CHAPTER FIVE: Selflessness is for Idiots

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I know I left it at a weird part. I'm sorry. Also, just so you're not confused, I've given Mr. and Mrs. Granger the first names Marcus and Anna. They don't actually have first names in the books so it could have gotten a little confusing there for a moment. I wanted them to feel about Draco a certain way before meeting him than after. You'll see a little role reversal there. Alright! 'Nuff said! Let the hilarity ensue.

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Hermione sat beside Draco in the kitchen, facing the stairs. Her father paced before them, still in his royal purple bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers. "Anna!" he called again. "Get down here!"

Mrs. Granger grumbled her way down the stairs, her hair up in curls and a toothbrush held securely in her right fist. "Where is he?" she growled, rushing down into the kitchen. As soon as she saw Draco – his confident smirk, tidy blond hair, and creamy pale skin – she froze.

Mr. Granger looked from Hermione to Draco to his wife but they all seemed to be caught in their own trains of thought. Hermione thought of ways to kill Draco in his sleep, Draco wondered what else he could do to piss off the parental, and Mrs. Granger thought… well, how much she shouldn't be thinking of the handsome, obviously rich young man sitting shirtless in her kitchen.

"This is the boy you told us about yesterday, I presume?" asked Hermione's father, trying to break the silence so they could return to the topic of Hermione's chastity belt fitting and how many decades she was going to be grounded.

Draco stood up and extended a hand at him and was left in mid-air. The father's rejection didn't slow him down for a second. "Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you," he said with his most smug smirk, winking at Mrs. Granger. When he turned towards her, he kissed the back of her hand, without permission, instead of shaking it. She let out a tiny, inaudible whimper. "I'm Hermione's mate."

"MATE?" shouted Mr. Granger. "You have some nerve, son!"

"I don't understand," said Hermione's mother, turning to her daughter for answers in an attempt to ignore the shirtless Draco. "How did he get in without us hearing?"

"I flew in," he answered for Hermione. Despite his carefree, jolly exterior, he wasn't going to allow her to be grilled by her parents when he was standing right there. It wasn't fair. He was trying to get her to understand why they needed to be apart for a while, not kick her like a three-legged puppy in a dark alley. "My broomstick's up in Hermione's room if you'd like proof. You'll have to excuse my bad timing but Hermione didn't know I was coming. Honest."

Mrs. Granger nodded. "Understandably," she said. Hermione and Mr. Granger both narrowed their eyes at her, filled with suspicion and irritation.

"It still doesn't excuse that he was in her bed half-naked!" snarled Mr. Granger. "Have you no respect, boy? Then you just walk up to the door and answer it like that?"

Hermione and Mrs. Granger let out a small snicker, which only made Mr. Granger stomp his foot on the hardwood floor. Hermione and Draco both winced at the sound, their sensitive ears most active at times of stress. She reached over and pulled him by the wrist to sit back down. He plopped into the chair and refused to look at her.

She didn't understand. Why had he sabotaged her? Did he think her parents wouldn't mind their daughter's boyfriend fucking her in the next room? Hadn't he neglected to tell Narcissa they had adjoining rooms up until last week for the very same reason? Unless… the possibility clicked in her mind, a remnant of her insecurities. Surely he wasn't trying to break up with her, was he? That was completely illogical since he'd just come all this way to see her, to beg her forgiveness for something he didn't even know he'd done. But then again, when was Draco Malfoy ever logical. It had taken Hermione months to decipher his perverse brain and the sort of logic that drove him. The ideals of a madman, the twisting philosophies…

She closed her eyes and tried to find a moment last night when he didn't appear completely truthful. She was two inches from his face. If his brow had creased insincerely at any moment, she would have noticed. She would have noticed if his arms tensed, if he no longer wanted to be in her arms.

That's when she realized that maybe that was all he wanted. Her arms… and everything attached. She didn't realize the others had continued talking – her father would not cease until he grilled Draco about every detail of his furry alter ego – until the kitchen phone started ringing in the distance. Draco jumped up off the chair, onto his feat with wide eyes.

"What the hell's that?" he asked, looking around for the source of the deafening bells.

Mrs. Granger sighed and, believing every word out of Draco's two perfect rows of teeth, went to make them all some tea. Hermione chuckled, her eyes still avoiding his as she thought he wanted. She was closest to the phone so she stood up slowly and picked up the receiver off the wall.

"Granger residence. Hermione speaking," she said automatically.

She knew Draco's wide eyes were on her, taking in her calm demeanor. As wracked with thought as her mind was, she didn't let it show on her face. He knew exactly how she was feeling – doubtful, remorseful, eerily patient – and it scared him how at home she looked in that tiny kitchen, enough so to erase all those feelings from her face. He felt like maybe he didn't know her at all. He knew Hogwarts Hermione rather intimately, every nook and cranny, but not Muggle Hermione. He wondered if he had just denied himself that side of her because of his past prejudices and felt a little sick all of a sudden, quite visible to Mr. Granger who continued to glare daggers into Draco's back. Muggle Hermione was so… beautiful.

