I don't own any part of Harry Potter and make no money off this fic.
AN: So, third chapter...I'm in the honeymoon phase with this story, if you couldn't tell. Rather enjoying myself. Always nice to inject some bitterness, anger, and angst into the sunny-lovey-dovey-happy-romance that is Spring. At least, I think so. Also, more exposition.
They drove for another hour and had just turned onto the sixth of several smaller country roads when Draco finally felt the urge to speak again.
At first, he merely described the passing scenery to his father, who continued to sit with his back straight and eyes closed. Then, as the seconds grew to minutes, he felt his impatience peak.
"Excuse me," he tried. "Excuse me, how long?" He pressed his face to the separating glass. "How long?"
Hermione heard his question and turned her head slightly. She eyed Harry.
"About ten more minutes, wouldn't you say?"
"About that," Harry replied mildly, both amused and concerned at Hermione's civility to her new servant.
Servant. Malfoy, a servant. Malfoy's father, a husk of a man. The amusement left his features.
"Are you sure about this, Hermione?"
She slid her eyes towards him and shrugged, turned her face back towards the front. "Don't miss the turn."
Harry pulled off the final lane and into a long drive. The bus didn't bump along the gravel because of its charms, but a cloud of dust still rose up from under the wheels. Malfoy stared out the back windows as all traces of civilization receded.
Where were they being taken? Had Granger really settled out here, away from all the world?
Seconds later, he had his answer as the bus pulled to a stop and Potter opened the doors to Draco's new home and his father's final one.
An old farmhouse, remodeled, but still clearly showing its age, stood before them. About fifty meters away was a barn and Draco thought he could hear the whinny of horses coming from somewhere behind the house. Horses? Really? He barely heard Potter issue instructions to Granger and then renew the holding spells before he left to look over the house, followed by the barn.
So, Draco was a bit surprised to see Granger standing there, looking him over when he turned to take in his surroundings.
"This?" he asked, his voice shaking from nerves.
"Sorry it's not more posh," she replied, her voice dead.
It's the most beautiful place I've seen in three years, Draco wanted to say. Instead, he sneered and looked over at his father. He started telling him what he saw. Oak and Maple trees. Boxwoods. Forsythia?
He asked the question aloud and Hermione merely nodded, her intelligent eyes taking in his little descriptive monologue.
"He's not blind?"
Draco stopped and looked back at her. Her hands were shaking again. His eyes found her face, the side not scarred like shit.
"May as well be. Nothing wrong with his eyes, that I know. But he doesn't see a damn thing."
"Or chooses not to," Hermione supplied and Draco shrugged sullenly. He continued to murmur to his father and Hermione sighed, shook her hands out and walked up the front porch.
"Are you done yet?" she called to Harry, who pushed open the screen door, then held it for all three.
"Come on in. All clear."
"What, not putting us in the root cellar?" Draco asked and Hermione nearly flinched. Harry caught her reaction and stepped up to Malfoy.
"Some of us still have morals," he murmured, his voice dangerous. "Be grateful for whatever this witch gives you. She's a better person than you ever were. If you're very, very good the next few years you may even learn how to act like a human being again."
Hermione paused at the foot of the stairs and looked back at the three men; one of whom stared blankly ahead of himself and looked about to fall over and the other two who were glaring silently at one another. Of course, Draco looked a little worse for wear, but not many wizards could stand head to head with Harry Potter these days.
"Stop comparing dick sizes," Hermione barked. "And get the fuck over here."
Harry rolled his eyes at her, but Draco cast his downward and kept them that way- following her up the stairs, down the hall, stopping before a closed door. Hermione turned the knob and it swung inward. A puff of warm, stale air hit them and Hermione preceded them in order to open the windows.
"You cast the spells?" Hermione asked Harry, who nodded.
"They'll stay."
"Alright then," she said and clapped her hands together once. Probably to stop them trembling, Draco thought. "Have a look around," she continued and a caricature of a smile passed her lips.
Harry removed Draco's chains, binding him instead with a few wards and precautionary spells. Then he cast the same spells on Lucius. Draco led his father over to one of the twin beds in the room- both with antique brass frames and patchwork quilt bedspreads- and settled him there gently. The walls were painted a pale blue and there were a couple of prints of wildflowers on the walls. No curtains. Then again, no need for shades or curtains, as there were no neighbors for miles.
"And there's a bathroom right next door. I haven't had a connecting door put in yet…" Her voice trailed off and she seemed almost anxious for Draco's opinion.
"It's nice," he finally grunted and sat down next to his father. He rubbed his wrists idly and cast another furtive glance at Potter. He was almost scared to ask his next question.
"Is there…when is the next meal?" he managed to mumble quickly and Hermione's eyes widened.
"You're hungry? Of course you're hungry. I'll just…" She stopped suddenly, her hands curling into fists. She put her head down and her shoulders began to shake. Harry moved towards her, but she put one hand out in a violent gesture and then lifted her head again.
"I'll call you when it's ready," she managed to gasp. "When I fucking feel like making something." Then she was gone. Harry surveyed Draco and Lucius, tilted his head to one side, took a step forward. Hermione called his name from downstairs and Harry paused.
"If anything- anything at all- happens to her with you and your dear old dad here, I will lead the investigation myself, just so I can have the pleasure of killing you and fixing the paperwork," he threatened. Then he, too, was gone, the door closed behind him. Draco hoped he hadn't locked it.
No connecting door for the loo, after all.
