Beta love, as always, to CourtingInsanity X Your feedback and support keeps me inspired!
Warning for character death in this chapter. It's not gruesome or anything, but heads up all the same.
Hermione's flat, late Monday afternoon
Hermione was working from home when the floo chimed. Moments later, a distraught and very pregnant Ginny stepped through.
"Hermione! Are you here?"
Hermione hurriedly put down her quill and moved across the room to meet her friend. "Gin! What's happened?" she asked, alarmed.
"Have—" Ginny's voice shook and her eyes were filled with unshed tears "—have you heard?"
"Heard about what? Ginny, what's going on?" Hermione demanded, feeling her heart rate speed up in trepidation.
"It's Harry and—and Ron!" the red-haired woman gasped, bursting into sobs. "Their mission went completely wrong!"
Hermione felt herself begin to shake, but she knew she had to stay calm for Ginny's sake.
"Come and sit down. I'll make tea while you tell me what happened." Hermione waved her wand to set the kettle on the stove to boil and the tea things to begin setting themselves out, and led Ginny to the couch.
"Ginny. Are Harry and Ron alive?" Hermione asked anxiously. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the woman nodded, tears still streaming down her face. For several minutes Hermione could not get a word out of Ginny, and simply sat holding her while she sobbed.
Finally, Ginny sat up, wiping her eyes and hiccuping. Hermione passed her a box of tissues and waved her wand again to fill the teapot with water, before summoning it and the tea things to the coffee table in front of the couch they sat on.
"I'm sorry!" Ginny gasped. "I'm just so relieved. Ron was almost killed. Harry might have been, too, if he hadn't been in the reserve team."
Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in horror as the seriousness of the situation hit home, then grasped Ginny's arm and looked her in the eyes. "Gin, you're scaring me. Tell me what happened!"
"Right." Ginny sniffed. "You know what their mission was?"
Hermione nodded."Yes. They had found the location of one of the death eaters, right?"
"Yaxley," Ginny confirmed.
Hermione widened her eyes. She knew how dangerous he was, and that he had successfully evaded capture since the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Harry couldn't tell me much before he left, because he didn't want to compromise the mission." Ginny explained. "He just said they had good intel and hoped to capture the target I didn't know any more than that until he got home."
"And when was that?" Hermione frowned, as she began to pour tea for them both.
"About an hour ago." Ginny sniffed.
"But… didn't they leave Saturday?" Hermione asked, worry evident in her voice.
"In the afternoon," Ginny confirmed. "They'd expected to have completed the mission by Sunday morning. Harry never came home at all on Sunday and I didn't hear anything from him or Ron. I thought the worst." She fought back another wave of tears as she spoke.
"Ginny! Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione admonished. "I'd have come right over and stayed with you, you know I would have!" She handed her friend a steaming cup of tea as she spoke.
"I know you would have," Ginny replied, her eyes downcast. "But, well… I convinced myself I was just being a silly pregnant worrywart. It's not the first time he's been delayed on a mission, and when he is, he's hardly ever in the position to get a message to me. So I just waited and hoped."
"So what happened?" Hermione pressed gently.
"Long story short, Yaxley set a trap for them," Ginny explained. "They moved in and breached the building they'd tracked him to. It looked like he wasn't there, and it wasn't until they started letting their guard down that he attacked."
Hermione swallowed, hearing a click in her throat. She knew it was bound to be bad. "How many casualties?" she asked fearfully.
"Three killed," Ginny replied sadly. "Eight injured. Harry said they were lucky to get away with what they did."
"You said Ron was almost killed. Is he injured?"
Ginny shook her head. "No. He's completely unharmed." She looked up at Hermione. "Malfoy saved him."
"Malfoy? What? How—?" Hermione found herself at a loss for words.
Suddenly, she remembered the events of Saturday night.
"Hey, Malfoy. There's a bloke outside asking for you. Tall, skinny, dark hair. Says 'tell that low-down snake in the grass to slither out here.'
"Shit. Sorry Granger. I have to go. Business."
"But… Malfoy isn't an auror… is he?" Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.
"No. He's a curse-breaker. The best in all of Britain, according to Harry."
"The best in— but, then, why have I never heard this?"
Ginny shrugged. "I didn't know either, up until just before. Malfoy likes to keep his occupation quiet. The only people who know are aurors and a few people who have needed curses removed and can be trusted to be discrete."
Hermione puzzled over this piece of information. They had talked a few times about her occupation, but never his. It had never come up in conversation. Truthfully, Hermione had assumed he didn't have an occupation, given his wealth and his unpopularity among the wizarding population.
"So, Malfoy was there to—what? Remove curses Yaxley had laid?"
"He was supposed to remove the wards and help scan for any other traps Yaxley may have laid inside the boundary," Ginny said. "Apparently he invented a spell that creates a sort of map of an area, showing the number and strength of wards. He can also plot any dangers on it so people going in know areas to avoid."
Hermione nodded her understanding and indicated for Ginny to continue.
"Malfoy took down all the wards and everyone started moving in. Ron was leading the forward group. Harry stayed back with Malfoy." Ginny set her cup and saucer down on the table. "Apparently Malfoy sensed something was wrong as they were nearing the building. He tried to get Spencer to pull everyone back, but it was too late. They breached the walls and moved in before anyone could react."
