Author's Note: I own no person, no place, no thing – except the plot!. If you recognize it, it probably belongs to Ms. Rowling or some other awesome super-human.
Chapter 05 The Preacher and The Teacher
"So, you and Potter, eh? I'm sorry I didn't know that, I imagine the last few months have been bloody awful. Is that why you left? You know, for some reason I thought you'd ended up with the Weasel." Draco picked up on the first conversation thread that floated past his brain as they walked down the street towards his flat.
"Oh, um…. No, Harry and I weren't together like that, Draco. He was my best friend. Like I said before, the hand-holding compulsion isn't romantically driven. Harry, he was like a brother to me, like family. Especially during the war, when there was so little peace or comfort around us, and no one else we could really count on, Harry and I had each other." Hermione didn't yet feel altogether comfortable talking about Harry in the past tense, but what was done was done, and she couldn't change the fact that Harry Potter was no longer in the world.
"Hmm. You know, Gr… uh, Hermione, Potter wasn't my favorite person in the world, but he was an all right bloke that got a really crap deal. Honestly, I feel bad for the guy." Draco squeezed her hand. "You kind of got a crap deal too, then. You worked really hard, and you tried so hard for years, usually surrounded by people that hated you – my younger, bigoted self included – and it turns out all you were working so hard for was just a lead-up to getting your best mate sacrificed like a damned farm-animal."
Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, her face betraying nothing while her inner-self shuddered with sadness.
"Please don't think I'm just randomly saying this to get you to help me clean my flat or something, Granger. You'd be amazed how much I've thought about our lives in the last three months. The whole world is upside down, and it seems like nothing is what it appeared to be ten years ago. Sometimes I wonder where the Magical community came up with the idea that they were more advanced than Muggles. Everything is easy with magic, and its bloody exhausting trying to do the simplest tasks without a wand. Magic has made wizards fat and lazy. Living a Muggle life , a regular life, is hard work." Draco scratched absently at the pink scars that led from his temple into his hairline. Even after a month, the stupid buggering scar was still itchy and sensitive. Case in point, healing wounds in the Muggle world took bloody ages.
Hermione was so busy gaping at the man next to her that she forgot to look where she was walking and rammed her shoulder into a street-light post.
"Ow!" Hermione dropped Draco's hand to rub her sore shoulder. "I hate it when that happens!"
Draco was surprised at her declaration. "Does that happen a lot?"
Hermione flushed. "It's a Muggle expression, generally used when someone does something awkward or embarrassing or just plain stupid. But for me, in this particular case, yes, it does happen more than it should. I tend to read while I'm walking, so I run into stuff a lot. It was all right at school, where the walls and armor just jumped out of my way before impact, but out here in the real world…"
"Oh, you mean how out here in the real world shit just jumps out to beat the hell out of you every time you turn around? I've noticed that too." Draco indicated his chin and palm.
"I ran into a concrete wall. All by myself."
Hermione couldn't help but giggle at his confession. "Okay I feel better now."
She met his eyes and went on. "Really Draco, about what you were saying a minute ago, thank you. Coming from you, it really does make me feel better to hear you say that. For a long time it has seemed like all the effort was for nothing, I mean, look where it got me! No friends, no family, and a whole lot of scars."
"My dear Ms. Granger," Draco said in mock seriousness as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. "As the Muggles would say, 'you are preaching to the choir.'"
Draco led her across an intersection and turned left down a wide, tree-lined street. There was a variety of restaurants on one side, and a large apartment building dominating the other. There was a grocer on the bottom level, and on the third floor, flat 3D, Draco fit his house key into the lock and opened his Muggle home to his first guest in three months.
"Welcome to my personal Hell, Ms. Granger."
Hermione stepped into a white-washed, undecorated flat with a large living room, a whole lot of dull beige carpet, and wide windows that overlooked Little Whinging's central Park – the same one she had been running at recently. She realized that Draco's home was on the backside of the building, and definitely had a better view than a front-facing flat. But besides the windows, there was nothing but a dining set, a couple of couches that faced each other awkwardly in the living area, and a hallway that led to closed doors. It was rather stuffy and stale inside, and there was a strange sour food smell coming from the kitchen.
