Chapter 30: Fire Whiskey Confessions
The mood in Grimmauld Place is demure the day after the first attack. Hermione sleeps late like many of the other occupants who had taken sleeping draughts. However, the sweating and twisting body beside her pulls her consciousness to the surface. She blinks awake, confused by the murmuring and moaning.
Turning to the sound, the blond man beside her wears the most contorted look across his face. It reminds Hermione of the memory where he was tortured as a child.
"No," he whines suddenly, sweat dripping down his brow. The witch places her hands on his shoulders and shake him gently. His only reply is a whimper.
"Draco," she says softly, shaking a bit more. "Draco, wake up." His eyes snap open, wide and wild. He searches the room for threats with his gaze before settling back on girl. His arms encircle and pull her to his chest. Ragged breaths are pulled in and forced out of his lungs.
After a while, his breathing becomes even and his arms loosen. Hermione sits back and looks into the once more controlled gray eyes.
"Nightmare?" she asks. Draco nods once and sits up.
"I'm going to clean up," he says, grabbing clean clothes and heading for the shower. Hermione nods though he has already left the room. She's only seen two other time he had nightmares, all since they've arrived in Grimmauld Place. He's uncomfortable with talking about them, not that she cares to relive hers in the waking hours either. Yet there feels like there is more to it than that.
"There are a lot of demons for everyone and they don't always stay locked up," his words echo back to her from when they spent the night in the Room of Requirement. She'll be here if he needs, but, they are his demons and he will deal with them in his own way.
With that thought, Hermione slides off the bed and prepares for the day.
The three couples stick to different rooms and actively avoid sitting with anyone other than their partner. Hermione considers seeking out the other boys, to try to sooth Ron's guilt or appease Harry's fears, but she doesn't. She's smart enough to know that Tracey can do more for Ron than she can. That is why they work, just as Luna can for Harry and Draco does for her.
With Draco's arm firmly wrapped around Hermione's shoulders, she steadily reads through the books in the Black library. She's found a few spells that will be helpful, but not the one she's seeking-the one to mask magical beings. Though the action is simple, it helps Hermione recover more than Ron's jokes or Harry's sense could.
Dinner finds them all around one table. The quiet clink of silverware as the only sound may be common in some pureblood family, but here it was a sign that some of the residents were still recovering from last night. Mrs. Malfoy, who has mostly been a quiet participant in these meals, glances around the table and sighs.
"Tracey, dear," Mrs. Malfoy starts after taking a sip from her glass, "what are you plans after all this?" She waves her delicate hand indicating their current situation.
"I'm not really sure," Tracey says, turning her attention to the woman. "I thought about healing before, but now...I don't know." She ducks her head slightly.
"Healing? Isn't that what you plan to do Draco?" she turns towards her son. Draco shares a look with Tracey and squeezes Hermione's knee.
"Yes, that's correct Mother."
"How wonderful," she replies. "Mr. Lovegood do you plan to continue your...publication?" she adds with only a slight hesitation. The man in question cocks his head to the side.
"At some point, yes," he says. "Though not in the same vein. I plan on elevating it back to it's previous place of fact, perhaps focusing on some of the politics not involving creatures."
"Politics?" Mrs. Malfoy's eyes lit up, now this was a conversation she could uphold.
"Well the Daily Prophet is bought and paid for, can't believe a word coming out of that thing," he continues. Mrs. Malfoy shrugs slightly and raises an eyebrow. "But it is important that people have the facts. How can they possibly be prepared if they never know what's really going on?"
"I think you overestimate the masses. Most could not care less what our government does."
"I think you are underestimating the masses. The government needs to be held responsible, without information that cannot be done. Of course that is why the Daily Prophet prints gossip and propaganda, not news."
Mrs. Malfoy smiles and shrugs. Dinner concludes as the two parents finish the easy debate. The images of both shifting: Mr. Lovegood, from the loony to the intelligent and kind, and Mrs. Malfoy, from the stoic pureblood to a bright and witty woman. Who would have thought a friendship that could blossom from such times?
Draco looks down at his witch, watching the even rise and fall of her chest. Her wild curls are spread out in every direction as if seeking to conquer the whole bed. He wasn't sure how many hours it'd been since she fell asleep in his arms, but sleep still eluded him. He leaned down and kissed her temple gently before pulling himself from the bed. He's silent as a cat as he makes his way to the kitchen to make tea.
The door to the bright kitchen is wide open and Draco is standing in the doorway, before he realizes the table is occupied.
"Malfoy," Harry greets. Ron lift his glass toward wizard before taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. "Want one?" Harry tilts his head toward the bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhiskey, only two cups full missing from it. With a nod, Draco slips into a chair. Harry accio's a glass and fills it before passing it to him.
The wizards sip their drinks in silence, filling them once more and drinking half again before Harry speaks.
"Tell me Malfoy, what was it like? The other war?" he says. There is no malice in his tone only a desperate need for knowledge.
