I don't own Potter-land. Oh, well. Guess I'd better get a real job.
AN: Ok, so I've made some decent headway into this story, so expect updates to come more slowly from here on out. Or that could be me lying to myself.
Ginny listened hard to Hermione's voice as it traveled over the phone to her. The sound of a vacuum cleaner got louder and she kicked the door of her kitchen shut with one foot.
"What was that?" Hermione asked.
"Just the door- had to close it. Zabini," Ginny said distastefully, "is trying to drive me out of my skull."
"What's he doing?" Hermione asked, suddenly concerned.
"Vacuuming at all hours. Merlin, how I hate muggle contraptions. But they aren't allowed to do magic, so…" She paused to sigh. "If I didn't have an assortment of muffling and silencing spells on my flat the neighbors would have complained five times today, already."
"You could take the vacuum from him," Hermione suggested cautiously. Ginny snorted.
"It keeps him out of other trouble," Ginny said breezily. Then she frowned. "Besides, when I do that he throws a tantrum. I'm…actually, I'm a little frightened of him, Hermione."
Hermione's voice sounded high and tinny to her ears; even though Ginny spoke to her best friend nearly once a day over the phone, she'd never get used to it.
"What was that?"
"I said, you should call Harry. If he's done something, threatened you, you have to report it. The people in charge need to know if someone not fit for RATS made it outside."
"You mean before I do something I regret because I'm paranoid and psychotic," Ginny supplied.
"That isn't what I meant. Do you…do you want me to come see you?"
"You never come see me," Ginny replied. "And anyway, he hasn't really done or said anything. It's just the way he looks at me-" She broke off, voice trembling, and listened to Hermione's raspy breathing over the line. Both women were remembering. "You know the looks I mean. Has either of yours-?"
"No," Hermione replied immediately. "Lucius- stop gagging, Ginny, it's easier than constantly saying Malfoy and Malfoy senior; anyway, he's practically catatonic. Or maybe that's not the word. It's more like selective autism. Does that make any sense?"
"I think so. And Malfoy?"
"He doesn't like the situation, but he's trying to respect it. At least, I think he is. He avoids looking me and follows orders, which is enough at the moment. Like I said, I've put him to work and he hasn't complained yet. In fact I think-" and here she paused, as if unsure of what she meant, "-I think he might even like it."
"Malfoy? Like mucking stables? Yeah, and I'm a horned Hippogriff," Ginny replied.
Hermione said something snappy at that and Ginny laughed and minutes later she was hanging up, with a promise to see her friend soon. She'd been right, of course, that Hermione never visited her and would never visit her- not willingly, anyway. Having a flat in the city, apparently, reminded Hermione too much of lost dreams. So Ginny would do what she always did- apparate to the start of Hermione's long drive, outside the wards, and then walk the fifteen minutes up to the house.
The sound of the vacuum outside the kitchen door grew louder and a second later she heard it clunk against the base of the door several times. It was a menacing noise. Ginny knew she was being silly, childish- that she simply had leftover paranoia from her ordeal- but she couldn't help herself. She shivered anyway and nearly picked up the phone again to call Harry, like Hermione had suggested. Nearly.
But she was paranoid, not desperate or defenseless, and instead she put the phone back down and opened the kitchen door, ready to wage war with her prisoner.
Harry's phone rang twice before he reached it, but by the time he'd picked it up the line had gone dead already. He stared at it suspiciously. That was the third hang-up that night. Were some kids in the area prank calling? No. He bet it was Ginny, over at Hermione's and drunk as a skunk. She'd done that a lot when he'd first gotten the line for Hermione's sake. Drunk dialed him in the middle of the night and hung up before he could even get three words across to her.
It hurt his heart terribly to know she couldn't even talk to him about it. She could talk to Hermione and her therapist and even Fleur sometimes, but not him. Hermione could talk to him, for fuck's sake. Of course, she didn't have anyone else to talk to besides him and Ginny, so that was different, he supposed. Except he was long past the stage of having patience with Ginny and was just tired, at this point- hence his proposition to Hermione.
Except then it turned out he'd been hurting her with the casual encounters, too. Some days he felt as if he could do nothing right.
He rested his hand on the phone and willed it to be silent for the rest of the night. Then, just to be sure, he unplugged it. If Ginny really wanted to reach him, she could. She still had a wand and a floo and used the Owl Post, after all. And if Hermione needed him, she had his pager number- a pager she'd given him five years ago for Christmas.
Problem solved. Maybe now he could relax with a beer and watch the Quidditch game.
Quidditch...lord, he missed Ron just then. Missed him with an ache that never went away.
He shook his head, put the beer back in the refrigerator, and left the room.
Draco watched Hermione curiously from the entrance to the living room, where she was getting ready to pick up the strange contraption once more and push its buttons.
"A…telephone, right?" he asked and she jumped, slammed the thing back to its cradle and turned to face him.
The apology came automatically and she glared at him.
"What did I say?"
"I- hell, Granger! You say it too."
"That's-" She stopped, glared again. "You're right. I do. But then again, I don't have anything to be sorry for, do I?"
"You act like you do," he retorted and immediately regretted his words. Her face dropped all expression and she turned away.
"Just because I hate what my society has become, what they're doing? What good people are doing in the name of justice?" She paused, crossed her arms. "I suppose I am sorry for that. But I can't fix any of it with a word. So, you're right. I'll stop saying it, too. Fair?"
"None of this is fair," he replied and she raised a brow at him. He looked away, uncomfortable. What was it about her face that bothered him so? He'd seen scars before. But hers…they were so out of place, so fucking unnecessary.
"It's late. I just wanted to tell you we'd be going to bed."
