Chapter Three.

Fresh Beginnings

Jane shifted in her chair again, trying to find another comfortable position. She had been sitting there reading, keeping a vigil over the unconscious young man for hours now. She'd been told to expect him to be out of sorts for a while, but it had been fourteen hours now, and he hadn't even moved in his sleep. She rubbed a sore elbow that got bumped in the commotion of getting him upstairs, he had been semi-conscious at that point and had given her a hard time with the stairs. She regretted sending the older man away so quickly. She was sure that he could have gotten him upstairs with a flick of his wand, but there was no way to summon him back to help her. So she had done what she did best, she had just sucked it up and dealt with the situation. When she had finally gotten him settled into the extra room she had grabbed a book or two and taken up her silent vigil. Leaving him only shortly to get a shower, eat and stretch her legs.

She regretted her decision to host one of the offenders the second that she had entered the study to see Mr. Weasley, whom she had already met before, and the toe-headed man standing next to him. He was so young. When she had agreed to be a host she assumed that she would be hosting a woman or an older man. She had expected whoever they were they would be someone who looked bad. Like their bad decisions would have molded them into looking like someone capable of doing evil things and supporting such an evil cause. Instead, she was met with the terrified and surprised face of a handsome young man her own age. He didn't look evil, or wrong, he just looked tired, scared and untrusting. The shock of him was her own fault, they had sent her paperwork about her tenant, but she hadn't had time to look over it with everything else going on in her life. She had made a point to go over it after she finally got him settled in the bed though. Nineteen years old. He's her age.

Unable to get comfortable she gave up the attempt and stood. Going over to him to check his pulse again. The whole night had been stressful, and she had kept getting up to check his pulse because he was so quiet and unnaturally still. When she was satisfied that he was still alive, she went back to her chair, tucking her legs underneath her and leaning her head back against the padding of the overstuffed chair.

She closed her eyes tight and started to wonder about her own decisions through life, and even though there were quite a few questionable decisions in her past, for the life of her, she couldn't imagine making one so bad as to land herself in his position. She had seen his face when the magic was drained from him and saw how sad the older man had been to do it. Without a doubt, she knew that this man, Draco Malfoy, had done wrong, but he was not the evil that she had expected when her uncle approached her with this whole mess.

"How long have I been asleep?"

The sound of his voice made her jump, she felt a creep of a blush take over her face when she realized she must have dozed off at some point. She looked over at him to see that he hadn't really moved, just opened his eyes and turned his steel grey gaze on her. Glancing down at her watch she saw that another four hours had passed since she last checked.

"About eighteen hours." The grogginess sounded in her voice, but she tried not to mind. He had caught her sleeping, no use trying to hide her exhaustion at this point.

"I'm hungry." A simple comment but the way that he said it made her bristle. He didn't say it as a statement. No, it was a command. She had learned who he was in the wizarding world from the notes, and she would be damned if he was going to treat her like one of those little elf servants that his family owned.

"Well, I'll give you a moment to get cleaned up. Just meet me down in the kitchen and we can make some breakfast." It took all her self-control to keep her voice light and friendly. He had to learn, but being angry at him all the time wasn't going to help anything.

"Help you… make breakfast." He closed his eyes tight. She was sure that there was some sort of internal conflict going on inside his mind, but on the outside, he showed nothing. Nothing at all.

"Yes," she said lamely.

Slowly the young man moved his legs off the side of the bed and stood. All the shakiness that he had before gone. His presence was imposing as he stalked across the room to where she was still sitting.

"And if I decide I don't want to help you make breakfast?" The sneer on his face twisted his handsome features into those of someone else. Someone that looked capable of being evil and supporting an evil cause.

Bristling further she ignored all the alarms sounding off in her head. Two years, it's just two years. Unfolding her legs out from under herself she stood too, trying hard to make her stature seem taller than it was. Even with the effort, the top of her head stopped at his chest, forcing her to lean her head back to lock her honey brown eyes on his steel grey ones.

"Then I suppose…" she let a little of the ice she was feeling into her voice, "That you don't want to eat." Without another word she forced herself to march out of the room, slamming the door behind her. A part of her wanted to wait to see his reaction, and the other part of her wanted to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She marched down the hallway cursing her uncle for talking her into this.