"Malfoy rushed over before Harry or Spencer could stop him, so they had no choice but to follow. It turns out Yaxley had an invisibility cloak, a knockoff, and used it to make everyone think he had escaped. He hit them as they were coming back together. They were completely unprepared. Ron was upstairs with three others when he attacked."
Ginny took a steadying breath. "Ron got to the ground floor and spotted Yaxley. He challenged him and Yaxley turned on Ron. He tried to Avada him."
Hermione's eyes filled with tears, realising how close she had come to losing one of her dearest friends.
"Malfoy got in between Ron and Yaxley, and cursed him before he could hit Ron. Hermione—" Ginny grasped Hermione's hand "—he used the curse Harry used on him in sixth year!"
"He what? Gin, are you sure? That curse—"
"—nearly killed him. I know. Harry witnessed it. Everyone in the room witnessed it."
Hermione tried to feel angry at the idea Malfoy would use such a dark curse, but couldn't bring herself to do it, given the wizard it had been directed at. "So, Yaxley's dead?" she asked quietly.
"No! That's the other thing—he's alive! Malfoy knew the countercurse, and stopped the bleeding."
Hermione's mind was working overtime, trying to make sense of all this information. "So what's going to happen to Yaxley now?" she asked.
"He's been transferred to the most secure part of Azkaban to await sentencing."
"And Harry and Ron?"
"At the Burrow," Ginny confirmed.
Hermione stood up. "I should go and see everyone. And you—" she looked fondly at Ginny "need to get back to Harry. He'll be worried about you."
Ginny nodded. "You're right. Let's go."
One at a time, the two women stepped through the floo.
Malfoy Manor, early Sunday evening
Draco was sitting in his study, nursing his fourth - or was it his fifth? - glass of firewhiskey. The events of the previous night swirled through his mind, and try as he might, he could not banish the images he had seen.
A young woman lying motionless near an entranceway. A man crumpled in a corner. Another man, lying sprawled across a short corridor. Each of them with eyes open, staring, and lifeless. The surviving aurors, battered and bleeding, mourning the loss of their friends. Everyone staring at him in fear and horror after witnessing him curse Yaxley.
"You should have spoken sooner," growled mirror-Draco. "You suspected something was wrong from the moment the wards dropped, but you waited until they were about to hit the building before you said anything."
"I—I thought I was just overthinking it," Draco whispered at the mirror. "I was recovering from the exertion of bringing down the wards. I just wasn't as alert as usual."
"You were a coward," mirror-Draco sneered. "Admit it. You were shitting yourself at the thought Yaxley might somehow sense your presence. You held back, not wanting anything more to do with the situation."
"That—that's not it!" Draco protested. "I didn't want to jump to conclusions and alarm them unnecessarily. It would have killed their mission!" He frantically took a gulp of the glass, emptying it, and reached for the bottle to pour another.
"It would have killed their mission!" Mirror-Draco mimicked in a cruel voice. "But your hesitation did kill three aurors, didn't it?" it added thoughtfully.
"SHUT UP! Just shut the fuck UP!" Draco screamed, throwing his glass at Mirror-Draco. The mirror shattered, and Draco pulled desperately at his hair. Why wouldn't the images just go away?
"M-master Malfoy?" spoke a soft and trembling voice.
Draco whipped his head up to see Pria standing a short distance away, wringing her tea towel anxiously.
"What is it, Pria?" he asked softly.
She pointed. "There be an owl at Master's window. It has been tapping for some time now."
Draco glanced in the direction of his window, There was indeed an owl, and it looked rather put out at being made to wait. He got up unsteadily, stumbling slightly, to let it in.
It was a beautiful spotted tawny owl, small but graceful. It perched delicately on the edge of his desk, looking around the room. It appeared to notice the glass on the floor, and looked from the mess to him in disapproval before holding out its leg to show the letter tied to it.
Draco felt a twinge in his stomach. That disapproving look reminded him of someone. Surely this owl couldn't be…?
He rushed to untie the letter, breaking the seal and reading it quickly.
Dear Malfoy,
Ginny came to visit me earlier and told me a very interesting story - one about a certain blond prat who intervened just in time to save a certain hot-headed redhead.
Are you okay? Can I do anything? You're not on your own, are you?
H.
Draco felt absurdly grateful that she seemed to be concerned for his well-being, but he couldn't help snorting with amusement at the last part of the letter. It's not like he was likely to be surrounded by friends and admirers, was it?
Still, he didn't want her to think he wasn't okay. He picked up a quill from his desk and pulled a blank piece of parchment toward him, intending to tell her he was fine and thank her for thinking of him.
Instead, he found himself writing,
I've been better.
He frowned, thinking how pathetically sad that looked. It needed something more, so it didn't sound like he had completely lost it.
Then again, I've been worse.
D.
He fed the owl some treats before tying the letter to its leg. As he watched it soar out his window and into the darkness, he wondered if he should have lied, after all. He sat at his desk to await the reply he hoped would come.
Some time later, Hermione's owl did return.
He opened it, anxiety and anticipation warring in his gut.
The note simply said,
Meet me at the following address in Muggle London in half an hour.
H.