"Ginny, calm down! CALM DOWN!" she shouted into the phone all of a sudden. Draco was far enough away that the exact words Ginny seemed to ramble on the other line just sounded like one long slur. "Good! Now, in complete sentences, I want you to tell me everything again. And for the thousandth time, you don't have to yell. You can speak normally."

Draco took three slow steps towards her, focused on her body language for answers, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ginny took a deep breath and said, "'Mione, Pansy is here and she's furious at you. Dad said this would quicker than an owl. You need to get down here immediately."

"What?" laughed Hermione. "That's ridiculous. Why would she go there?"

Draco took another step closer, his curiosity peaking. He sat up on the counter and leaned into the receiver. Hermione positioned herself against his legs so the phone was between them.

"Well, Malfoy was with his mum at Phoenix headquarters and you were lost in Muggle land. Where else was there? It's not like we're not in the phonebook, you know."

Hermione shook her head. She could hear screaming in the background, an obvious brawl and tenuous laughter throughout the house. "I still don't understand. Why is she angry?"

Ginny sighed and whispered, hoping the melee behind her didn't hear the worry in her voice. "Hermione, she says you lied to her. She got this letter, see… a letter from her brother."

Hermione dropped the receiver. Draco caught it immediately and pressed it to his ear as Hermione had done. "Ginny?" he said calmly. "It's Malfoy. Can you please pass this thing to Pansy?"

A few shuffles and calling of names later, Pansy's distraught voice came on the line. They didn't have to have enhanced werewolf hearing to know she'd been crying hysterically, but Ron's gentle urgings in the background seemed to capture Draco's attention more. Hermione seemed oblivious of it still. Of course Pansy would go to the Weasleys', just like he'd come to the Grangers'. It was only natural to go seeking warmth after one's heart had felt the lonely cold.

"Draco! Hello? Hello?" Pansy said all at once. "Ginny, how does this ruddy thing work? I feel ridiculous!"

Draco chuckled softly. "I'm here, Parkinson. What's the deal?

"She lied to me! I want to know why! Where is he? I need to know!" she screeched, her voice hoarse.

"You don't even know if the letter is real yet, Pansy. Look, we'll head over as soon as we can. Just hang out there and try not to bring down the place. I've got some nice memories in Percy's room," he said, shooting Hermione a smirk. She missed it as she looked down at her hand and the way it'd rested on his knee, always amazed by the sort of subconscious comfort she had developed with this boy in a matter of months compared to the amicable, yet physically awkward comfort she'd developed with the boys over the past six years.

Her father was giving him the death glare again, not at all amused by their proximity. Mrs. Granger was humming to herself as she set the kettle to the stove. "Is something the matter, dear?" she asked sweetly. Hermione got the hint that her mother only objected to Draco and their shared affliction on principle. Having met him and realized he wasn't a 10-feet-tall monster trying to steal her daughter's virtue, she let it go. Hermione only wished her father would because he wouldn't have the time he'd need to get to know Draco better, to accept him.

"I'm sorry, Mum and Dad, but we have to go."

"Go?" her father echoed lamely. She'd had to go several times before, on a whim. They were used to it and knew there was no way to stop her. "Is it Harry and the others?"

She nodded. "I really am sorry you all can't talk more but it looks like this is serious."

Draco looked from Hermione to her parents and back again, studying their expressions. The same worrisome lines were there, the same sad smile when they had to give up something they loved. Sacrifice. It was universal, but so present in these three. He thought of his own father, of all the words that tore at him and the disappointment in his actions. For a moment, just a moment, Draco wished he could be with these people longer, and it made him a little sicker. He tried to find the difference, some sort of symbol on their faces that marked them as monsters but he only found himself staring at his Dark Mark. They, these Muggles, were never the monster. He was. And he didn't belong with them. What's worse, he made it so Hermione could never belong with them either. The guilt gathered in his throat and he gulped, ignoring the others' goodbyes completely until Hermione finally turned to him.

"You need to owl your mother," she said sweetly, resting her hand on his knee again. He hunched his shoulders, realizing how worried out of her skull she must be. "She's the one that needs to answer a few things. I never saw Pansy's brother on her word."

He nodded and jumped off the kitchen counter. Hermione took his hand and led him upstairs. He gave her parents a lame wave and a weary smirk, honestly sad to say goodbye. He wanted to bask in their... innocence? Was that the word?

