely to see him so relaxed for once, his features clear of worry for this single, shining moment. She reached down and squeezed his hand. Harry squeezed back.
Turning to her left, she met Ron's gaze. He had also seemed to turn his head at that moment as well. He smiled shyly and his freckled face flushed pink. Hermione returned the smile, feeling her own cheeks heat up slightly. Ron had really proved himself to be an arse this year. But somehow, through it all, he still remained her Ron. Reaching her hand towards Ron's hand as well, Hermione gave it a tug, squeezing Harry's hand again at the same time.
Both boys rolled in, placing their heads on her shoulders. Hermione sighed as she cuddled her boys in the afternoon sun. No words were needed. Not right now. Not yet.
She didn't know how long they laid there in silence, but after a long while, her backside began to ache from the hard ground. Just as she was about to suggest that they should head inside, an outsider's voice broke through their quiet moment.
"Miss Granger? Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley?"
Groggily, the trio sat up and turned to find their new headmistress bustling over. She looked tired. The last few days had certainly taken their toll on her, just like the three of them.
Harry was the first to speak.
"Good afternoon, Professor. How are you doing?"
McGonagall smiled down at the three of them.
"I am doing as well as I can be. It's nice to see you lot out and enjoying the day. Have you finished packing?"
Harry and Ron shot glances at her, and Hermione took it upon herself to speak for the three of them.
"We were just about to head back to Gryffindor Tower to finish up. Did you need us for something, Professor?"
"Indeed, Miss Granger. Rather, I just need you. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, you may return to Gryffindor Tower. I suspect the two of you may need a bit more time than Miss Granger to pack." She raised her eyebrows, a smile dancing on her lips.
Hermione gave a small chuckle, but Ron and Harry looked concerned.
"Why do you only need Hermione, Professor?" Ron asked, scrambling to his feet.
"Oh, nothing too much. I wanted to discuss a few school matters before my Head Girl hopeful heads home for the summer." A true affectionate smile grew on McGonagall's face, and Hermione returned it.
Though Hermione knew in her gut that she wouldn't be returning for her seventh year – not yet, anyway – it was still delightful to hear it from the lips of her head of house. Head Girl! To think it was a possibility…
"Well, all right then," Harry grumbled, pulling Hermione to her feet. "Come on, Ron. Let's try to pack as much as we can before the feast."
The four walked in amiable silence as they made their way to the seventh floor. At the top of the staircase, Ron and Harry said they'd see Hermione later and turned left. McGonagall and Hermione turned right toward the Head's office.
"Now, Miss Granger. Before we enter the study, I must tell you that I lied to you before. I do, indeed, need to talk to you – to ask you to perform a task of sorts. But it is not related to being Head Girl."
Hermione felt her heart droop a bit, but if any disappointment showed on her face, it would have been brief.
McGonagall continued. "I beg of you to keep an open mind. The task I am suggesting is not easy. I daresay it may even anger you. But please, hear me out once I fetch your, ah, task."
Hermione nodded solemnly, her brow furrowed in confusion. What sort of task would anger her? She couldn't think of anything off the top of her head as she and the new headmistress ascended the staircase. McGonagall turned around and prevented Hermione from going any further.
"I'm going to ask you to stop right there, Miss Granger. I want you to wait 5 minutes and knock. I will come to fetch you then. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded and McGonagall disappeared behind the door.
A few short minutes passed and Hermione pressed her ear to the door. She could hear muffled voices from beyond. One was definitely McGonagall and the other was…male? How could another person be her task?"
Glancing at her watch, Hermione drew her hand back, took a breath, and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.
As promised, McGonagall opened the door and Hermione stepped into Dumbledore…no…McGonagall's study.
She heard him before she could process who she was seeing.
"Absolutely not."
If her heart had drooped before, it was now on the floor. Her stomach clenched and her pulse quickened. She would know that voice anywhere.
Draco Malfoy. But how?
Hermione spluttered, her brain fumbling for the right words – the right questions. Malfoy stood before her looking more haggard than she had ever seen him. His robes were dirty and ripped and his blonde hair was mussed in a way that suggested he hadn't tamed it in days. It almost looked as rumpled as Harry's curls. But what stood out most to Hermione in that moment of bewildered silence were the dark circles under Malfoy's eyes.