"Well." Hermione said after standing for a few moments in the foyer.
"Well at least you pick up after yourself. Most boys don't know how clean or cook, so you shouldn't feel bad about that. You're quite on par, really, outside the appliances. But really, Draco, at least you're not dirty. I was expecting utter chaos." She grinned at him and pushed up the sleeves on her jumper.
"Where do you want to start? Show me around, and ask away."
Draco blew out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Seriously? Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Now first, let's either check the thermostat first or open some windows. It's rather stuffy in here."
Hermione spotted the small box on the wall leading down the hallway and headed towards it.
"All right? Now this is a programmable digital unit that allows you to pre-set your air conditioning or heat to adjust at specific times throughout the day and night. It's based on a 24-hour clock, so your inputs will need to be entered using military time."
Hermione glanced over at Draco, whose face had gone completely blank.
"What?" she asked.
"Granger, I only understood about half of the words you just said. Can you, I don't know, dumb it down a little? Or wizard it down? Or something?"
"Oh, right." Hermione blushed for the fortieth time that afternoon. "Sorry," she said. Thinking quickly, she decided that this whole situation would sit best with Draco if she went about it with generalities and humor instead of trying to teach him the intricacies of every mechanical and chemical function of his household.
"Hmm, OK. This is your thermostat." She smiled widely and gestured grandly to it. "Think of it as your Thermometer Station, or Temperature Control Station. If it's too cold in your home for your taste, or too warm, you can open this small panel. See? And there's an 'Up' arrow to make it warmer, and a 'Down' arrow to make it cooler. If you push either button one time, it will increase or decrease the temperature in the room by one degree. See?" Hermione pressed the 'Down' button one time. The digital display blinked on, showing that it was currently twenty-five degrees Celsius. She pushed the button two more times and watched the display blink again, down to twenty-three degrees.
"Now do you want to learn how to program it or are you fine with the up-means-warmer and down-means-cooler explanation?"
"The up and down thing is fine. Why the Hell couldn't Mafalda or the building manager just show me that? That's so ridiculously easy, and it's been absolutely miserable in here!" Draco was frowning.
"I don't know, Draco. But I can tell you, everything in here is basically the same way, deceptively simple to do in complicated and strange packaging. People, regular Muggles anyway, are so used to household machinery that a lot of what they do is instinctive. They don't need to learn it because they've seen it all their lives, so they can't explain it. Can you imagine trying to explain to a Muggle how you fly on a broom?"
"Merlin's Beard, Granger, don't get me started on BROOMS!" Draco strode across the living room into the kitchen, and came back out with a very non-magical red metal broom.
"This piece of shite is NOT a BROOM! It is a metal tube with plastic bristles glued to the end of it. It pushes dirt and hair and rubbish around on the floor and definitely does not fly!"
Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying not to laugh at his righteous outrage and trying really, really hard NOT to imagine him attempting to mount his kitchen broom.
"Well, Draco, if you want my honest opinion. You're exactly right, in a way. Being Muggle-born, I've always found it slightly ridiculous that magical people fly around in the sky on flying cleaning tools." She rolled her eyes as she got warmed up to her subject. "I mean really, why not the flying mop? Or feather duster? Or toilet plunger? It's always seemed damned silly to me!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Granger! Brooms were made to fly. They've been around for eons. People all around the world use them, and not for sweeping up rubbish! I think the first time a broom got used to sweep was when some knuckle-dragging Muggle half-wit found a broken one and dragged it back to his cave. He probably just liked the patterns it made in the dirt, and the rest is history. And now, we have this bastardized rendition of what was once an ingenious magical transport device. Humiliated, degraded, and cheapened. It's an undignified end to a once noble and respected creation." Draco finished grandly and spread his arms, displaying the red broom.
By the time Draco's spiel ended, Hermione was giggling. "Okay, Lord Malfoy, you got me. Muggle brooms, bad. Wizard brooms, good. Now, what's next on your list?"
