Thank you for reading my story.
Chapter Four
Hermione had visited Draco exactly four more times before today, which was the day before she was going to return to Hogwarts.
The first was the time they had cleaned his apartment together. The second and third times they ventured to Diagon Alley together to get school supplies and buy ice-cream. Hermione, on these trips, had started teaching him public manners. Draco had, of course, quite good manners already… just not when it came to talking to people in shops, or on streets. He had manners when it was someone he cared about.
The fourth time, she had arrived at his apartment unannounced and knocked on his door. It had been eight o'clock at night, and she had been expecting him to be home. He was as it turned out, home as expected. But he had answered the door angrily, wearing chequered green and black pyjama pants and a tight, black, sleeveless vest top. His face unshaven and his grey eyes dull with pain and anger. This was, indecently, unexpected. She had unknowingly, somehow, become accustomed to seeing his eyes light up when he looked at her, his new best friend.
Hermione remembered how she felt when he had swung open the blue door, paint peeling alomst metaphorically around the doorframe. She remembered how she had been beaming, then how her smile dropped when she met his eyes and realised something was wrong, really wrong. When he realised it was her at his door his eyes melted and calmed, and he had let her in without a word of protest.
Right now, sitting on her and Ron's neatly made bed in the Burrow; her thoughts transported her back to Draco's apartment…
It was darker than usual, that was the first thing she had noticed, and it smelled bad again. This time of alcohol and dampness, her eyes took in the bottles and empty cans that were strewn across the room, the heap of dirty laundry piled on the middle of the floor, the closed blinds, and the ripped pages of a book that lay discarded at the foot of his beautiful glass fronted bookcase.
Then her eyes took Draco in, noticing how his eyes were dull and angry, sad and torn, but also distant, in a certain way. He was drunk, and he had been crying. His usually immaculate hair was greasy, tendrils of lightning white blond falling down almost to reach his tear stained cheeks - not swept back as it usually was, perfected with hair gel. Her eyes trailed his body, his exposed arms and collar bones, prominent even in the dark shadows of the apartment. He was so tall, and this was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him. He looked lost, and she longed to know what was paining him.
"Draco… what -?" but she didn't get to finish asking her question, and she wasn't sure what she would have asked anyway. What happened? What's wrong? What did you do? He cut her off.
"Hermione." He spoke her name softly, like it was the only word he knew how to form, like he had just been saved from drowning and she had been the one to pull him out of the crashing, life consuming waves. He spoke her name and that was all. He stepped towards her, and she stepped towards him, and she took him in her arms and held him tightly and he was just tall enough that he could rest his chin on her head and breathe in her scent. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she hugged him, because he needed it. She hugged him because he was frail and drunk and needed a friend to hold, even if she wasn't sure why just yet. He didn't pull away for a while, and they started to sway, almost like dancing, but for Hermione, she felt more like she was rocking a baby to sleep.
She was rocking Draco Malfoy, who the hell would ever have guessed it? They swayed for a while, and it felt like music was playing. Her hand somehow found his hand and his other hand found her waist and they slow danced, her head pressed against his heart and his head flopped forwards so it rested on hers. It wasn't wrong. It wasn't bad. It wasn't forbidden. But it was scarily okay, and Hermione found herself hoping Draco wouldn't pull away for just a little while longer so she could live, for a small eternity, in the perfect somewhere that he had taken her as they silently swayed, together, yes, but not the same people. Yet together, all the same.
When he finally straightened up, and his head lifted from hers and her head removed itself from his chest she looked up into his eyes.
"I was listening to your heart." She whispered, realising it probably was an extremely weird thing to say. He nodded, pink lips set in a frown,
"I can tell you now." He said, still nodding. His statement was odd, and she wondered what he meant by it.
"What do you mean you can-?"
But he dropped her hands, walking over to the bookshelf and picking up the torn book lying on the floor.
He walked back over to her; head bowed, and handed it to her.
"It- it was my favourite." His voice cracked. She took the book, and he walked over to the couch, slumped down and rested his head in his hands.
She turned the book over in her hands, read the title on the front cover – The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain.