Draco found his voice first.
"Are you implying that this mudblood is going to be my guardian?" Draco spat, his tired eyes full of contempt.
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "I'm sorry. Your what? Professor, what does Malfoy mean by guardian?"
McGonagall sighed, looking from one to the other.
"Sit down, both of you. And Mr. Malfoy, I will not permit such language coming from your mouth."
Draco plopped back into his chair with a huff. Hermione trotted over to the neighboring seat and sat, glancing sideways at Malfoy. He really did look awful. Harry had been so sure that Draco had escaped with Snape that night, but it seems he was mistaken. Somehow, the youngest Death Eater had remained behind.
McGonagall took her place behind the desk and began to explain exactly how Malfoy had found himself in this office. Hermione listened aptly as the new headmistress insisted that Malfoy had been questioned under veritaserum and found to be quite genuine in his remorse. She shot her neighbor a look at this insistence. His head hung low and he was staring intently at his shoes, a grimace plastered on his face.
McGonagall had told her to have an open mind, but Hermione was finding difficult. The boy who had tormented her for years, had consistently called her mudblood, and who let in Death Eaters into this very castle only nights ago had expressed remorse?
It had to be bullshit. It just had to be.
"If you would like, Miss Granger, I can show you to the pensieve to observe Mr. Malfoy's confession for yourself. I am willing to do that if it will help you complete the task I am beseeching you to do for me."
Hermione felt Malfoy tense beside her. She straightened herself.
"Yes, professor. I believe that would assist me in understanding." The two women stood and headed to the pensive, which was sitting on a nearby shelf. McGonagall drew a vial with a single, silvery memory floating inside from her robe pocket and careful tipped it into the basin.
With a brief look back at Malfoy, who was clenching the arms of his chair, Hermione leaned forward and fell into the memory. Harry had described the sensation to her before, and Hermione was fascinated to find herself in nearly this same spot nearly three days previous.
Professor McGonagall looked considerably more ragged than she did now, and Malfoy looked like he had been dragged through Hell. His eyes were streaked with tears and there was a wild, desperate sadness in his face. Hermione had certainly never seen him looking remotely like this. Seeing him in this state, Hermione was shocked to find she pitied him a little.
The two figures were talking and Hermione began to listen in to their conversation.
"Very well," McGonagall said, "I will give you a dose and ask you some questions. You will not remember my questions, but the effects of the potion will wear off in an hour. If your answers are satisfactory, we will discuss arrangements. If not, well…well, we will cross that bridge when we get to it."
Hermione watched as McGonagall poured what she knew to be the veritaserum into Draco's mouth. The change was instantaneous. Draco's jaw went slack, and his eyes stared straight ahead, seemingly unseeing.
"What is your name?"
"Draco Malfoy." His voice was flat and expressionless.
"Why were you associating with Death Eaters this evening?"
"I let them into the castle. They were meant to wreak havoc and assist in creating a distraction while I killed Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione shuddered at the frankness of response.
"Are you a Death Eater, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Yes."
"Did you become a Death Eater by choice?"
Without missing a beat, Malfoy responded. "No."
"Were you forced?"
"Yes. The Dark Lord threatened my parents. Said he would torture and kill us if I did not join. My mother pleaded with him, but he did not listen. My Aunt Bellatrix cheered as he branded my skin. It was the most excruciating pain I have ever felt. When it was over, the Dark Lord gave me my task. He told me that when I completed it, I would be honored and my family would be forgiven for our transgressions."
Hermione listened with rapt attention as the whole tale unfolded. McGonagall asked him detailed questions about the events of the past year. The necklace. The mead. She was already familiar with much of this story through Harry, but her ears perked up when the story reached its climax.
"Why didn't you fulfill your task on top of the Astronomy Tower tonight, Mr. Malfoy?"
"When it came down to it, I was a coward. I could hurt someone from afar, certainly. But when faced with watching someone die at my own hand…I couldn't bear it. I was ready to do it – to finally prove that the Malfoys are worth something to the Dark Lord. But that old fool offered me forgiveness. He offered to put my family into hiding and I faltered. He seemed so confident that this wasn't my path. I lowered my wand. I wanted to listen…to believe that I didn't have to kill."