Draco studied the address, pondering what was there and why Hermione wanted to meet him. He could feel excitement fluttering in his chest and anxiety, and briefly debated not going.
"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself. "You can't chicken out now." Standing, he headed to his ensuite to shower and change.
Muggle London, Monday evening
Draco arrived outside the address and discovered it was a small Irish-themed pub called The Broken Shamrock. He looked around the quiet street. The pub was situated on the corner of what appeared to be a small business district, with a cafe, offices and a clothing store nearby. Standing outside in the warm glow, he wondered whether he should go in and check to see if Hermione had arrived yet.
Checking his watch, he saw he was a few minutes early and decided to wait outside. Only a minute later, he heard light footsteps approaching. Turning, he saw Hermione trotting toward him. She smiled up at him kindly.
"Come on," she invited, "There's a live band playing tonight, but there won't be many patrons yet because it's a Monday."
"Do you come here often, Granger?" Draco asked curiously as they stepped inside.
"Quite regularly. It has a relaxed atmosphere and the band is very good."
They made their way to the bar and Hermione greeted the barman.
"Hi Connor! Jameson and pints times two, please." Connor nodded and set about fetching the drinks.
Draco raised his eyebrows at Hermione questioningly.
"It's tradition in this pub," she explained.
Draco simply shrugged and knocked back the shot of whiskey when Connor put it before him, Hermione following suit.
When he tried to reach into his pocket for money, Hermione put her hand on his arm. "No way," she said firmly. This one's on me."
"But…" Draco tried to argue.
"No buts," Hermione interrupted in a voice that brooked no disagreement. Seeing the look that must have been evident on his face, she added, "How about I allow you to get the next round?"
"Allow me?" Draco smirked. "Well, aren't I lucky?"
"Come on, you prat." Hermione smiled, picking up her beer.
She led the way to a secluded booth, indicating he should sit. Sliding in beside him, she picked up a menu resting on the table which listed bar food and meals.
"Have you eaten?" she asked him.
Draco shook his head. "I haven't been hungry since…" he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.
"You should eat," Hermione insisted softly. Suddenly brightening, she added, "This place does the best mixed basket ever! It's all fried food, terribly unhealthy, but very comforting." So saying, she slid out of the booth before Draco could utter a word, heading for the bar. He watched as she enthusiastically spoke with Connor, who nodded and gave her a wink.
Hermione came back over, saying, "I got the large basket with all the trimmings! You'd better help me eat it, Draco Malfoy, because there's no way I'll eat that much food on my own." Draco started at the use of his first name, but Hermione appeared not to notice. She was looking at him with a kind and open expression.
"Tell me how you're doing," she said softly.
"I'm… okay," he replied hesitantly.
"You're not!" she said sternly. "No one would be okay after that. Talk to me," she pleaded softly. "It helps to talk."
"Why—why are you doing this, Granger?" he asked, not able to meet her eyes. He knew he was stalling for time. Why would she ask him how he was doing? Why would she care? He needed to know.
"Because you witnessed a mission that went pear-shaped. It was a traumatic experience for everyone involved," she explained. "And because you saved Ron." Draco looked up at her, surprised to see the emotion on her face. "I can't thank you enough. And Harry, and the Weasleys— even Ron himself — we're all grateful to you for what you did."
Draco was amazed. He'd fucked up, gotten people killed through his inattention, and she was thanking him? "I—I should have acted sooner!" Draco blurted out. "It's my fault people died!" Gasping, he dropped his head into his hands, shoulders shaking, as he tried to control the emotions which threatened to overflow.
Suddenly, her hands were around his neck as she drew him to her. "Now you listen to me, Malfoy," she said, her voice low. "It is not your fault people died. You realised before anyone else something was off, and acted selflessly by rushing in to help. If you hadn't been there, the outcome may have been much worse. You did a good thing. You were brave. You stopped Yaxley. The mission was a success because of your help."
"No. No." Draco sighed, looking into her eyes. "I used a dark curse, Hermione! Everyone there was reminded I was involved with the dark! I made them afraid!"
"You did what you had to in order to stop Yaxley. He was an evil, dangerous man who had no qualms about killing people. He tried to kill Ron and you stopped him. If people can't see that, it's their problem, not yours," she argued.
Draco wasn't convinced, but he nodded regardless and picked up his beer, desperate for a distraction. He quickly swallowed half the contents.
"Better?" Hermione asked, smirking slightly. Draco nodded.
"Here y'are, Hermione. One mixed basket with all the trimmings!" Connor had arrived, carrying a large plastic container holding an assortment of fried foods. Piled on top were sour cream, melted cheese and crumbled bacon. Hermione thanked him enthusiastically.
"Merlin's beard, Granger!" Draco exclaimed once the barman had left. "This looks like it would give a hippogriff a heart attack!"
"I know!" she grinned. "Isn't it great? It's got everything - chips, wedges, chicken nuggets, fish bites, prawn horns and mini hot dogs!"
Draco didn't know what most of those things were, but what he did know was the food in front of them smelt wonderful. Suddenly, his stomach growled. He picked up a fish bite, only to drop it again. "Ow! It's hot!"
Hermione laughed. "Well, they did just come out of the deep fryer. You need to give it a few minutes to cool down."