"Thank you," she shrugged. "But you don't have to."
"So what, we're free to do as we please as long as we follow directions like good little boys?" he sneered, unable to help himself and she marched over to him.
"Look at me, Draco," she ordered. He kept his eyes downcast. She put a finger to his chest, prodded him.
"Look. At. Me."
He looked and found, to his horror, that he suddenly couldn't look away. His eyes were glued to her face, roaming over the horrible features.
"What happened?" he asked aloud, without realizing. She looked like she wanted to slap him, but instead stepped away and crossed her arms again. Her hands were shaking again.
"You're never free to do as you please, really. Not in this life or the next. Not even when you think you are. No one is." She stared him down and he finally tore his eyes away. "That's all. I'm merely telling you that if you make decisions that lie within the bounds of permitted behavior, you don't have to inform me of your every move. Understand?"
He nodded and turned to go. Her voice trailed after him.
"As for my face, if that's what you meant, I could ask the same of you about your back."
He froze and turned his head slightly.
"But I imagine you want to talk to me about that about as much as I care to discuss my face with you. So go to bed. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."
He left. Hermione felt the tension of the encounter drain from her shoulders and she sat back down with a whump. She eyed the telephone again. Well, that was probably some sort of sign, she thought. She'd been debating calling Harry for Ginny, since she was concerned about their earlier conversation; but every time she'd hung up, convinced she needed to let her friend solve her own problems. Not to mention Harry probably wouldn't appreciate being sent off to Ginny's rescue without Ginny knowing about it. In fact, neither party would have liked it. So the interruption was for the best.
But despite her resolve, Hermione sat and stared at the phone well into the night.
Draco woke to the same cries as the night before. He stayed where he was a full two seconds longer than he had the previous night, just to orient himself.
Now that he knew what was happening, he was reluctant to do anything at all. Nightmares weren't something he could help her with, or fix; and as long as his father wasn't disturbed by those heart rending cries, he didn't see that they had anything to do with him.
But he was also reluctant to not do anything and his traitorous feet dragged him from the room and down the stairs to their spot from before.
He didn't knock, didn't call out. Just stood there until he heard her getting up and retching again. Then he slowly carried himself back up the stairs and back to bed.
Hermione awoke later than normal- it was already seven, heavenly days- and realized she'd spent the night next to the toilet.
Fuck. Trading one day of small victories for one really shitty day. Happened every time.
Also, her head was pounding. No, wait. That was the door of her bedroom. She rolled over onto her hands and knees and clambered to her feet, smoothed down her pajama bottoms and top, then reached for her robe…which was halfway across the room on a chair. What had happened last night? She put a hand to her head, tried to remember.
Immediately wished she hadn't remembered.
So, she'd had that nightmare again. Great. It was going to be a bloody fantastic day, wasn't it? And she had her afternoon therapy class today, too. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She stumbled from the bathroom, wiping her sleeve along her face as she went, and crashed against the door, pounding on it from her side with the flat of her hand.
"I'm awake, I'm up, I'm alive," she shouted through the solid wood. "Now leave me the fuck alone. I'll be out in twenty minutes."
The pounding stopped and she dragged herself back to the bathroom, thinking of one thing. A hot shower. A very, very hot shower.
Ten minutes later she was wiping steam from the mirror and checking her reflection. Her hair needed another straightening- it was frizzing something awful. She wondered for two seconds if she should call her stylist and try to get in this week, but then shook her head at herself a moment later.
Harry had promised not to give up on Ginny…hadn't he? Or was she imagining what she wanted to have happen?
She rolled her eyes at herself, tossed her towel over the side of the tub, and tugged on some clothes. Then she reevaluated herself. I look like an ad for that American company, she thought. What is it? LB Jay? LC Dee? Or was it Lake's End…Lake Landing…she frowned and pulled a comb through her hair. It caught a knot and she yanked it through, then stopped.
"Oh, hell," she gasped and stared at the comb in her hand. "Lucius."
When she entered the kitchen she found Draco leaning against the island and his father seated at the table. She looked between the two of them, held out the comb.
"What's that?" Draco asked warily.
"I think you know what a comb is," she replied coolly. "It occurred to me that you must need some things. Necessities, clothing, whatever." She shrugged. "My class isn't until this afternoon. We should go out today. I know I did your laundry yesterday, so your clothes are clean, at least- and it was lucky I had some old things from previous workers and Harry- and you received a few things upon being discharged. But you really must have some things of your own."
"Granger, we haven't owned anything in three years," Draco murmured. He wasn't looking at her. Was he uncomfortable with her display of kindness? Well, that was alright. She was feeling uncomfortable, too.
She ignored him and got to slicing bread and beating eggs for breakfast.
"That was you pounding on my door," she said and Draco raised his eyes to her.
"You weren't up. You said bright and early, last night."
"The definition of the phrase changes regularly in this house," she told him and he raised his brows, but didn't say anything. "So there's no need to worry if you don't see me right away," she supplied.
His nostrils flared. "I wasn't worried."
"Of course," she said. After all, she didn't want some sort of embarrassing, imagined tension between the two of them. Besides, the last thing she wanted Draco Malfoy doing was being worried for her. Like she needed or wanted his concern. So he could act like a human being, so what? She could take care of herself. She had friends- albeit not many, but it was still more than he had- who worried about her. Malfoy didn't need to and nor should he.
It would take more than a knock on her bedroom door to even begin to make up for all the shit he and his family and friends had put her through. All the names, the bullying, then that kidnapping followed by the torture…no mere sign of concern could cancel out years of abuse. And that was that.
The eggs sizzled as soon as they hit the frying pan.