Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Les Mis. I don't make money from this fic.
October 23, 2000 London, England - Hermione and Theo's Office
Draco filed away the last folder in his stack and pulled himself upright, heading back into the office. Theo was going writing out a report for the documents they'd pulled from the manor library, and that were now being filed into the time archives. Hermione was absently leafing through the ever-growing pile of documents, seeming disinterested. Draco chuckled as he watched her play with a curl absently while staring blankly at the page in front of her.
"Alright there, Hermione?" he asked with a smirk. She shook her head as though to clear it, looking up at him.
"Yeah. I think I'm just hungry. Been zoning out all morning." Hermione said, stretching her back a little.
"You didn't eat this morning, did you?" Theo asked, without looking up from his report. Hermione smiled sheepishly, looking up at Draco.
"I swear, I can't get away with anything with that man. How can you stand it?" Hermione asked. Draco merely shrugged.
"I don't try to get away with anything anymore. I've accepted that Theo is all-knowing." he smirked.
"I don't know everything." Theo protested. "Just most things."
"Well, I'm headed out to lunch. You two care to join me?" Draco asked, looking between the two. Theo looked up to Hermione before replying.
"I've really got to finish this report as soon as I can, but you two should go and bring me something good back." Theo smirked. Hermione's stomach growled a little, and she grabbed her purse, abandoning her work where it lay.
"I'm in. Been craving fish and chips though." Hermione said, rounding her desk.
"You're in luck, then. I know just the place." Draco smiled, following her out of the office and glancing at Theo on his way out. He frowned as the man grinned broadly at his report, not meeting Draco's eye. He shook his head and continued on out the door.
Later, London, England - A Diner
"Okay, Draco, you were right, this place is good." Hermione conceded, popping another chip into her mouth.
"Always am." Draco grinned.
"Glad to see your lack of humility has resurfaced. Does this mean the old Draco is returning slowly?" Hermione asked playfully. Draco thought on that question for a moment.
"No. I don't think the old Draco is returning. I think I've just finally decided to create my own personality instead of adopting those of others." He said, thoughtfully.
"Maybe you should write a book. Becoming Draco Malfoy: An Autobiography. I'd read it." Hermione smirked.
"Please, even I am not that full of myself." Draco snorted, but then paused. "You'd read it?" Hermione giggled, her face flushing a bit.
"Of course. I told you before, you're quite the mystery to me. I'd love to know what goes on in that head of yours." she shrugged, "But maybe that's just me being nosey."
"Nosey or otherwise, it feels- odd, having someone express an interest in me." Draco said, sobering slightly. "Not in a bad way. Just, it's been just me and Mum since the war ended. I've spent that time shut away, not really interacting with anyone since the trials. Well, until Mum got sick." Draco flushed when he heard his voice crack. It was still hard to talk about her. He looked down at his nearly empty plate to avoid Hermione's gaze, but he felt her soft hand rest over his on the table, without saying a word. He couldn't help but grin wryly.
"Theo's rubbing off on you." he observed, looking up at her hand on his. He felt Hermione shrug more than he saw it.
"Not a bad thing. How is she doing, now that she's home?" Hermione spoke softly.
"Much the same. I'd hoped she'd start eating a little better, but it actually seems to be getting worse." Draco closed his eyes. However much he'd tried coming to terms with his mother's illness, he couldn't really say he was ready for the inevitable.
"If you need anything, Draco," Hermione said, "Food, company, someone to let you know you're not alone, let me know. And it should go without saying that Theo feels the same." Draco nodded. Theo had told them both that.
"How are you doing? You officially broke up with Weasley, right?" Draco asked, peeking up at her. Her head bowed a bit.
"I'm fine." Hermione said softly, but when Draco met her eyes he knew she was lying.
"Yeah, you know, you look fine." he said, looking into her confused eyes. She knew it was a lie then, too.
"What-?"
"Freaking out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional." Draco turned his hand, the one that Hermione still held, so that he could squeeze hers gently.
"Why do you we lie to ourselves like this?" He asked, looking at their hands and not her face. He ran his thumb in soothing circles along the back of Hermione's hand. She let out a sigh.
"It's better than acknowledging we're falling apart." she murmured softly.
"But is it?" Draco asked. If Theo had taught him anything over the years, it was that lies and secrets could kill you faster than a Killing Curse. That's why he didn't lie to Theo, not that it did any good to try.
"A wise man once told me it's easier to fix a broken house than rebuild a destroyed one." Draco told her. "I've started fixing my house. I think you should, too." Hermione nodded slowly.
"I think- I think I can do that." she started. "Could- is there any way we could do this together? Hold each other accountable?" Hermione looked down, blushing. Draco grinned at her.
"Tell you what. Every day at lunch, we'll sit down and talk. I'll be open with you if you'll be open with me. Just one hour out of the day devoted to being completely, brutally honest with ourselves and each other. How's that sound?" Draco smiled when she met his eyes, and her chocolate orbs nearly glowed.
"That sounds wonderful." she said, then checked her watch. "Bollocks. We really need to get back, we're late. And Theo's probably hungry."
"We'll order him something to-go before we pay." Draco giving her hand a final squeeze before calling over a waitress and placing the order. Soon they were alone again and Hermione looked Draco over, a slight smile on her face.