Feeling sheepish, Draco picked up his glass, draining the last of his beer. "Round two?" he asked, waggling his glass at her.
Hermione drained the last of her own glass before nodding, and Draco headed over to order. When he returned to the table, holding a small tray with the two more whiskey shots and two more pints balanced on it, Hermione was tucking into the basket of food.
Draco sat, passing Hermione her drinks, and eagerly snatched up the fish bite he had dropped earlier. It was wonderful, and he set to work trying each of the different items. "I like these things," he announced, holding up one of the prawn horns.
Hermione snatched it out of his hand. "I like them, too." She smirked, taking a bite.
"Oi!" Draco objected. Grabbing her hand, he bit into the remaining pastry, causing Hermione to giggle as his teeth came within range of her fingers.
"Cheeky witch," he growled, chewing.
Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and picked up her whiskey, holding it up in invitation. Picking up his own, they clinked glasses before quickly downing the contents.
Hearing the sounds of a band tuning their instruments, he turned to a small elevated platform situated opposite the front entrance. Three men were fiddling with equipment, while a fourth tested a microphone while strumming on a guitar.
"Oh yay! They'll be starting soon!" Hermione announced brightly. 'They're really good. The singer—" she pointed out the man with the guitar "—Mickey, is Connor's son."
Draco watched as the band got ready to play. Their movements were relaxed and unhurried and they bantered back and forth as they prepared for the set, leaving him envious of how carefree and happy they seemed. Looking around the room, he was startled at how many people had filed in.
Soon, the main lights in the room were lowered, leaving the platform bathed in multi coloured soft lighting, and with a four-count from Mickey the band launched straight into their first song.
Ho-ro, the rattlin' bog
The bog down in the valley-o
Ho-ro the rattlin' bog
The bog down in the valley-o
The audience joyfully jumped in at the chorus, with much clapping and stamping of feet. Draco turned to Hermione to see her clapping and stomping along with everyone else, her face alight with joy.
Draco had never heard the song and was impressed at how Mickey didn't seem to get short of breath, though the verses got progressively longer and longer.
"How does he do that?" he called into Hermione's ear.
"Do what?" she shouted back over the music.
"How does he keep going without losing his breath?" Draco clarified, indicating Mickey who was enthusiastically stomping his foot in tune with the song.
"It comes with practice," she explained. "Singers who need to hold long notes or complete a long verse use breath control so they can balance and control their voice."
"Can you do it?" he asked.
Hermione nodded. "I can, but it took time to learn."
"I'd love to be able to do that," he said wistfully, nodding toward Mickey, who was drawing the song to a raucous close.
"Sing, or play in a band?"
"Both," Draco replied, surprised at his answer. "Well," he corrected, "perhaps not in a band, as such, but I would love to learn an instrument. I always wanted to, you know."
"Why didn't you?" Hermione questioned.
"Father wouldn't allow it." Draco sighed. "He said Malfoy men didn't play music, they listened to it. And then, of course, nothing as crude as this." He gestured toward the band. "He said it was unrefined."
"How did you feel when he was killed in Azkaban after the war?" Hermione asked gently.
"Honestly?" Draco asked.
"I won't judge you for your honesty," Hermione reassured him.
Draco took a long drink of his beer to give himself time to think about how to answer her question. Placing his drink on the table, he sighed. "My father was a hard, cold man. Status and appearances were everything to him." He fiddled with the Malfoy ring on his right hand, fingering the small crest etched into the top. "I tried so hard growing up to please him, to be the perfect Malfoy. I wanted to be just like he was. Then he who—" Draco shuddered "—Voldemort returned. Suddenly my father was a different man entirely. Colder, angrier, quicker to lash out physically. But also a craven, snivelling sycophant who allowed a tyrannical sociopath to enter our home and take it over."
Hermione placed her hand comfortingly on Draco's arm, gently appealing for him to continue.
He finally met her eyes. "My father sacrificed my mother and I to Voldemort to save his own skin. He didn't have the guts to stand up to the man, so he rolled over like a whipped dog instead. He knew the task I would be assigned before I was even Marked. He knew how unlikely it was I would succeed in that task, and that he was gambling with my life." Draco paused to take a breath, before continuing quietly, "But he did it anyway."
"So, honestly?" Draco snarled. "I was glad to hear he had been killed in that brawl." Suddenly, he felt his eyes well up with tears. "I was glad, Granger. What kind of person does that make me? What kind of son derives pleasure from knowing his father was brutally slain?" He angrily swiped at his eyes, embarrassed at his lack of control.
"A son who was forced into a life, into a cult, by the person who should have protected him," Hermione replied, fiercely. "Malfoy, don't feel guilty for not mourning your father. He should have protected you, he should have been willing to die for you, to shield you from such horrors. But instead, he used you as a shield."
"But still, I…"
"But, nothing," Hermione argued. "You were put in an impossible situation."
"One I'll never be free of," Draco muttered bitterly. "People will always see me as Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and blood purist."
"And that's their problem," Hermione replied. "You're trying to do some good in the world. You rejected the ideas you grew up with and saw through Voldemort's propaganda. You're proof that people can change if they want to."
