Chapter 2: Hermione's Tale

A thousand other boys could never reach you
How could I have been the one
I saw the world spin beneath you
And scatter like ice from the spoon
That was your womb

Draco opened the great mahogany door to the Manor and stepped aside for Hermione to enter. She stared at him a moment, in shock or fear, Draco couldn't tell, and then stepped over the threshold.

"Would you like something to drink?" Draco asked, slipping his overcoat off and handing it to a house elf that took it and disappeared. "Hot tea maybe? Or Cocoa?"

Hermione just stared at him.

"Come, you must be hungry—when was the last time you had anything decent to eat? I'll make you whatever you want." Draco began to walk off down a hallway Hermione supposed led to the kitchen and she was sure he expected her to follow him, but she couldn't force her feet to move. She followed him with her eyes.

Draco entered the kitchen, and flicked his wand to turn the lights on. "Granger I will cook everything if you don't get in here and tell me what you want." Draco's tone was one of warning.

Hermione jumped a little, but followed in the direction Draco had gone and made her way into the Kitchen.

"Now what do you want?" Draco asked, he held the refrigerator door open, and he was holding a glass of wine in one hand—obviously for himself.

"I'm fine. Really. I don't need your charity." Hermione said, and tried to be as pleasant as possible.

Draco stared at her like she'd suddenly grown a second head. "Charity?" He snorted. "Charity is what I give out to St. Mungo's and to the Ministry's Orphans of War Organization. You, Granger, are not charity."

"Then what am I? Why did you feel it necessary to bring me here?" Hermione said, she hadn't unfolded her arms from across her chest an it was beginning to make Draco angry.

"I brought you here because I know what it's like!" Draco spat.

Hermione snorted. "Not likely." She muttered, looking away from the blond man.

"Ok. If you want to play that game." Draco said, shutting the fridge with a bang and coming to stand against the bar in front of her. Shall we compare notes?"

Hermione looked up and stared at Draco for a long moment, before sighing and wiping at her face. "I'll take you up on that tea." She said, quietly.

Draco nodded, smiled and poured some of the tea he'd already prepared into a mug for her, before leading her into a smaller, more comfortable sitting room in the back of the Manor. "Make yourself comfortable." He said, opening the door and he had to hide a smile when she gasped at all the books that lined the walls. The room had once been his father's study—though now it served as a museum of all sorts of ancient tomes. Draco didn't usually like sitting in this room alone.

Hermione chose a comfortable chair beside the fire and placed her mug in her lap. She curled her feet up underneath her and stared into the flames intently.

Draco couldn't help but notice that there was a vacancy in her now that there wasn't when they'd graduated. Granted, he'd only sought to torment her and her friends when they were younger—but after his father and mother's deaths, Draco found himself free to think and to feel any way he chose.

"Why do you want to hear my story?" Hermione asked.

"Hermione Granger, smartest witch of our generation—highest test scores in a century—and she's selling herself on the streets? There's something that doesn't add up Granger. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." Draco said, taking a sip of his wine and then setting it on a side table next to the chair he'd chosen directly across from her.

Hermione stared at her tea for a while, before raising it to her lips and taking a long drink. "I never expected things to turn out this way." She mumbled. "I thought everything would be perfect—that I would get my happily ever after once Voldemort was gone. But… one thing led to another and well, here I am."

Draco wasn't satisfied. "I thought you and Weasley married? Why aren't you still with him?" Draco felt bile rise in his throat and he didn't know why—he had a feeling that it was at least partly Ron's fault for Granger's current position and, well, he never did like the bloke…

"Ron and I did marry. About six months after we graduated." Hermione said. "It was alright for a while. Better than all right, actually. It wasn't until nearly two years into the marriage that things started to fall apart." Hermione physically shuddered at the memory. "We were trying for a baby." She whispered—hoping that if she didn't speak it loudly, it would hurt her less.

"And you didn't get pregnant?" Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head. I went to the doctor several times, and finally—one of the fertility medics at St. Mungo's informed us that…" Hermione struggled through a sob, "…that because of the injuries I'd sustained in the war… I wouldn't be able to have children."

Draco sat back in his chair. So Granger's ability to procreate had been destroyed during the war—Draco knew she'd been tortured a number of times by Death Eaters that were allowed to stay in his own home and it disgusted him. He knew that she was battered when she last encountered Lucius Malfoy, during the final battles of the Great War, and Draco somehow couldn't escape the feeling that it was his fault. He had family that had helped to destroy this woman—it was all he could do to help her now, after finding her this way.

Hermione continued, "Ron was understanding at first—compassionate even—but as time wore on, and Ginny got pregnant with her and Harry's first—well, Ron got jealous. His brothers had all become fathers with the exception of the twins, and they were still single—so Ron felt pressure to perform his familial duty—as it were."