"You've changed." She said, as if just realizing it. He smirked at her simple comment.
"We all do, Hermione." he answered, with a wink.
That Night, Wiltshire, England - Malfoy Manor
Draco trudged up the stairs, his eyes strained from excessive reading. He was a little late today, and he hoped the mediwitch from Mungo's was still with his mother. He collected himself at the top of the stairs, steeling himself up to face his mother's fragile form. He padded to her door and gently opened it, hearing soft talking inside. Draco frowned. The mediwitch that was assigned to Narcissa was usually loud and boisterous, though not unfriendly. He walked into the room and stopped at the end of the bed, his mouth gaping wide.
"Oh, hello there, Draco. Cissy was just telling me you should be home soon." Andromeda Tonks said, perched beside his mother in the chair with a steaming plate of food, half gone, in her lap. Draco had written to Andromeda, his mother's only free surviving family member, to let her know how Narcissa was doing just before bringing her home. He hadn't gotten a response from her, and so he assumed that the banishment from the House of Black still weighed heavily on Andromeda.
"H-hello, Aunt Andromeda. I wasn't expecting you." Draco stammered. The older woman merely smiled.
"Sorry about that, dear. My owl was sick when I tried to reply to your letter, and then Teddy came down with the sniffles. It's been a rough week in my house." she said, scooping up some mashed potatoes and feeding them to Narcissa. His mother was so frail, with barely enough energy to keep herself from falling over while propped up on the pillows.
"Where is Teddy now?" Draco asked, frowning. He'd heard she'd gotten custody of the little boy after his Aunt Bellatrix had murdered his parents.
"Harry and Ginny are watching him tonight. They haven't had a chance to see him since he got sick, and I really needed to be with my sister." Andromeda said, her hand squeezing Narcissa's. "Draco, I'm so proud of you. Taking care of your mother like this- she told me what you've been doing." she said.
"Draco, my boy," His mother's voice was wispy, as though she didn't have enough air in her lungs. "Thank you for bringing my sister back to me." Her eyes were teary as her emaciated hand clutched at Andromeda's.
"I just want you to be comfortable and happy, Mum." Draco said, moving to her bedside and kissing her forehead.
"Draco, dear, dinner is in the kitchen. You should go eat. I'll take good care of Cissy while you rest." Andromeda insisted. Draco nodded, his eyes conveying the silent thanks that he couldn't form into words.
His feet carried him to the kitchen while his brain was still trying to process what had happened. Is this what it felt like to be part of a family? His Aunt Bellatrix had been around often after she'd broken out of Azkaban, but that sense of family was strained, spurred on by the war and tension with the Dark Lord's presence. The relationship with his mother and father had been much the same, until the last battle, when they'd dropped everything for their son.
That had made the pain of losing his father to Azkaban all the worse. Family was all he'd wanted in those months after the war, and the Ministry had taken from him even that. He and his mother, all the family he had left, fled. They had to get out from under the eye of Wizarding society. So they locked themselves away in a decrepit old house. Draco couldn't work so soon after the trials. They paid the rent with what little money they had left. They knew the house was in rough shape, but they could barely afford the rent and food. Draco spent all the time he could away from the house. He couldn't stand the dark, dingy place, couldn't handle the musty smell. He knew now that was why his mother was sick and he wasn't.
When his mother had become sick, she didn't want to go to St. Mungo's. It was too much money, too expensive. She was positive that she'd be fine in a week or two. But she wasn't. Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. Pretty soon, it had been a year, and she'd only gotten worse. Draco had rushed her to the hospital when she started vomiting blood uncontrollably.
Stage four lung cancer, caused by black mold poisoning. Draco couldn't believe it. He begged the healers to try anything, telling them that there had to be something they could do. But there was nothing. It had progressed too far, metastasized to other major organs. All they could do was buy her a bit of time.
He blamed himself. He could have stopped it, could have taken her to the doctor before, could have gotten her out of the environment. He could have, he should have done more to protect his mother.
But she never blamed him once. She took the diagnosis on the chin; she knew she didn't have long to live. That first night, Draco and his mother had held each other close. They had cried together. He had fallen asleep still holding on to her for dear life.
Draco entered the kitchen, making himself a plate and sitting down at the little table there. His life had changed so drastically from what he'd known just a year ago. He had friends. He had family. He had a job, and a house, and everything was okay.
Except nothing was okay. Draco knew he'd survive. He had to. He'd made it through the war, and he'd make it through this. It would be hell on earth, but he'd survive, bearing all the scars that came with it. He looked down to his left arm.
The faded, silver-pink outline of the Dark Mark stared back at him. He hated it; it was the symbol for all the death and destruction of the war, of his family. But he hated himself more for bearing it. For accepting such a symbol as his own.
He ate, his mind a roiling pot rife with turmoil. Until he thought to earlier that same day. A pretty brown-eyed girl, a promise he'd made to her, and to himself. He took a deep breath and acknowledged the way he was feeling, trying to define it, categorize it. By giving his feelings a name, it made them real. By acknowledging they were real, he could properly deal with them. He stored away the labels and the emotions like he would a file in the archives, putting his mind in order. By the time he was finished eating, his mind was clear and focused. He held his head high and his back straight.
He could do this.