Draco stared at the witch sitting beside him. He couldn't believe that after all the bad things he had done, she seemed to see some good in him. I don't deserve her kind words, he thought to himself. I only hope I don't give her any reason to regret saying them.
Impulsively, he leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to hers. He felt her stiffen and immediately pulled back, ashamed. "I—I'm sorry. That was inappropriate," he mumbled, refusing to look at her.
"Malfoy." He couldn't bring himself to look up. "Malfoy." He felt her hand cup his cheek and lift his face so he was looking at her again. Hermione stared at Draco a moment longer before capturing his lips in hers. Eagerly, he responded, his heart pounding.
An unknown time later, they broke apart, exchanging shy smiles. "Well," Hermione whispered, "that was unexpected."
"I've been wanting to do do that since the first time I saw you on stage," Draco admitted.
"Surely not," Hermione scoffed good-naturedly.
"Well, once I got over the shock of discovering my old school rival not only had an enchanting singing voice, but had grown even more beautiful since the last time I had seen her."
Hermione felt herself redden. "Stop," she murmured, hiding her face in embarrassment and smiling.
The band had been playing in the background, unnoticed by Draco and Hermione, but now the upbeat change in tempo as they began a new song captured their attention once more. Draco watched Hermione's eyes widen in delight, and she jumped from her seat.
"I love this song!" she enthused. "Come on, dance with me!" Hermione grabbed Draco's hand and pulled, forcing him to stand.
He allowed her to lead her to the dancefloor as Mickey belted out the tune.
I see a bad moon a-risin'
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightning
I see a bad time today
Draco couldn't help but laugh and join in as Hermione enthusiastically jumped around the floor, swinging her hair about as she sang along to the lyrics. Soon he found himself joining in with the chorus,
Don't go round tonight
It's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise
The song abruptly ended with a final set of chords on the guitar, and the patrons clapped and cheered.
"Thanks, everyone. We're going to take a short break," Mickey spoke into the microphone.
The house lights rose again and the hum of conversation lifted to fill the sudden silence left by the absence of the band's presence. Hermione took Draco's hand again and led him over to the platform.
"Hi guys!" she trilled.
"Well hello, Hermione." Mickey smiled. "Who's this handsome young lad you've brought with you tonight?" He winked suggestively at Draco.
"Hands off, you!" Hermione admonished playfully.
"Sounds like she's not willing to share. She must like you." Mickey grinned, still maintaining eye contact with Draco.
"Oh, stop!" Hermione laughed. I actually wanted to ask you something."
Mickey looked at her curiously.
"Can you show Draco how to play a few chords on the guitar?"
"Granger! What are you doing?" Draco hissed.
Hermione, however, paid him no mind. "He's always wanted to learn, but never had the opportunity," she explained. "Who better to teach him the basics than the best guitar player in London?" She smiled sweetly at the Irishman, who grinned back at her.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Hermione."
Turning to Draco, he said, "C'mere while I show you."
Mickey sat on the stage, and Draco sat beside him watching intently.
"Now, this is your standard six-string," Mickey explained. "Each string is a different thickness and the tightness is adjusted here." He indicated the tuners. "The thickness and tightness affects the pitch." He wiggled several tuners and plucked their strings.
Draco listened and watched for several more minutes as Mickey explained the different parts of the guitar and how sound could be adjusted. Finally, he said, "Right, I'm going to play a few basic chords and then you can give it a crack." Draco nodded in understanding.
Mickey played several chords, making a simple tune, and Draco watched his finger movements carefully.
"Your turn." Mickey handed the guitar to Draco, who adjusted his hold until it felt comfortable across his knee. "Hand position," he instructed, adjusting the positioning of Draco's fingers on the neck of the instrument. "Now, play."
Draco plucked the strings, doing his best to emulate the finger movements across the neck as Mickey had done. The sound came out sounding not quite the same, but the tune was recognisable.
"Good!" encouraged Mickey. "Now try it again."
Draco did, and was amazed to find it had gotten easier. He tried it a third time, and a fourth, and suddenly the tune sounded exactly like the one Mickey had played a moment before.
"You're a natural!" Mickey beamed, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "Have you thought about taking lessons?"
Draco shook his head.
"If you want to learn, a mate of mine is a great instructor," Mickey said. "I'll give you his number."
"Thanks." Draco smiled.
"How's he doing, Mickey?" came a voice. Draco looked up to see Hermione standing in front of them, holding several bottles of beer on a tray. She passed them around to Mickey and his bandmates before handing one to Draco and keeping the last for herself.
"He's doing bloody well for someone who's never held a guitar before." Mickey grinned. "I'm sending him to Daniel for proper lessons."
Hermione smiled. "You must be doing well if he's sending you to Dan. Come on." She gestured. "Let's go sit so they can finish their break."
Returning to their seats, they sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. Hermione finally spoke.
"How did you become a curse breaker?" she asked curiously.
"Well," he began cautiously, "growing up I was exposed to a lot of dark artifacts. When I got my first wand father insisted on teaching me how to detect and remove dark curses, as well as apply them." Hermione frowned, but nodded at him to continue.
"It was after Voldemort returned that I really got thrown into the world of dark magic," Draco remembered. "Voldemort was usually too busy terrorising and controlling his followers to bother much with me - at least at first - but my Aunt Bella made it her mission to personally teach me how to use and defend from dark curses."