She looked up at him, the blond, tough boy who sat with his head in his hands and she frowned, not believing it. Huckleberry Finn was Draco Malfoy's favourite book? Hardly. Not only was it extremely not his type at all, but it was a muggle book.
She walked over and sat beside him, gently she placed the book on his left knee.
"I can fix it if you like?"
He didn't answer her, he just kept talking, talking his worries to her as if the fact that she was listening was a healing potion for him.
"He came over yesterday, my father. I didn't know he was coming."
Hermione frowned, waiting for him to continue.
"He arrived at two, my mother wasn't with him. I never wanted him anywhere near my apartment Hermione; I never told him my new address. I never told him. I never told anyone … 'cept my mother. I guess he got her to talk." His voice was rough, he spat out the last sentence with hatred, vigour. "He wasn't a happy man; he said one of his fucking cronies saw you and me in Diagon Ally. He said I was furthermore disgracing the honourable name of Malfoy, a name that had been dragged through the dirt enough lately without making it a name associated with mudbloods as well. I told him to get the fuck out, that I could do what I wanted to do."
Hermione's breath hitched, so she had been the cause of his pain, but Draco continued.
"He told me I would do what was expected of me, and that I would either finish my dealings with you or else be disowned from the family. I- I told him that I, that I had, that I was…." A tear fell onto his pale cheek. "I told him I wasn't going to stop seeing you Hermione and that he could do what he wanted. I didn't even fucking care Hermione I just wanted him gone. But he wanted more; he wanted to make me feel like shit."
He drew a ragged breath, and Hermione took his hand, squeezing it tightly in her small one.
"Draco… what happened?"
"He hit me, not that I cared. I'm used to it. It didn't hurt. But it fucking hurts her Hermione, my mother, when he hits her every night. He fucking tortures her. And now I'll never be able to do anything about it because I'm officially disowned. I can't enter Malfoy manor anymore and she can't leave without his permission."
Hermione frowned, putting the puzzle pieces together of what the drunken man beside her was saying. His mother was being beaten by his father, daily. His mother was powerless, and he, Draco, was disowned. Because of her.
It made her head positively swim in thoughts; she didn't have a clue what to say.
"Draco… I'm so sorry. I can help you."
"Y-you can?" he whispered, not even asking her how, which was good because this time, she wasn't sure.
"I will." She told him, and his head flopped into his hands again. She guessed he was crying, and she let him cry privately.
"What about this?" she asked quietly, nudging him gently with Huckleberry Finn.
"I did that." He said, referring to the shredded book, sounding embarrassed, almost.
"I was just so furious. When he left, I-I took it out to read, to calm myself down. My books were the one thing he never knew about, the one thing my mother and me kept secret. I have all kinds of books, muggle ones. She didn't care whether they were muggle or not, she used to read to me, because I get headaches when I read. My father would have flipped out if he knew, so every time I was really angry at him, or scared, I would dissapeered into in my bedroom and stare at a story written by someone my father hated, for no reason, and the fact I owned something he despised so thoroughly, it always calmed me down. I loved it - the thrill of disobeying him in a way he would never, ever realise. I was holding it in my hands Hermione, and he had left and I was going to just sit down and try reading it but I couldn't – I couldn't. The words were jumbling on the page, like they always do. I can't read books properly - I can read of course, just not books… It's so stupid. I was so mad. I just started ripping, and I couldn't stop. I didn't stop." He looked up at her, his eyes wide as he tugged mindlessly on the hem of his shirt.
"I ruined it. I don't even really care."
She knew he cared.
"I never read it anyway." He mumbled.
She knew that wasn't the point.
"It's not like I was going to read it in the future." His eyes were down again.
She knew he liked having the book anyway.
She didn't have a clue what to do with him, this boy that was so utterly, helplessly broken. All this new information, that he was scared of his father, that his mother, high and mighty Narcissa Malfoy, was treated like vermin by her high and mighty husband. She had never known any of this about him; she had never thought for a second that his life was so … hard.
She didn't know what to do, so she stood up.
Before Draco knew what was happening she had made, rather quickly with the help of her wand, two cups of steaming hot chocolate. She made a rather spectacular hot chocolate, even if she did say so herself.