Draco gritted his teeth. Already he knew where this was going—and he knew he wasn't going to like it.

"He dropped out of Auror training to join the Cannons as Keeper, and was gone long hours and sometimes for days at time when they played away games. It wasn't until our third year that he first laid his hands on me in anger." Hermione whispered, she'd set the tea aside, for fear of shaking so much she'd spill it, and she'd clasped her hands in her lap. Her eyes hadn't left their place, rooted to the carpet, which separated Draco and Hermione in front of the fire. She traced the patterns with meticulous care to keep herself from breaking down. "The Cannons had lost the game that would have qualified them for the Cup—and he was upset about that." Hermione rationalized.

Draco's hands gripped the edges of the chair he was sitting in. How could Granger just sit there and tell him these things with no emotion at all?

"I had brought home a few brochures on adoption—I thought it was a good idea, since it was ninety-five percent certain I couldn't even conceive a child, let alone carry one to term—when he saw them he just go so angry… I've never seen him so angry." Hermione choked and swallowed hard against her emotions.

Draco leaned forward in his chair. "He hit you because you were unable to bear his children?"

Hermione didn't answer right away, but then, slowly, she nodded in the affirmative. "Every time it happened, it came down to my ability to have his children. Even though, most of the time, I knew he was angry or frustrated at something else." Hermione said, "We began to fight constantly. It wasn't like our bickering back in school—this was physical, mental and emotional brutality. And we were both guilty of trying to hurt the other." She admitted.

"What caused you to leave him?"

"It was the day he brought HER home." Hermione said, spitting out the word "her" as if it were acid. "Lavender Brown."

"He cheated on you?"

"Probably with more than one woman—but I only know about Lavender. They're married now. Have a child on the way." Hermione said, her voice sad, regretful. "After I caught them together in our marriage bed, I filed for divorce. I just wanted to get away. I didn't want to be around Ron or anyone related to Ron. So I left London—got a small apartment above a book store and began to work as a Muggle librarian for a while."

"You left the magical world? Is that why I found you that day in Muggle England?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded. "They say that a witch's or a wizard's powers are tied to their emotions. That's why children have a tendency to destroy glasses and send things hurtling across the room—my emotions were so mixed up—I've lost my magic." Hermione finally confessed, and for the first time that night, looked up into the gray-blue eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Draco couldn't believe it. "Have you tried getting help? What about contacting our old professors—Merlin Granger! You're the smartest witch of the age and you didn't immediately contact someone about that problem?"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "I sort of just figured things had come full circle. Besides, I didn't really want any part in the magical world at the time—as much as I love it here—I can't bear the shame of what I've been doing—of the fact that I've ended a Wizarding Marriage—of the fact that I'm unable to have children. What man could want me now?"

A small part of Draco thought he might know the answer to that but he stifled it before the thought could come to fruition. "Granger, its time you made your way back into the magical world. You belong here. And I simply won't allow you to go back to the life you've been leading." Draco said, his voice firm. He was not going to be argued with. "You can stay here. The house elves have already set up a room for you upstairs. And I could use… a potions expert… in the company that I run. If you're interested in a job." Draco cocked his head to the side, not taking his eyes off the girl before him.

Hermione was shocked. "Why are you doing this for me? You hate Harry—you don't like anyone who's not pureblooded… I don't understand."

Draco almost chuckled. "Well, you see, in the four years since Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy has done just a little bit of growing up." He responded.

Hermione nodded, unable to question him. "Thank you, Malfoy. I don't know what else to say. This is all too much."

"Think nothing of it." Draco said, "You're actually doing me a favor."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"If you haven't noticed—we are the only two in this Manor." Draco intoned.

Hermione looked around the room, as if contemplating the large estate's vastness and potential for hideaways. "I heard about your parents—I also heard…that you stood against them during the trial. Is that true?"

Draco nodded solemnly. "All part of a story I shall have to tell you another night. For it's getting late, and tomorrow, we must go shopping for a wardrobe for you. I am pretty sure my mother's robes will fit you—but I know you will want things of your own for work."

Hermione stared at him open mouthed. "But Malfoy, I don't—"

"Relax, Granger. Its not like I can't afford it. Allow me to do this for you—out side of the few places I donate to—I have no one to spend money on." Draco said, an annoyed smirk playing on his lips.

Hermione blushed a thing she hadn't done in years—and reluctantly nodded her head. "Then I insist on helping you around this place. I can cook—clean…"

"I have house elves." Draco said, looking at her as if she were crazy.

"And I believe you remember my stance on the treatment of those poor creatures." Hermione said, a glimmer of her old spark returning to her eyes.