"And yet he still died?"
"Yes," Malfoy continued. "Severus did that. I watched Dumbledore fall. I watched the light disappear from his eyes. In that moment, I wanted to die, too. I've never seen someone die before."
It was several moments before McGonagall spoke again. The air was thick and Hermione could feel the professor shaking.
"Do you wish to continue fighting for the You-Know-Who?"
"No. I hate him. He makes me sick. I don't want to kill. I don't want to fight. I want to live in safety with my family far, far away from this hellhole."
Memory McGonagall nodded and Hermione felt herself falling back out of the memory. She landed back in the study, finding herself staring at the same boy in the same chair. He was no longer blank, but instead flushed, his jaw clenched.
Hermione made her way back to the desk and sat, actively avoiding Malfoy's gaze.
"Are you convinced, Miss Granger?"
She blinked and hesitated. After a moment, she nodded.
"Very well. Mr. Malfoy wishes for protection, and we are willing to give it to him – and to his family, should the time arise when that is possible."
Malfoy looked up at this point, leaning on one elbow. He was also carefully avoiding her line of sight.
"Now, as I have already told you, Mr. Malfoy, a permanent placement is not yet arranged. We are still waiting for a – ah – host for you. In the meanwhile, you need somewhere to stay where you can lie low without detection from anyone in the magical community. This is where you come in, Miss Granger."
Hermione's ears perked up and she leaned forward, afraid where this conversation was going. If she wasn't mistaken, based on his body language, Malfoy was having similar thoughts.
"I am requesting that you take Mr. Malfoy back to your residence for some time this summer until we can find a more suitable placement for him."
Both Hermione and Malfoy cried out in protest at that exact moment, but McGonagall held up her hand and they fell silent.
"I realize this is not ideal for either of you. Miss Granger, your life in the outskirts of muggle London will not attract unwanted attention for some time, and with the correct wards around your home and neighborhood, I believe the two of you can have a relatively normal existence until it is time for him to be moved. Placement should not take long."
McGonagall paused at this time, leaving Hermione to her thoughts. Malfoy in her house? What would her parents say? What would Ron and Harry say? How was she supposed to live with a muggleborn-hating prick like Malfoy in her own home? She could hardly stand him for a few minutes in this office!
Once again, Hermione could tell with ease that Malfoy was mirroring her feelings. He spoke out with a look of utter revulsion on his face.
"Surely you can do better than that. I will not live in some filthy muggle shack with this mudblood!"
Hermione was about to fight back when Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, an air of power emanating from her whole body. On her face was a look far more terrible than Hermione had ever seen her wear. Her wand pointed straight at Malfoy's face, her voice full of fury.
"You forget your place, Mr. Malfoy. It is not you who is in control here. It is at my own wand that you are shown pity. If it were not for my recommendation, several of my colleagues would have elected to throw you in Azkaban."
Malfoy shrank back in his chair, terror etched into every inch of his body.
"Now I suggest," she continued with her wand still aimed at him, "that you take my offer without complaint. Your remorse may have been true three days ago, but I can see the darkness that lingers in you, Mr. Malfoy. There is never need for such language. Use of that word will only continue to sully your good heart."
McGonagall lowered her wand and sat back down. His expression moved from fear to confusion and settled in a sullen way.
"Miss Granger is brilliant in her own right, and you will find life in her family's home quite satisfactory, I'm sure. That is, if she agrees to the task."
The headmistress and Malfoy both turned to face her. Hermione took a breath and released it. As much as it made her stomach turn, she knew what the right answer was.
"I agree, Professor. I'll watch over Malfoy until it's time to move him."
As McGonagall nodded, Hermione suddenly remembered something.
"Professor? Later in the summer I'm due at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Is there a way I can still attend?"
McGonagall paused, looking thoughtful.