Draco didn't fail to notice how Hermione had unconsciously placed her hand over her forearm at the mention of his fanatical aunt, and kicked himself for mentioning her so casually.
"I'm fine," Hermione said softly, seeming to sense his discomfort. "Keep going."
"She would punish me if I didn't perform to her standards," Draco continued. "As you'll be aware, she was particularly fond of the cruciatus curse. She would use it on me if she thought I wasn't putting enough effort into her lessons."
Hermione's face darkened with anger. "Crazed, evil bitch," she hissed.
"That's an understatement," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, by the time the war ended, I had become, through necessity, rather good at dealing with cursed objects and dark magic. I saw a notice in the Prophet requesting help with removing a curse from a building. The owner was a muggleborn who had gone into hiding when the death eaters were hunting them."
"The man had managed to evade the death eaters, but they discovered his place of business and cursed the building, making it uninhabitable. After the war, he was able to come out of hiding but was facing the loss of his livelihood. He didn't have the knowledge to remove the curse himself and didn't know anyone who did."
"And you responded?" Hermione prompted.
Draco nodded. "I did. I was apprehensive, given the public sentiment toward my family, but he didn't recognise me so had no clue who I was. I was able to remove the curse." He shrugged. "From there, it was word of mouth. Mostly other people like that first muggleborn, witches and wizards who had been targeted by the death eaters and needed help dealing with dark magic."
"How did you come to help the ministry?" Hermione asked with interest.
"One of the witches I helped had a cousin who worked for the MLE in an admin role," Draco explained. "He had told her the auror department was struggling to find competent witches and wizards to deal with situations that involved dark magic and powerful curses, and she told him about me."
"It was Spencer who first approached me on behalf of the ministry. At first I declined. I was worried about the animosity I was bound to encounter, and I felt it would reflect badly on the ministry if people knew I was working for them."
"I can understand that," Hermione empathised.
"But Spencer wouldn't give up," Draco continued. "He offered me a higher fee, and I told him I didn't care about money and he could shove his galleons up his arse." Hermione sniggered. "In the end, we made a deal. I would help aurors with cases that involved dark magic they couldn't handle on their own, acting as a curse breaker so they could move forward with their missions and investigations, provided as few people as possible knew my true identity."
"After the incident with Yaxley, what will that mean for you?" Hermione asked. Draco was amazed at her ability to articulate exactly what he had been thinking.
"I don't know." He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Word is going to get out, and I'm sure not everyone will be understanding of my involvement or actions."
Harry and Ron will support you," Hermione comforted. "And so will I."
"Thank you. That means a lot," Draco replied softly. Reaching out to cup her cheek, he leaned in to softly kiss her again before turning back to enjoy the remaining part of their set.
Some time later, the set had finished and the patrons began to file out of the pub. Draco and Hermione followed them out, hand in hand.
Once on the street, Draco found he couldn't bear to say goodbye and return alone to the cold and empty manor.
"Granger?" he began. She turned to him, a smile on her lips.
"Will—" he took a steadying breath "—will you come back to the manor with me?"
At the surprised look on her face, he rushed on.
"No… not like that. I just…"
"Go on, Malfoy," Hermione urged softly.
"It gets lonely at the manor. It's just me there. Well, me and Pria and the other elves."
Hermione frowned, and he added, "I treat them very well, they aren't exploited and they are all very happy."
The frown didn't disappear entirely, but she nodded in acceptance of his statement.
It would mean a lot to me if you would just—" he closed his eyes. Merlin, he sounded ridiculous. "—if you would just sleep beside me," he finished.
He watched Hermione's face anxiously as she mulled it over.
"Just to sleep?" she asked skeptically.
"Just to sleep," Draco agreed. "I may be a prat, but I'm still capable of being a gentleman."
Hermione snorted with laughter. "I should hope so," she teased.
Draco offered her his arm, and they walked to a secluded, shadowy spot before he apparated them away.
Hermione lay awake beside Draco in his large, luxurious bed, running the events of that night through her head.
She had invited Draco out knowing how damaging it could be to allow oneself to wallow in negative thoughts following a traumatic experience.
Ron, Harry and the other aurors had their friends, colleagues and families to rally around them, but Malfoy had… no one, Hermione had realised. A few months ago, she wouldn't have cared either way about how Draco Malfoy was coping, but now… she had gotten to see a very different side of him in the last weeks and she could no longer hold any animosity toward him.
At the pub, she had seen just how much of a toll the last few years had taken on his psyche. He was so far removed from the cocky, arrogant Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with it was… surreal.
But then he had kissed her, and the feelings she had previously denied she was beginning to hold toward him had hit her like a dash of cold water to the face.
They had had fun, and there had been moments where he had genuinely smiled and laughed. His smile was charming and his laugh infectious. His grey eyes would twinkle when he teased her.
She had been just as surprised as he when she had agreed to return with him to Malfoy Manor, but their surprise was nothing compared to that of the house elves.
They had apparated into the foyer, and a petite, young female elf had appeared before them.
"Master Draco has brought home a Miss!" she squeaked excitedly. "I is Pria, Miss! Does you need anything? We is so happy to meet you!"