Draco laughed to himself. "That's right. Sporks or whatever you called it."

"SPEW." Hermione reminded him. "Right. That's so much better."

"I thought you said you'd changed since Hogwarts?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"What can I say—something just stay with you for life." Draco smirked, and stood. Come—I'll show you to your rooms."

--

Three floors up, and at the other end of the Manor, Hermione was led to a set of French doors that opened into the most beautiful room she'd ever seen in her life. The room was done in pale blues and silvers with golden trim hither and thither throughout. It looked as though it were prepared for a wedding night.

"I can't stay here." She gasped, holding her hands to her chest.

"Why not? Colors not to your liking?" Draco asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Malfoy—your home is absolutely beautiful. This room is the most wonderful thing I've ever seen. I am not worthy of even stepping foot in something so beautiful." She whispered in awe.

Draco gave her a gentle shove. "I don't know where you got that rubbish—but I do hope you get it out of your system quickly. You and I both know you're the most talented person in this building—even if you say you can't do magic."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but she didn't protest anymore.

Draco followed her into the room and watched as she explored her surroundings. She gasped when she entered the bathroom and found it to be nearly as big as the bedroom was. It included an antechamber complete with vanity and walk-in closet. When she reemerged, she was pale, and had a shocked look on her face.

"Malfoy—I don't know what to say… Thank you. For everything." Hermione was struggling with tears. She was so unsure about her situation—about the fact that it was Draco Malfoy who was offering all of this to her, but she refused to look a gift-horse in the mouth.

"You're welcome." Draco said, softly. Looking down at the bushy haired girl, he felt something stir inside him. It was late, and he knew he was tired—but he couldn't help but imagine that it could be…

Draco turned and walked to the door—"I'm just down the hall if you need anything. And the house elves will get you anything they can." He nodded at her.

Hermione blushed self consciously, and nodded back at him. She watched as he began to shut the door behind him and she called his name, "Draco—I" she paused; it was the first time she'd ever used his first name. It felt… nice… in her mouth. "I just wanted to tell you thank you… again…" she stumbled over her words, feeling awkward under his silver gaze.

Draco's breath caught when he heard his name. She'd never used it before. "You're welcome. Good night…Hermione." Draco said, his face was expressionless, but his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. He nodded to her before shutting the door upon his exit.

--

Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat and looked about the room once more. It was absolutely stunning. The ceiling was vaulted, and had a mural of silver and gold and light blue clouds on it. The moldings were all done in silver with gold accents. The sheets on the bed were pale blue silk with silver and gold trim. The room was divine.

Walking back into the bathroom's antechamber, she opened the door to the walk-in closet and found it full of women's clothes. She assumed that they were his mother's at one time. She fingered a few of the dresses, amazed at their exquisiteness, before turning and heading into the bathroom and drawing herself a warm bath.

She stripped down and stood before a full-length mirror next to the tub and looked herself over for the first time in months. She appeared truly wretched, and she knew it—she knew her skin hung from her bones, her hair had lost its sheen, but what she focused on were the scars that drew maps across her torso. There were two that had nearly cost her her life during the Great War. The first, she'd received during her fifth year—when Antonin Dolohov struck her with a dark curse across her chest and side. The scar trailed from just under her left breast, across her torso and down almost to her right hip. This scar was fading—it was lighter than others that she bore—and she was glad for that.

Reaching a finger up, she traced the second of the scars that marred her torso. This one curved up one leg, and across her lower abdomen. It had been thrown by the Dark Lord himself. Sometimes, Hermione still felt the pain of that curse, as it coursed through her veins. And as long as she would bear the scars, she would bear the memories that produced them.

Finally, allowing the tears to fall, Hermione sunk into the bubbly water and allowed the fragrant soaps to carry her away from her misery.

--

When Hermione pulled herself from the tub, she found that one of the elves had laid a robe out for her, and had placed a small tray of sandwiches and pumpkin juice on the coffee table in the main bedroom by the fire. She smiled at their thoughtfulness—somehow not concerned that they were being unfairly treated in this house—and ate her fill before settling into the great comfort that was the large bed in the room.

She was asleep before her curly head hit the pillow.

--

Down in the study, Draco sat staring at the fire as it dwindled down to coals. His mind was racing with the story Hermione had shared with him. There were still so many unanswered questions. Why hadn't Potter taken her in? Why didn't anyone go looking for her? What about her parents?—the questions never stopped.

Before long, he found himself dozing in the easy chair, and made his way up to his room. He paused ad the French doors leading to the room he'd given to Hermione and listened for any sign of distress. When he heard nothing, he continued to his room for another restless night of sleep.


Author's Note

Chapter 2… I'm beginning to work things out here… there's still a long way to go though.

What'd you guys think?