/…../
For the next two hours, Hermione directed Draco on how to correctly use his washing machine and dryer, his electric iron, his vacuum cleaner, his toaster, his microwave, his electric tea kettle and his coffee maker. Then she sat down on the kitchen floor and broke down the specifics of what cleaning solvents were supposed to be used where, and why they weren't interchangeable, and which ones should never be mixed.
They ended up on the couches, drinking tea that Draco had finally been able to successfully make halfway decently.
Draco leaned his head back and groaned. His head hurt. Yes, everything individually was very basic and easy, but taken all together it was an awful lot to remember. For example, the microwave oven, the toaster oven and the convection oven were all very different creatures that ran on completely different rules and cooking times, but all did essentially the same damned thing. The dish washer and the washing machine were different creatures with ridiculously similar names that were not interchangeable, and if he were ever to mix bleach and ammonia and inhale the fumes, he would die.
Fucking Hell.
"Look, Draco, how about if I make notes of everything I told you, and you can just post them everywhere until you get used to all of it? Then once you're comfortable you can take them down and live the next five years without any more painful accidents." Hermione's tea mug was almost empty, so she sat it down on the floor next to the sofa and reached for her bag.
"I think I even have some post-it's around in here somewhere, I could start right now at least for the really important stuff like the washing machine and dryer..." She pulled out The Song of the Dodo, and set it next to her, and then her large notebook, then her mini-journal, then her folder of sheet music, her hairbrush, her packet of hi-lighters…
"Score! Two different colors of post-its, and even a packet of flags!" she crowed with delight.
Draco felt his headache die back as his amusement level increased with every movement Hermione made. Despite her changed looks, she still pulsed with her own signature manic intensity. Sure, she didn't have her quivering golden afro of madness anymore, her hair was more like waving milk chocolate, or cinnamon, maybe...
Hmmm…
But she was still definitely still the same girl he knew in school. Her love of learning and her devotion to sharing knowledge was both endearing and aggravating in hindsight. In school Hermione had frustrated him to no end because no matter how hard he studied (in secret of course, he did have a reputation to uphold) he could never match her. Of course then, he never would have made it anywhere close to being second in his class if he hadn't struggled so hard to keep up with her. When they were younger, he'd just wanted to prove that purebloods were smarter and naturally superior in all ways of magical learning, but that little 'mudblood' – Draco inwardly cringed at the word – girl caught on to every subject with an alacrity and finesse that humbled and challenged him at every turn.
As Draco continued to link his thoughts forward, the reality that jabbed him between his eyes was simply this: all of his magical knowledge, all of his magical strength, and even his own gradual love of learning and his passion for books, had all been magnified untold times because of this girl, seated on his couch across from him. Her legs were crossed underneath her, and she was using her book as a hard surface to write on her small packet of square yellow paper.
"Thank you," Draco said solemnly.
"Oh it's nothing, and this really will save you a lot of time and frustration. I mean, five years is a long time to have to depend on someone else to wash your clothes and cook your food. I think you'll really enjoy the independence once you get the hang of –"
"Hermione," Draco leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "That's not really what I'm talking about. I mean, thanks, yes it will be wonderful to be able to take care of myself no matter where I go; I appreciate that. But seriously, you know I owe you for more than that too."
"What? For saving your arse during the war? Honestly Draco, I think you're at least one up on me there. There was the time I almost fell off the moving staircase, and the time we ran into Nott and Dolohov, and then of course I distinctly remember you memorably shoving me into that dirigible plum bush –"
Draco coughed. "Uh, actually, that was just for fun."
"WHAT?! Those things leaked all over me! It took bloody DAYS to get that mess out of my hair!"
Draco spread his hands, palms up, in supplication. "Please, if you'll allow me to get back on the subject…."
"Draco you just admitted to a dirty trick to the woman who is teaching you how to wash your clothes. You'll be lucky if I don't write out the directions so you'll accidently dye your underpants pink!"