She pushed it into his hands with a warm smile. She sat beside him, nestling herself into his side. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, fingers trailing down her arm. She took Huckleberry Finn from his hands, cast reparo on it, and opened it to the first page. With no idea what to say to Draco, she borrowed Mark Twain's words, and started to read.
"You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter." She began, feeling him relax beside her.
They stayed like that for a while, hidden away from the world. The girl who lived for reading and the boy who read books to live. It was half an hour later when her eyes started drifting closed, and the words infront of her started to blur.
"It's okay Hermione. We can read more some other time." He whispered, his voice falling softly into her ear
"Okay… I better get going anyway." She mumbled, but she didn't sit up, she didn't want to. She wanted to fall asleep right where she was, which so happened to be on Draco Malfoy. But it didn't matter where she was, it mattered that she was so comfortable, and so sleepy.
It wasn't like it was a happy situation or anything - Draco Malfoy, the tough Slytherin, had just spilled his heart out to her about his problems, problems that were bad, unhealthy and dark. But he wasn't Draco Malfoy the tough Slytherin anymore; he had become one of her closest friends.
It wasn't as if she should want, or long even, to live in this moment longer than she was allowed to, but more and more lately she was finding that she wanted more time for her and Draco. She wanted more time for the imperfectness they shared between them every time they were together, especially in this moment of broken emotions. It wasn't perfect, he was distraught and she was heartbroken for him, but she had calmed him, had soothed him.
It wasn't perfect, every little thing she did with Draco wasn't perfect - in any way, yet everything overall was so exactly perfect it was scary. Whatever they did, whatever they talked about, everything was so wrongly right and intensely proper.
But everything perfect ends comes to an end sometime, and right now it was time for her to go home.
She sat up, and Draco groaned.
"You really leaving then?" his voice was dry, croaky from not talking in a while.
"I wasn't lying when I said I have to go, Draco." She smiled warmly at him, he seemed to be sobering up – which may or may not have had to do with the sobering potion she added to his tea.
"Hermione, I shouldn't have put all that shit on you like that, it wasn't fair to tell you all my problems, and it isn't right. You don't need to be involved."
"I told you I would help you, and I will." She told him, and his eyes widened.
"You really are … amazing Hermione."
She blushed.
"It's nothing, I want to help." She murmured.
"Thanks… for, uh, reading for me." Draco said, his face serious, pink tinged his cheeks. He was embarrassed, she realised, probably wondering how in the hell he had just admitted, to the biggest bookworm in the world, that he – Draco Malfoy – found it hard to read.
She walked towards the door, pulling on her coat.
"It was nothing Draco. I promise you I'll figure out someway to help your mother."
He blushed again, opening the door for her. But before she left, she wanted to know one more thing.
"You know when I got here first today, and we… we danced… and afterwards you told me you could tell me now? What did you mean?"
Then Draco Malfoy pulled a hat-trick, and blushed for the third time in a row.
"It was nothing... stupid really. Nonsense and unimportant." The words fluttered out under his breath.
She placed a hand on lightly on his chest, brown eyes gazing into his.
"Draco tell me, please?"
He frowned, looking down.
"Well… It's so stupid… I was debating, internally, whether or not to tell you about my all that shit I told you. I figured you wouldn't want to know, I figured you probably though I had no heart, no emotions, no feelings. For a while there I didn't know if I had a heart anymore, everything just felt numb, until you came over. I guess, when you told me you were listening to my heart, it, well… it reassured me that you were different, that you actually cared - and saw me as more than just a useless death eater." Her fingers trailed softly down the dark mark on his pale forearm, leaving his arm tingling. He was so much more, so much better than that. His eyes finally lifted from his feet, meeting hers.
"You reminded me, Hermione, that I actually do have a heart."
It had been a week ago now, and she had spent most of the last week researching the binding that wives have to their husbands in pureblood marriages, which were unlike other marriages. They had rules, rituals, binding spells, spells Hermione was researching how to break. She felt a special need to help Narcissa.
She hadn't discussed going back to Hogwarts with Ron. She admitted to herself that she should have, that it was a mistake not to.