Before opening the door to her bedroom, Hermione paused and turned to him, their eyes meeting for the first time since last night. "Are we okay?" she whispered, glancing quickly to the stairs to make sure he knew they were to be quiet for her parents' sake. He gulped silently but didn't answer. "I mean it. Are we okay?"

He smiled slightly, falsely, and took a step closer. He hovered over her for a second, considering what his body had already decided for him, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "I love you," he said, caressing her cheek with his free hand. His lips lingered over her forehead so she didn't have to see his eyes as they wandered wildly about the hallway.

"That wasn't my question," she growled back, pushing away. She knew him better than that. She knew something was wrong.

"What do you want me to say?" It was one of those cookie-cutter answers, something meaningless he felt he had to say if only to stall. He knew there was nothing he could hide from her.

It was still too hard to imagine a world without him and that gave her some comfort. Her voice lowered again and her momentary anger dissipated quickly at his tone. She knew whatever was wrong with him, it was born from doubt.

"Don't be selfless," she said, causing him to straighten. "Don't start now, because I don't think I could handle it."

He parted his lips, about to reply, when she turned towards the bedroom door and turned the knob, finally. He slipped on his shirt and trainers, his back to her. She dressed in jeans and a plain, white t-shirt, almost in a blur. When he finished buttoning his shirt and turned back to her, she was ready and waiting by the window, his broom in her hands. She handed it to him but he shook his head and jumped onto the window ledge.

"Come on," he said, waving her over. "You're taking us."

She laughed, obvious fear in her voice. He wasn't kidding. "Draco, you're going to get us killed."

He smirked and jumped off onto the nearest tree branch. "You keep saying and that and yet, we're still breathing."

"Yes, because I keep having to save your sorry ass," she mumbled, taking his hand and sitting on the window ledge herself. Her legs dangled off to the ground far below.

"My ass is anything but sorry, thank you very much. I have the bite marks to prove how much you love it. Now, jump off and stop insulting my… body parts."

She blushed because she knew this was true but she refused to smile, not until he talked to her. She shook her head, refusing to move. Her hands clung to the window's edge until her knuckles turned white. "The damn broom is not going to listen to me, Draco. You had to get it off the ground last time."

He sighed and climbed onto the next branch above him. "Are you coming?" he called below. She rolled her eyes and carefully climbed off the ledge onto the branch. He was waiting on the roof, his arm stretched out to help her up. She squealed as her foot slipped on the gutters. He called for his broom and handed it to her with a wide grin.

"You asshole," she grumbled and mounted it. He followed and gripped her hips tightly. It took a minute but she got the broom off the roof. She squealed, fear and excitement mixing in her speeding heart.

He kissed the length of her neck but she just shook him off. "Don't even think about it, Mister! We're not in the Quidditch field anymore. We'll be flying over a city in bright daylight."

He scoffed. "It's six. Nobody's awake, 'Mione. Relax."

She shook her head and slapped his knee. "Concentrate! We're not flying over the city. We're going to the train station and that's final. I refuse to fall prey to your idiotic flights of fancy."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist nonetheless. She didn't complain because it made her feel like she wasn't just flying a bloody stick. "You love my idiotic flights of fancy."

"Stop saying that!" she shouted again. She was rambling on, her voice an octave higher. He knew she was freaking out but it was even funnier when he wasn't high. "I do not! Contrary to what goes on in that thick skull of yours, I do not find every ridiculous notion out of your mouth entertaining!"

He raised his arms in the air in surrender, causing them to waver in the air. She screamed, causing her parents to go running up the stairs below. They looked out the open window but didn't see them lingering over the roof. They hadn't moved an inch.

In a resolved, tired voice, she whispered, "Draco, I promise I'll partake in your damn flying lessons as soon as we get to the Weasleys' but not now. Just take us. Please! We're in a hurry!"

He could tell she was getting scared and so, obliged. He set them back down onto the roof, careful not to keep their footsteps as silent as possible so her parents wouldn't freak. He slid her down on the broom and took first seat in the front. He leaned forward, a dangerous sign, and sped off towards the horizon.

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They landed in the alley nearest the train station and it took three tries to pry Hermione's hands off the broom handle, her eyes wide and her hair in complete disarray. Even as wind-blown as it was now, it was still twice as neat as it'd been before Narcissa's mandatory makeover last October. He laughed as he led her down the platform, hand in hand. Hermione noticed he was speeding, dragging her along, so they wouldn't be recognized. It seemed silly since his hair and pointed features were so obvious, even from far away. He'd been in the papers a lot more lately ever since his father went to jail and especially since he was revealed to be a werewolf. It just seemed pointless to race through.

"The Burrow's in Devon, right?" he asked, eyeing the chart with the train schedules. "We're on the far West side of London so we'll have to take the 8:00am train and get off before it reaches Cornwall."