"Why would you dye my underpants… wait, underpants? I'm not five, Granger. Bloody Hell we are so off subject now!"
"Because it would be emasculating and I would love to see the look on your face when you pull them out of the wash."
Draco dipped his fingers into his cold tea and flicked them at Hermione's face.
She blinked and sputtered, laughing. "Cut it out, you shit!"
He did it again, but now they were both laughing.
"Okay, enough Lord Malfoy. Hey, I'm starving. You want to go get a beer?" Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand and popped up onto her feet, bent over and grabbed her and Draco's mugs, and walked into the kitchen.
Draco was rather hungry himself and had started thinking about what was lurking in his freezer, but was startled and pleased that she'd invited him out with her.
"Uh, sure. That would be fantastic. Do you have somewhere in mind?" Draco had been wary of eating in the Muggle restaurants across the way from his flat, simply because he didn't like eating alone in public. These days he always felt like he had a target on his head, or a large blinking sign that said "FREAK". If there was one thing that the mugging last month had made him aware of, it was that he stood out in some odd way to the Muggles and that was a bad thing.
"There's actually a place not too far from here, if you don't mind taking a cab. It's closer to my place. Speaking of which, did you know I live about two and a half kilometers from here?"
Hermione stood at the sink and flipped on the water with one hand, rinsed the two mugs, opened the dish washer, plopped the mugs on the top rack and popped the door shut with a little flick of her foot.
"That's incredibly convenient you know", she continued as she wiped her hands dry on a paper towel.
"What's incredibly convenient? The dishwasher? Yes I suppose it will be now that I know how to fucking work it."
Draco watched her moving through his kitchen, a place of so much physical trauma and confusion for him, so confidently and smoothly, and was jealous. She made this seem so simple. Then he smirked. Just like in school. If that Little Girl could do it – there was no way he'd ever use the M word again – then he could do it too. He admitted she had the advantage being Muggle-born, but he figured this just meant she wouldn't feel like she had need to improve, whereas he was starting from nothing and had no concept of 'good enough' when it came to Muggle survival.
He'd be the best damn Muggle in England, damn it.
"Well yes, Lord Malfoy, dishwashers are incredibly convenient, that's why they were invented. But what I meant was that it's incredibly convenient that you live two and a half kilometers from my flat. Because a round trip makes a 5K! I can run here! It's a great route, now that I think of it. Lots of trees, the park is right behind you, I bet I can find a coffee shop in between…"
"What, you mean like for exercise? I hope you're not planning on doing that now, because I won't be joining you. I'm hungry." Draco stood up and went to the closet to grab a jacket, then, looking at Hermione, grabbed an additional one for her.
"Here," he said, tossing her the extra jacket. "It's started to rain."
"Precisely why we're taking a cab now, Malfoy. And no, I'm not planning on running tonight in the rain. Can you imagine how gigantic my hair would be by the end?"
"Large enough that you'd be unfit for public display, that's for sure." Draco smirked at her and then reached over to pull her hood up. "Better protect the masses. It really is different now, though. Not as… um… riotous?" He tried for diplomacy since he was close enough to slap. He didn't want a repeat of The Third Year Smackdown, as he called it in his own memory.
"Oh thank you so much for your chivalry Lord Malfoy. I guess all my magic was stored in my hair, or something. It's much less likely to attack people now." Hermione flipped a lock out and playfully tickled his face, which made him jump back. He didn't realize he was still standing so close to her. He turned towards the door and beckoned to her to follow.
"You know, your hair is different now too." She said as she followed him down the stairs to the street.
"No shite, there's barely any there. I can't stand it being this short, but I really didn't have a choice when that bloody nurse shaved half my head for the stitches. I took one look in a mirror and begged her to just finish off the rest of it. That cow was going to make me walk out of the hospital with half my hair shaved off!"
"Wait, what? Why did you need stitches? Oh! There's a taxi!" Hermione's hand flipped up in the air to wave down the cab, and Draco held the door open for her to climb in ahead of him.
To Be Continued