Draco stood still, glaring at the door that she just stormed out of. Two years. At this rate, he wasn't sure if getting a dementor's kiss wouldn't have been worth it. Just to avoid the disgrace of being talked down to by a muggle. He hadn't meant to offend her quite as much as he had, but he didn't want to help her do anything. He didn't know how to make breakfast, and he would rather not eat then ask someone like her to show him what to do.

So he spent the morning pacing. He paced back and forth until he was sure that the newer carpet in his room would look like the worn one in the study. He didn't remember getting taken from the study last night, he didn't remember Mr. Weasley leaving, and he didn't remember much of anything past seeing the first of the dark blue tendrils leaving his arm. He had tried not to watch them, but it was useless. It was like his body forced him to watch, not allowing him the peace of ignoring what was happening. A pain shot through his arm at the thought prompting him to stop his pacing. He used the fingers of his right hand to trace the dark mark that he knew was invisible under the white of his shirt. Snorting, he gave up on pacing and started plundering instead. He looked over the small room that he was in, it was painted Wedgewood blue, a color that was way too light to have been used in the manor. There was a wardrobe, dresser, a surprisingly comfortable bed, at least that was something. He wasn't going to spend the next two years condemned to a horrible mattress. All the furniture was stained in dark stain and was of simple make, and empty. There was nothing in here for him. No clothing, shoes, toiletries, nothing. He sank down on the bed allowing himself a moment to wallow in his self-pity. The patchwork quilt on the bed had uneven stitching that grabbed his attention as he tried hard to ignore the rumbling of his stomach.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since she had left him alone, but surely enough time had passed that she wasn't still in the kitchen. Another, louder, growl from his stomach prompted his decision to sneak to the kitchen to find something he could eat. Cracking the door open he peeked out to see the hallway outside of his room. Not remembering when he was brought here, made him aware that he didn't know the layout of the house. It's so small though, it can't be that difficult to find the kitchen. He thought to himself as he opened the door further and stepped out into the hallway. He quietly took his time looking around too. He was pleased to see that he wasn't wrong either. He discovered that there were only 3 bedrooms upstairs, one that looked lived in and smelled like Sandalwood, another one setup similar to his, clean but unlived in, and a small bathroom. He wrinkled his nose at the fact that there was only one bathroom, he was used to having his own personal one at the manor. He discovered that 3 of the stairs squeaked very loudly, and the study that he had been in last night was right off of a small living room. So far, there was no sign of the girl. Jane Sharpe. He allowed himself to think as he walked out of the living room down another small hallway into a bright and slightly cluttered kitchen. To his horror, there she was. Sitting one of 3 metal stools at end of a well-used counter. She had a large sandwich in front of her, and the sight of it made his stomach growl loud enough for both of them to hear.

"I was wondering when you were going to put your pride aside and come eat." She said simply as she looked him up and down. He knew that he looked a right mess. He had worn his best navy blue suit to the trial, picking a muggle fashion in an attempt to show that he was a changed man that held no prejudice. At some point last night he had lost the stiff jacket and was only in his white button-down sans tie, the top three buttons had been undone, and his blue dress pants. The black dress shoes and dark grey socks were missing too, leaving him barefooted. The scrutiny of her gaze made him uncomfortable. He was used to being looked at, but not used to being looked at like this. She wasn't admiring him like some did, and she wasn't condemning him like most. Instead, she was looking at him like he was some sort of project that needed adjustments.

"The bread is over there." She said when she was finished with her appraisal, she sent a lazy flick of her hand to indicate where 'there' was located.

If his stomach wasn't hurting with hunger he would have turned and gone back upstairs to his room right then, but another growl in his gut let him know that he couldn't just avoid eating altogether. Swallowing hard he looked to where the bread was located. A sandwich. He could make a sandwich without magic. Not like he had really made any sandwiches with magic either, that is what the house elves were for. He could feel her eye on him as he got the bread out. I can make a sandwich. He thought again, and that is what he did. She told him where the ingredients were at, and he assembled the messiest sandwich he had ever seen in his life, but he smiled down at his plate all the same.

He noted that she must have guessed that he would be down sooner or later because everything was already sliced, cleaned and ready for him, all he had to do was put it together. He sat on the stool next to hers and ate with none of the manners that his parents had spent years instilling in him. She silently ate her own sandwich, with much more grace, and smirked a little when she looked over at him.