She nodded, not really paying attention. He sat them down on a bench in the darkest, faraway corner he could find while they waited. It was only an hour's wait but it was terribly awkward. Their hands grew sweaty and Draco kept clearing his throat in hopes that sound might jolt her awake. Her eyes were dropping but her posture did not hint to sleep deprivation. She just seemed pensive, which was very dangerous in Hermione's case.

"The train's here," she finally said and Draco jumped off the seat from fright. It was strange hearing her voice again after all the tension. It might have been an hour in the real world but it felt like an eternity in his mind. It didn't matter in the long scheme, not to Draco and not as long as she kept her hand in his. They mounted the train and that was another hour in hell.

Ginny was waiting for them on the platform, twiddling with some toy Fred and George had given her to pass the time. Her eyes looked bloodshot and her hair, despite having cut it even shorter, was horribly unkempt. As soon as she saw them, she threw the toy into the nearest bin and ran to hug Hermione.

"Thank God you're here!" she squeaked, nearly knocking Hermione back onto the filthy platform.

"How'd you know—"

"We figured you'd grab the train since floos aren't safe."

Draco sneered at the floor. "Nothing's safe. You shouldn't have assumed."

They ignored him completely and hurried off. They arrived at the Burrow before noon and had become acclimated with the whole story thanks to Gin. Apparently, she'd been stuck in the middle of a mess as the Weasley boys kept teasing Pansy and threatening to set her hair on fire if she didn't tell them how she knew how to bypass the security measures around the grounds. They had no way of knowing she was an ally and started attacking as soon as she walked in.

"Is she tied up?" Draco asked. "Because that's not going to hold her down. Actually, she might like it."

The girls had grimaced. Now, standing before the entrance to the kitchen, it was obvious why Ginny looked so harried. The furniture was covered in scorch marks and thrown about, denting the walls in places. Chairs lay broken near the sink and what appeared to be blood but turned out to be tomato sauce was splattered onto the Weasley danger clock.

"Dear Lord," whispered Hermione. "We've walked into World War III."

Ginny ran up the stairs, loudly announcing their arrival, as Draco and Hermione waited downstairs. Mr. Weasley popped in and came to shake Draco's hand and hug Hermione. "Thank God you're here," he hissed.

"Yea, we get that a lot," joked Draco. "Where's my favorite little pest?"

The tiniest pinprick of jealousy struck Hermione's heart at the word "favorite" describing Pansy in any way. She narrowed her eyes at Draco on the way up the stairs and he got the hint. He shot her a small smile in return, reassuring her that she would always be his favorite.

Mr. Weasley opened the door to Ron's room, which instantly made Hermione suspicious. Why would she be put up in Ron's room if they were constantly at each other's throat? Unless she really was tied up and being tortured but Hermione couldn't imagine a Weasley doing that, except maybe Percy if he ever decided to sit you down and tell you about his duties at the Ministry. That could be considered torture to some, herself included.

But no. When they opened the door, Pansy and Ron sat side by side on his bed. His sad eyes were fixed on the side of her puffy, thin face as she reread the letter in her lap for the hundredth time. They sat close, perhaps too close for enemies, their shoulders touching. Despite everything that seemed to have happened in the kitchen and the chaos that she had brought upon the Burrow, the orange-clad room was filled by a wave of sadness as though a Dementor had just left.

"Pansy—" Hermione began but found herself speechless, even piteous.

"We'll figure out what this is about, Pans, and we'll find him if we need to," finished Draco, his smirk gone. Despite her annoying nature, Draco understood her in that moment, knew that he could not comfort his friend as needed to be comforted. The only one who could was sitting so close yet so helpless. Draco knew that look on Ron's face from the weeks he'd worn it as he and Hermione shared hidden glances across the classroom. He wished never to go back to that life of secrecy.

"I know where he is," whispered Pansy, her voice hoarse from crying. "It's in his note."

"What? Where?"

She sighed and handed Hermione the dirty, crumbled piece of paper. She read it once and, with shaking fingers, passed it to Draco. Before he could read it, she whispered with unprecedented worry in her voice, "He's in Seneca."

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Ha. Hope you guys didn't forget that little detail from LLDM. Narcissa has a LOT of explaining to do.

Purple bathrobe was a quiet shout-out to Hawkeye from MASH, present in the Quarter Moon Gamble's first chapter as well. Also, there was a continuity error last chapter that apparently nobody pointed out and even I didn't notice till I read it back. Hermione was reading by wand light when Draco jumped in through her window. As we know, she lost her wand at Malfoy Manor in LLDM. She will be getting it back though. Let's just say she used a flashlight for now until I remember to go back and fix it.

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Reviews are better than secret affairs with certain moronic yet strangely adorable redheads.