"I will think on that, Miss Granger. I will try to make it possible for you to attend. In the meantime, we must make haste. I have made arrangements to connect the fireplace in this office to the Floo in your family's sitting room, Miss Granger. Your parents will be notified immediately, and the wards will be set up around the neighborhood and house." She paused for a moment, her eyes moving between the two of them. "
Miss Granger, you will return to Gryffindor tower tonight and return tomorrow as soon as the train departs. You are to tell Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley that we have arranged alternative transportation for you because no one is available to pick you up from King's Cross. Is that understood?"
"Yes, professor," Hermione piped up.
"Mr. Malfoy? A house elf will gather your things and send them ahead. You are to remain here until it is time to depart. Do you understand?"
Malfoy grunted an affirmative.
"Very well. Mr. Malfoy, let's get you back to your chamber. Miss Granger, when I return, let's walk to the leaving feast together."
Hermione watched as Malfoy climbed stairs to a side door and entered, McGonagall poking her head in for a moment before locking it.
The two of them walked down to the Great Hall together. Hermione tried to put her thoughts together, but they were flying around her brain like a swarm of bats.
As she slid into her seat at the Gryffindor table between Harry and Ron, they immediately inquired her about her meeting. She answered their questions with improvised falsities. Something about scheduling and a change in patrolling policies. They bought it and dug into the feast. Rather, Ron dug in. Harry ate tentatively.
Back in the common room, the trio sat in front of the fire together. Hermione explained her departure plans to Harry and Ron just as McGonagall had asked her to. They almost seemed hurt, but accepted it. She cuddled with them both, praying they would forgive her for the promises she had made in secret.
After bidding her boys farewell the next morning, Hermione headed straight back to the headmistress's office. Malfoy was already waiting, his appearance still disheveled.
"Good morning," Hermione offered.
Malfoy shot her back an irritated look. Hermione sighed. This was going to be a long summer.
McGonagall appeared from the spiral staircase and shooed them toward the fireplace.
"I will send word with my Patronus when I have more information on a placement," she said as both teens took a pinch of Floo Powder. "Do not try to owl or Floo anyone. We don't know what's being watched."
The two nodded grimly.
"Miss Granger, I am placing you in charge of Mr. Malfoy's wand. It has been warded so that he may not use it. You may wish to ward your own wand as well." Malfoy looked longingly at his hawthorn wand as it passed from the headmistress's grip to her own. She slipped it into her pocket.
"And do try not to murder each other. It would be such a shame for this effort to be for naught. Now into the fire, both of you!"
Hermione entered the flames, shouting "Jean and Mark Granger's Residence, London!" and was immediately whooshed away through the Floo.
Moments later she landed in her family's sitting room. Her parents were waiting on the sofa and stood when she arrived. Dusting herself off, she walked forward and hugged them. As they embraced, Malfoy came shooting through the grate.
He looked around with moderate disapproval on his face, but Hermione was grateful it hadn't reached disgust. Her parents were dentists, after all, and they made a nice living.
"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy, was it?" her mum walked forward to greet her guest. Malfoy drew back, seemingly uncomfortable. Mum took the cue. "That's all right. Your stuff is already here and upstairs. Yours too, kiddo." She smiled at Hermione.
"Why don't you show Mr. Malfoy to his bedroom?" Dad suggested.
Hermione nodded and motioned for Malfoy to follow her. "I'm upstairs to the left, and you're to the right. Mum and Dad have a bedroom downstairs. You have your own bathroom right here in the hall, and knowing Mum, she's put out fresh towels for you. I expect we'll be having lunch soon."
Malfoy didn't look at her, but instead turned toward the room she had indicated as his, walked straight in, and shut the door.
Huffing, yet not surprised at Malfoy's rudeness, Hermione changed into muggle clothes in her room. She hid Draco's wand in an old nook she had made behind her desk as a child and returned downstairs to fully greet her parents. Malfoy did not appear at lunch. Nor did he appear at dinner. Mum left a tray outside his room, but the door did not budge.
When Hermione bade her parents goodnight that evening, she was unsurprised to find Malfoy's door still shut, the food untouched. She closed her own door and tried to get to sleep.
A noise woke her in the middle of the night. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was 2:30AM. She grabbed her wand and poked her head out of her bedroom door. Light was pouring from a crack in the doorframe halfway down the hallway, as was steam. It seems he had figured out how to turn on the lights and the shower. Hermione heard the sound of running water. Glancing further down, she noticed that the tray left by her mum was still there.