"I don't know what it was like on your side. You'll have to ask Hermione for that," Draco answers candidly.
"She won't tell me," Harry replies. "But I'll take anything."
"It was hell," he says, an easy shrug with one shoulder masking the truth in those three words. "The Dark Lord says go kill those people, go torture that one and you did it. You did it or you died...or worse. People lost hope, so when the Death Eaters came knocking, they just gave up. They begged," his eyes glaze over with the memory, "begged to die." Draco shakes his head a little and takes a gulp of the whiskey. Maybe the fire of it can burn him from the inside until all his sins are ash and he can be clean of them. "Of course that was too easy for the Dark Lord. If they wanted death, he gave them a fate worse than death. Used the pain and suffering to draw you lot out sometimes."
"Why didn't you leave mate?" Ron slurs. Draco snorts.
"You couldn't," he says. "I couldn't. One they would have killed my mum if I stepped one toe out of line. Two, I never would have made it to the border. And three, even if I did...they closed all the borders by '99, you couldn't get out of Britain."
"What do you mean?" Harry presses.
"Magically closed them all. No muggles or wizards or witches or elves or anything could cross the border. Hell, not even water could cross it."
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered.
"What did they tell the muggles in the rest of the world?" Harry asks.
"I don't know," Draco says as he slumps in his seat. "We couldn't contact anyone on the outside, even by muggle means. They were scared the Dark Lord would turn his eyes there once he conquered here. So they trapped us all here together, no way out. There was actually a famine starting up at the end."
"But all those people...the muggle…" Harry says. Draco shakes his head.
"Waiting for death or worse, yea."
"That's terrible," Harry says.
"Another?" Ron asks, followed by a round of nods and liquid splashing into glasses. After a few moments of silence, Ron speaks, "I get it was bad and all, but why won't you fight? I mean Hermione remembers and she fights. Wouldn't that just make you more determined to change what happens?" There is no bite to his words, just honest confusion and a few too many glasses of liquor.
"What do you think I did in the war?" Draco asks into his glass, tossing back the rest of the contents and pouring another.
"What you had to," Harry says quietly. Draco shrugs.
"Maybe. Maybe I should have died."
"Death doesn't seem too easy, not by what you've said," Ron adds. Another shrug.
"No, death eaters who...well they probably wouldn't have killed me for a long time. Still...which is more torture, being under the wand or being forced to hold it?" It's quiet once more as each consider the words.
"I won't hold my wand against another creature again," Draco declares. "The spells I know, the ones that would come to me in those moments...not again."
Harry and Ron nod solemnly, understanding the other wizard a bit more as they continue to drink.
"Good morning," Hermione says brightly to the breakfast table.
"Bloody hell, 'Mione," Ron says, clutching his head. Harry and Draco moan as well at her loud voice.
"How much did you drink?" she asks, eyeing the two empty bottles of firewhiskey on the counter.
"Not enough," Draco says at the same time Harry says,
"Enough," and Ron says,
"Too much." Luna, Tracey, and Hermione burst out laughing. Mrs. Malfoy smirks at the boys. Mr. Lovegood place three cups of of a vibrant green liquid on the table.
"Drink," he commands.
"Hangover potion?" Ron asks, grabbing a glass. Draco warily takes a glass as well, passing the last to Harry.
"No one would need that much hangover potion," Draco says.
"We don't have all the ingredients for hangover potion and it takes 24 hours to make," Mr. Lovegood says. "Quite brilliant actually since someone with a hangover should not be making potions. But this will take the edge off." The three boys look at each other.
"Bottoms up mates," Harry says and downs the contents. Ron and Draco follow suit. Their faces contort in disgust as they pull the empty glasses away.
"That's worse that polyjuice," Ron complains. Mr. Lovegood shrugs.
"Then know your limit," he replies easily. They stop moaning and enjoy breakfast with their headaches lessened and their stomachs settled.
Hours later, when it was just Draco and Hermione in the library, she turns towards the blond.
"I woke up when you were gone," she says.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep," he replies.
"I heard some of what you said in the kitchen last night when I went to find you," she confesses. The shock in his features soon melts into a sigh and then he smiles.
"Doesn't matter. Potter and Weasley would probably tell you everything anyways...if they remember," he says. "I didn't say anything last night that I couldn't tell you."
"I don't know that whiskey fueled confessions are the most controlled." He shrugs. "We don't really talk about the war," she says slowly.
"No we don't," he answers.
"Should we?"
"What is there to say?" he sighs. "We both remember it." She nods.
"I know, but...but if you ever want to or need to…" she trails off.
"I know, love," he says, snuggling her into his side. "And you can talk to me too." She nods before placing her head on his shoulder.
A happenstance night of drinking and honesty for the boys seem to have lifted the mood of the whole house. Perhaps it was just reminding them that things could be much, much worse. Or the three boys getting along relatively well without all the games they play. But no matter the reason, there's hope it can keep them on track.