Hermione was in the kitchen when Harry found her, standing over a pair of sandwiches, knife in hand and, of course, dripping with blood from where she'd cut herself. On purpose or accident, he was never sure anymore.
"Hermione," he murmured, taking the knife from her hands and turning her about so he could see the injury. Just a nick to her finger, he saw, and quickly grabbed a rag to staunch it. "Hermione."
"Oh, shut it," she replied, her shoulders still shaking with restrained laughter. "What in hell- Harry, what in hell was I thinking? Malfoy? Malfoy senior? Jesus Christ."
"Your choice. I thought you knew what you were doing," he replied, disinfecting the cut and then carefully placing a small bandage about her finger.
"I never know what I'm doing anymore, Harry," she pointed out and he held her hands in his, looked in her eyes.
"Let me get Ginny."
"She has Zabini."
"Let me get Molly."
"She has a gazillion grandchildren."
"Then let me stay, for Merlin's sake!" Harry growled and Hermione shook her head.
"I'll be fine. I just- oh, fuck, Harry." She pulled away and finished with the sandwiches, tossed the one half that had blood all over the bread and started fresh.
"Roast?" she asked Harry and he leaned against the counter, nodding.
"I wish you'd stop straightening your hair," he murmured.
She nearly froze, but her motions continued. Meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, mustard, bread. Meat, cheese…the cheese slipped from her hand back to the cutting board and she looked up at him.
"I wish I could, too," she whispered. "Harry, who was I kidding? Keeping them here won't help. Nothing will. Nothing has."
"They're here now and they will be for at least two weeks before more paperwork gets sorted out, even if you wanted to get rid of them. Of course, there's the old fashioned way," he added.
Hermione shook her head. "I can't do that."
"I know. It was just an option, but both would make more work for me. So I hope you seriously reconsider."
She smacked his arm and he grinned. It was gone again moments later though and he put a hand on her arm, staying her motion.
"Seriously, Hermione. What possessed you? This really isn't like you."
She sighed. "Ginny," she explained. "She'd been at me to go with her, just to look, and I told her the only way I'd step foot inside that death trap was if…well, you get the idea." She finished the sandwich for Harry, took a bite of it herself and handed it to him. He eyed the missing corner and then her and she rolled her eyes at him.
"Get over it. Anyway, she worked herself into a fit, insisting I go too, that it would be therapeutic. Everyone was saying so, really. The therapists, the group counseling…and it all came at me during a rough spot. I agreed. It was stupid, but I agreed." Her eyes grew glassy, gazing at something Harry couldn't, would never, see.
"And once you'd been?" he asked around a mouthful of roast beef and rye.
She shook herself. "He picked a fight with me on the wrong day," she finished.
"The same language he was so free with today, I assume?"
Hermione shrugged. "It made me angry. It still makes me angry. All I ever wanted was peace and equality and even in the face of possible death- certain death, that arrogant prick called me that fucking name. Like we were still in grade school, like all this was still a game. I wanted to wring his bloody little neck," she admitted. "I still might," she added.
Harry polished off the sandwich and crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter.
"But you won't."
"Probably not," she conceded. "But a witch can dream."
Harry smiled wryly. "Is that what you're doing out here, surrounded by horses?"
"Can you blame me? They're wonderful company."
"I wasn't implying anything. Now, will you let me stay tonight? Settle you into things?" He'd suddenly moved over and was next to her, letting his side rest against hers comfortably. The heat from his body seeped over into her skin and she shivered. Held her arms across her middle.
This was how it had always started between them. A simple question, looking for an even simpler answer. She shook her head.
"Harry, stop joking. You love Ginny."
"And she's never going to love me."
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes sad. "Harry, you can't give up on her. Please. Not yet. You…you're all we have left, outside ourselves."
He tried to harden himself against her pleading orbs, but it was impossible. It would always be impossible, when one of them peered out of that dead side of her.
"Hermione…she has family, friends."
"Did you ask her when the last time she spoke to her mother was? No? Try that next time you see her," Hermione replied, fire suddenly flashing in her eyes.
"You and I," Harry tried again, "we at least have something real when we're together. I'm not asking forever. Merlin, Hermione. You know I'll never stop loving Ginny. I'll never really give up on her."
"Then stop asking me to repeat a mistake we made years ago," Hermione snapped back. "Did you ever stop to think that you might be hurting me?"
Harry stepped away from her, understanding creasing his brow, eyes widening.
"I didn't-"
"I know you didn't. You're my best friend. She's my other best friend. I want to keep it that way. It's easiest and best. Especially when you two fucking belong together," she added. Hermione took a deep breath, closed her eyes. She felt Harry's arms go about her and he rocked her back and forth gently.
"Merlin, Hermione," he whispered. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just don't give up on her."
"Ok, Hermione, ok."
"Promise."
"Only if you promise to stop straightening your hair."
"Fuck you."
"Already have, love," Harry murmured, and at that, the laughter came to her, followed by the tears. But this time, none of it was followed by a mistake…even though she ached to be held. Properly, like she'd known, once.
She stood at the front door, watching the cloud of dust the bus left in its wake and waving until her arm was tired. Then she slowly closed the screen door, latched it, and left the inner door open to let the breeze through. Collecting the plate of sandwiches from the kitchen, she stacked a couple of glasses on top of a large bottle of water and started for the stairs.
They creaked beneath her feet as she climbed up, one by one. An easily fixed problem with a wand, if she'd cared. But she didn't, and besides, she hadn't held a wand in eight years.