Now, she was leaving tomorrow and she still hadn't discussed it with him.
The last couple of weeks, they had both avoided the subject like the plague. Ron had been pleasant and lovely and everything was exactly as it should be between two very in love people. Everything, that is, except the fact that on the evening she announced her plan to return to Hogwarts, Ron had told Hermione that he never wanted her to bring up Draco Malfoy while she was around him again.
She hadn't thought this was a necessary request, or a decent one. But for the sake of her boyfriend, she had agreed to it. She hadn't talked about Draco since. Her visits to him were a silently forbidden topic - and this was a fact that Hermione deeply despised. She felt like not telling Ron about it made it something dirty, something secret. It wasn't as if she and Draco were doing anything wrong, but Ron acted like the words Draco Malfoy were a filthy curse. It felt so wrong not telling Ron everything that was going on in her head, it was like a mental block between them, she had always told Ron practically everything that went on in her head, but now she couldn't.
She had spent most of the day packing for Hogwarts. She didn't need much; she would be back home next weekend anyway. Ron had agreed to go apartment hunting in London with her, which was bound to be fun. She wanted her own house, and she wanted to be back in the routine of school, the thought of routine, of studying again -and of Hogwarts library – it made her so happy.
But then she remembered that Ron and Harry weren't going to be there, and she was hit with a wave of depression and distress.
Hogwarts was what she was looking forward to, but would it be Hogwarts really? Would it be Hogwarts without her two best friends in the world, without being enemies with Draco, without hearing Dumbledore saying some odd and wonderful words of advice or humour at the start of year feast? Would it be Hogwarts without cheering Harry on at the Gryffindor Quidditch matches until her voice was hoarse and drinking Butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks on cold, snowy Hogsmead weekends?
It wouldn't be Hogwarts without the midnight chats the three of them shared, in the squishy common room chairs, falling asleep in front of the fire and Harry prodding her awake so she could creep into her dorm and fall into bed. It wouldn't be Hogwarts without laughing, their laughs turning to fog infront of their lips at some stupid thing Ron said, as they ventured through a misty Saturday morning to visit Hagrid, or without Ron wolfing down his dinner every evening in the great hall. Or without the two boys making her share her potions notes, or without letting them copy her charms essay. Tears slipped down her cheeks. It wouldn't be Hogwarts.
Ron appeared around the door, his red hair falling softly just under his eyebrows. He noticed she was crying, and he was straight over to her.
"Mione what's the matter? Don't cry, tell me."
She shrugged, her shoulders shaking.
"It isn't ever going to be the same Ron; I want it back how it was. I want Hogwarts back the way it was! I want you and I want Harry and I want my voice to get hoarse at the Quidditch matches and to for you to annoy me and copy my essays and I want to go back."
Ron wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him and rocking her.
"It's going to be different Mi. Believe me I want to go back, I miss it too. It's going to be different but that doesn't mean it can't be good, does it? We can look back at our time together in Hogwarts and realise that no one can ever change that, no one can take away our amazing memories, or the fact that I only passed potions most of the time because I copied your essays. It's never going to change, our memories, but now… now you get to make new ones. And we, us, we can make new ones together too."
She looked into his blue eyes and fell in love all over again.
"Ronald Weasley, you seem to find ways to make me fall in love with you more and more everyday."
He beamed at her, proud that he had cheered her up. She smiled back at him, her heart glowing. He was right, she would miss the old Hogwarts like hell, but she could still have a good time now.
Then he kissed her, and right nothing would have mattered anyway because he was kissing her, and she loved him. Tomorrow, she would go, for the last time, on the scarlet Hogwarts express, and for the first time - since the bizarre car flying act in second year – without her two best friends. But it would be okay, she knew it would. Everything would wok out, somehow.
A/N: Thank you to my two new reviewers, LUNA GURLZ and Mercedes, I really, really do appreciate the feedback, so thanks a lot! Also, wow… thank you so much to everyone who favourited and followed. I wasn't really expecting anyone too do that but it's so cool that you did so thanks again (: Sorry that this is a bit later updated than usual. Thank you for reading though!