Frowning, Hermione closed her door and returned to bed.
The next three days proceeded in a similar manner. Malfoy did not emerge from his room, and the food left outside his room would go uneaten. Her parents shared whispered conversations over the kitchen table of their worries for the boy they had invited into their home.
Hermione was caught between complete indifference and severe worry. On one hand, Draco Malfoy was the very boy who had teased and taunted her for the past five years. He had made her feel inferior, tormented her friends, and even wished death upon her during their second year, according to Ron.
Yet the Malfoy she had seen in the pensieve – the sad, broken Malfoy – yanked at her heart. The logical side of her knew that the people who were hurting the most were often the ones who presented the hardest exteriors to the world. Malfoy's shell was nothing short of titanium. Titanium covered in sharp spikes. There had to be more to him.
At night, Hermione sat awake, listening for signs of activity. On the second night, she heard an odd noise from Malfoy's room. When she focused her hearing more, she heard a distinct sniff and a shuddering breath.
Was he crying?
Hermione heard the sounds of tears again the next night. She lay in her bed, her heart fighting her mind.
On the third night, Hermione ventured from her room. She couldn't hear the same crying noises she had heard the previous nights. Instead, a quiet whimpering filled her ears. Against her better judgment, she tiptoed across the hall and pushed the door to the guest room open.
Malfoy was in bed, twisted under the quilt. His face was contorted with fear, soft whimpers coming from his mouth. Hermione drew closer.
"No, please! Mum! Don't hurt my Mum!" he cried out, his voice strangled with sadness. Hermione froze. His mother? He was dreaming about his mother? Who was hurting her?
Hermione thought she might know the answer.
Like a magnet drawn to metal, Hermione stepped forward, her socks making no noise on the carpeted floor. She lowered herself onto the ground by the edge of the bed. Malfoy was clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Her heart squeezed. Not even Malfoy deserved to have nightmares about his mother – especially not during a war.
Hermione reached forward and grazed Malfoy's hair with her fingertips. It was soft. He had clearly been washing his hair each night. She moved her hand more firmly against his hair, stroking it gently. Her mum had done this for her when she was little, and she had always found it comforting.
Malfoy's cries died down slightly as Hermione stroked his hair from his forehead. She tried to observe him as she had done to Harry the other day at the lake. He had been so pointy as a child, but adolescence had been kind to his features. He was rather handsome, with a strong jaw and sharp features that were obvious, even as he slept. As she continued her comfort, she even took note of his long eyelashes.
Too bad he was a jerk.
Hermione leaned her head onto the mattress, her hand still patting Malfoy's head. What had she gotten herself into? She yawned and drifted off.
Draco woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had in days. As he opened his eyes, however, he noticed a funny shape in the corner of his vision. Looking to his right, he was shocked to see a hand reaching past his face. After another moment, he felt what were clearly fingers tangled in his curls.
Confused, he sat up and removed the hand, setting it down beside him. He looked down to see the source of the hand.
Granger.
What the hell was she doing here? When did she come in? He certainly had no recollection of it. He had half a mind to yell at her, scare her into waking, and chase her from the room.
Draco gave her a once over. She was fast asleep, her right arm tucked beneath her cheek. Her bushy mop of hair was spread out across the quilt. The sunlight splashed in through the windows, painting the room. In this lighting, Granger oddly looked like an angel.
Shaking that very awful thought from his head, he focused once more on that hand he had moved. Draco brought his own hand up to his head and ran it through his hair. What had Granger's hand been doing with his hair as he slept?
He had slept remarkably well last night, despite having awful dreams for several nights in a row.
Draco paused.
Had Granger stopped his nightmare? Had she come into his room and tried to comfort him? He looked back down at the mudblo – no.
At the muggleborn.
He had been plagued with nightmares for the better part of a year, ever since that abomination had been tattooed on his arm. No one had rescued him from his dreams before.
Not until today.
Granger slept on, her shoulders moving up and down as she breathed, unaware of his gaze.
Maybe she wasn't so horrible.
Maybe she's not so horrible? Oooh.
Please review! I'd love to know your thoughts.