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the charming creature. "Hello, Pria. My name is Hermione, and I'm very pleased to meet you also."
"Would you like some hot chocolate?" Draco had asked Hermione. "Pria makes the best cup you've ever tasted."
Hermione glanced from Draco to Pria. The elf was staring at her hopefully. Despite her misgivings about allowing house elves to serve, she didn't want to hurt Pria's feelings by refusing the offer, so she simply smiled at said, "That would be wonderful, thank you."
Pria positively beamed. "I will be back in just a minutes!" she said before disappearing.
Draco had led Hermione into a small sitting room, where they had barely taken their seats before Pria had returned with a tray bearing two steaming mugs, a bowl of marshmallows and a small jug of fresh cream.
He had been right - the hot chocolate was amazing.
Now she felt herself drifting off to sleep, wondering where they would go from here.
Some time later, she was startled awake by screaming.
Grabbing for her wand, it took her a moment to realise the sounds were coming from Draco, who was thrashing on the bed.
"Pria!" she called, alarmed.
The elf appeared and, seeing Hermione's distress, said, "You must wakes him, Miss! He is having the dream again!"
"Draco!" Hermione shook his shoulder vigorously. "Draco! Wake up!"
Draco bolted upright with a yell and looked around, seemingly disoriented, before dropping his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking.
Hermione reached out and wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head to her breast and making soothing shushing noises. "It's okay. You're at home."
Draco reached out to hold Hermione, choking back sobs. "I'm sorry, Granger!" he gasped. "I have these nightmares sometimes. I—I'm okay."
Hermione turned to Pria, who had been watching anxiously. "Could we have some water please, Pria?" she asked the elf. The creature nodded and disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a cup full of the cool liquid and handing it to the witch.
"Drink," she instructed Draco. He took the glass gratefully and took a long swallow.
"Thanks Pria, Granger," he said quietly.
"Is you needing anything else, Master?" Pria asked, taking the glass.
"No, thank you Pria. You may go." The elf nodded and disappeared, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.
"Will you tell me about your dream?" Hermione prompted softly. Seeing his hesitation, she added, "We all had nightmares after the war. It's normal. It helped to talk to someone else about those dreams."
"I haven't talked to anyone about them," Draco replied quietly.
"Talking helps you make sense of the dream, to come to terms with your memories," Hermione encouraged. "It might not make them go away, but sharing can help shift the weight."
Draco sighed and nodded. Waving his hand to wandlessly light the bedside lamp, he said, "You mentioned back when we first went to that cafe you had read my mother's obituary."
Hermione nodded, remembering.
"What very few people know is how she died. I ensured it was kept out of the papers and that the few witnesses would not say anything. I wanted her to have dignity in death, rather than being the subject of gossip."
Taking a deep breath and reaching for Hermione's hand, Draco cast his mind back to the day Narcissa had been killed.
She had ventured out to Diagon Alley to do some shopping, reassuring Draco that she would be fine. He felt she shouldn't be out on her own, given people's sentiments towards them even three years later. Narcissa had demurred, arguing she was an adult and could take care of herself. Nevertheless, he had insisted on accompanying her.
They had spent an enjoyable afternoon wandering about, and had encountered remarkably little attention - or so it had seemed. They had met Marcus Flint, who had invited them both to join him for a drink at the Hog's Head. Narcissa had politely declined for herself, but told Draco to go.
"I'll be fine, Dragon," she had said, smiling softly at him. "We've been fine this whole time, I hardly think I'll run into any difficulties. Go, go!" she urged him. "I'm sure you're just itching to talk to someone closer to your age, instead of your boring old mother."
Draco had grinned cheekily. "Overbearing maybe, but never boring, mother."
Narcissa had pretended to frown, before touching his cheek lovingly. "I'll be fine," she had repeated. She had accepted Draco's kiss on her cheek before pushing him gently in Marcus' direction. "I think I'll visit Flourish and Blotts, then head back to the Manor. Take your time. Have fun! Now that's an order from your mother!" With that, she had turned in the direction of the book shop and Draco had headed to the pub with Marcus.
It was the last time he had seen Narcissa alive.
The had been in the pub barely half an hour when they heard a commotion outside. People began screaming and yelling, amid several small explosions. Draco had felt a cold certainty in his gut and bolted outside, heedless of Marcus yelling behind him to be careful. He had found chaos out on the street. Smoke billowed everywhere, a nearby shop front was in ruins, and shoppers were wandering, dazed and bleeding.
Draco had run panicked towards Flourish and Blotts, calling for Narcissa. Reaching the building, he saw a crumpled female figure with pale blonde hair lying not far from the entrance amid the shattered remains of the store's picture window.
"NO!" he had screamed, sprinting to her. He had collapsed beside her still form, desperate for signs of life. She was covered in blood. Gently turning her head towards him, he saw she was barely breathing. "What happened? Who did this, Mother?"
Narcissa's lips had moved soundlessly at first as she tried to speak. "D-death eaters. Attacked. Cursed me. Coul-couldn't get. My wand. Up. In time." She had smiled sadly, a tear running down her cheek, and weakly lifted a hand to rest it over Draco's. "Love you. My Dragon." With those final words, the last of Narcissa's life had ebbed away and the last of Draco's world had shattered.
A witness to the attack had later described to Draco how several people in death eater robes and masks had appeared suddenly in the busy alley and begun firing curses at people and buildings indiscriminately.
As people had run for cover, one had spotted Narcissa coming out of Flourish and Blotts, and had screamed a challenge at her. "Narcissa Malfoy, you blood traitor! Die, bitch!" Before she had been able to react to defend herself, her attacker had fired a curse at the witch that she had ducked. The curse had hit the glass picture window behind her, which had exploded outward, sending deadly shards all around. Injured, Narcissa had tried to run, but the attacker had fired again, and this time he had not missed. By the time Draco had arrived on the scene, the death eaters had vanished.
"It was my fault, Granger. He finished sadly. "I left her alone and she was attacked, and I wasn't there to protect her." Draco had been looking down at his and Hermione's joined hands as he recounted that fateful day, his voice full of regret and guilt, but now he lifted his eyes to her face, sure he would see disgust at his incredible failing.
Instead, he was shocked to observe tears rolling down her cheeks.
"I can't even begin to imagine how horrifying that would have been," she whispered. "I'm so sorry you lost her that way, Draco."
Draco found himself speechless. He had just admitted he had failed to protect Narcissa, resulting in her death, and yet Hermione not only had she not turned away from him in disgust, but seemed to feel the pain he felt.
"Granger… Hermione…"
It felt wonderful to say her name out loud. He reached for her, and she came to him, embracing him tightly. After a few moments, he pulled away so he could gaze at her face. Reaching out with his thumbs, he brushed the few tears from her soft cheeks.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"For what?' Hermione whispered back.
"For being there for me. For… not turning away from me, despite my failings."
"Draco." Hermione gently placed her hands on either side of Draco's jaw. "You are not a failure. Your mother being targeted, and those aurors last night who were caught unawares? It is not your fault they died. The things you did after Voldemort returned? You were forced into them, you were still a child!" She shook him gently to emphasise her words.
Draco reached up to place his hands over hers, before bringing them to his lips and kissing her fingers. "I'm trying to believe that," he said quietly. "I really am. But I just keep dwelling on what I could have done differently. I keep thinking if I had only been stronger, less prideful, if I had just seen—"
"But you couldn't have seen," Hermione interrupted. "You aren't a seer. You don't have powers of precognition. You were young when Voldemort returned, facing pressure on all sides, and they had deliberately made you feel isolated - precisely so you wouldn't seek help elsewhere or tell anybody."
"Dwelling on the past, berating yourself constantly over what you could have said or done differently to change an outcome… it's like drinking a slow-acting poison. It will slowly eat away at you, killing you a little more each day, until one day you wake up and realise you're dead inside. Don't do that to yourself. You can get through this."
Draco nodded. "Will you help me?"
"I'll help you."
Embracing Hermione tightly, Draco drew her back down to the bed and pulled the blankets over them. "Thank you," he whispered.
The next morning, Hermione was being given a tour of the parts of the Manor Draco used, prior to breakfast.
"What time must you be at work?" Draco asked her.
"I'm actually working from home most of this week, so I can set my own hours." She shrugged.
Draco couldn't help smiling, knowing he could enjoy her company a little longer.
"Well then, I won't rush." He smiled. "Now, this is my study—"
"Draco! Has someone been in the house?" Hermione gasped.
Draco looked in the direction she was facing and spied the broken mirror and remains of the drinking glass still on the floor. Cursing himself for forgetting about it, he quickly waved his wand to repair the mirror and vanish the drinking glass, then cast a cleaning spell on the carpet to get rid of the alcohol stains.
"Umm… no. That was me," Draco replied quietly.
Hermione simply looked at him, waiting for him to go on.
"I… well, you'll think me ridiculous and unstable, but—"
"Breaking a mirror doesn't make you unstable," Hermione snorted. "Although if you were the superstitious type, you might be concerned about seven years bad luck."
"I've broken that mirror several times now," Draco mused. "So if I were the superstitious type, I'd be looking at at least twenty year's worth of bad luck."
"Does the mirror not do your face justice, for you to abuse it so?" Hermione teased gently.
"Well, in a way," Draco muttered. Seeing her curious expression, he took a breath.
"I drink a lot. Too much." She nodded. "It's the way I've been dealing with everything ever since the war, and more so since mother passed. I sit in here, and this mirror—" he gestured to it, and the mirror-Draco copied his actions "—it mocks me."
"Go on," Hermione prompted.
"All my inner thoughts come to the surface. I sit facing the mirror, and the mirror-Draco tells me what an awful person I am, reminds me of all the times I've fucked up, sneers and laughs. Eventually I can't stand to listen any more, and I destroy the mirror."
"The mirror-Draco sounds like an asshole," Hermione stated flatly. "You really shouldn't listen to him."
"No, you're right. I shouldn't."
A small pop behind them made them turn. Pria stood, beaming.
"Breakfast be ready, Master and Miss! We did not know what the Miss liked so we has made lots of dishes. The other elves is waiting to meet the Miss!"
"We'd better go, then." Draco smiled. "This way to the kitchen!"
Things seem to be looking up!
As always, please recommend, review and leave kudos if you're enjoying the story so far :)