Chapter Nine: Ineptitude

Draco stood in the doorway of a ramshackle, teetering house that looked as if it were going to fall over any second. It wasn't the Manor, but it had a sort of welcoming friendliness around it that the marble behemoth could not convey.

He hesitated. Knocking on the door seemed like a giant leap into waters previously unknown.

Unfortunately, before he could turn around and send them an owl saying he was sick, an elegantly pale hand flashed by his nose and rapped lightly on the door.

"Mother," he said in exasperation.

"Well, do you want to go in or not?"

Yes, Draco Malfoy had brought his mother to protect him. Once he had woken up and remembered that he'd agreed – been coerced - into having a family dinner with the Weasleys, he had panicked.

There was no way he was going into that household without someone to protect him from their overwhelming Gryffindorness.

So he'd owled Mrs. Weasley and asked if she would mind if he brought his mother along.

To his immense surprise, she had accepted.

So there he was, walking into a dangerous, intimidating, delicious-smelling lair of kind-hearted redheads.

Scary, right?

Surprisingly, the redheads weren't the only ones in the room.

Draco spotted a tousled head of black hair, very close to the weaselette's shining red locks.

And a head almost as blonde as his own, staring dreamily into the space occupied by Ron's eyes.

Finally, a head of that gloriously bushy brown hair, occupied alone on the end of the room, looking just a little bit lost.

Draco could understand how she felt. Once the conversation got going, he felt like an island, sinking in the sea of Weasleys. (And Potter, and Lovegood)

His mother was no help, either. She had instantly got on with Mrs. Weasley, and had been conscripted into helping out with the food.

He glanced around the full-packed room and took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

Fearing for his life, he dived into the fray.

A little while later, he found himself sprawled on a couch next to George, across from Potter, vigorously discussing whether the Cannons would make a rebound (no), if the Tornadoes could keep their winning streak, and if Puddlemere United had a chance (and they would, if Oliver had anything to say about it).

Somehow it was blurring past him so fast that he wasn't sure what was happening when.

It was all a comfortable, reddish blur: happy voices, good food, company.

Later, he would attribute this to a survival mechanism, designed to help him live through the night.

Draco had noticed with increasing frequency that the person who appeared to be the most out of place was not, surprisingly, himself. Oddly enough, it was Hermione.

Generally bolstered by the laughter coming from the kitchen, he floated over to the overstuffed chair that she had parked herself in, and seated himself on the arm companionably.

At least, he thought it was companionable.

"I don't want to talk about my life with you right now, Malfoy."

Damn.

"For someone who spent an alarming amount of time trying to get me to open up, you should be aware of the virtues of venting to someone who is willing to listen," he said smoothly.

"Bloody ferret," she muttered, but shifted so that she could look him in the eye.

"Is it because the Weasel has a girlfriend?" He asked, curious.

"Not directly," she replied.

"Who's close-mouthed now?" he teased, all the while wondering just what she could mean by that and hoping that there was a different explanation than the one that his mind immediately jumped to.

Not like he actually cared, of course.

She was silent for a while, and he was cautiously beginning to consider leaving when she parted those cherry-red lips and said: "It's just that everyone's pairing off, and it's obviously irrational to be jealous that I haven't paired off too."

"Nobody wants to be alone," Draco said quietly. "But you won't-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a large hand clamped down on his shoulder and George said with the most despicable timing: "So, Draco, you never told me about your work as a Healer!"

Right then, Draco couldn't care less about his work as a Healer.

In fact, he was seriously considering packing up and moving somewhere far, far away, where there were no Weasleys to plague him any more.

After dinner, he was considering making himself scarce so that the Gryffindors couldn't find him.

Unfortunately, his next encounter did find him. And sadly, his next encounter was Potter.

Draco didn't have anything against Potter, not really, not anymore. However, that didn't mean he wanted to talk to him. Especially not if Potter wanted to talk about what he thought that Potter wanted to talk about….

Now, there was a scary thought.

"Malfoy?" Potter asked, sitting down next to him, staring into the fire. "Can I have a word?"

Draco considered that this was, in fact, civil of Potter considering their past. He conceded with a simple "Yes."

Potter lowered his voice. "Does anyone else know?"

"About what?" Draco asked, more to stall the conversation with anything. Where's one of those Weasleys when you need them?

"About your dad," he said slowly, and Draco's heart plummeted.

Apparently, Weasleys would only get you out of conversations that you had wanted to have the first place.

Draco half-turned as Potter babbled something about how he wouldn't tell anyone- good – but that he didn't think that keeping this secret was doing Draco any good, as if he would know.

"Let me make this clear," he said tiredly. "I'm not one of you. I'm not courageous. I'm not brave. I'm just me. And I think that telling other people could hurt them, too."

When Potter protested, he snapped: "Would you tell your mother if you had killed your dad?"

"Sorry," Draco mumbled at Potter's stricken face. "That was insensitive."

He left the shadows by the fire, not really considering that apologizing to Harry was probably more of a shocker than the comment itself.

He decided that it was time to leave. He whispered something to his mother, thanked Mrs. Weasley (with a surprisingly genuine smile), and clapped George on the back.

On the way out of the room, he pulled Hermione aside.

"I didn't get to finish earlier," he said. "I wanted to say that you won't be alone for long, because you're beautiful."

A/N:

I like that ending.

Hello!

I know, I am an awful updater. I prostrate myself at your feet for forgiveness.

Anyways, here is Chapter Nine! To all of you who reviewed Eight:

Fulgance- Thanks again for reviewing! I hope I continue to live up to your expectations. And thanks for your opinion, I wasn't sure about this chapter, but now that it's written, I think it's rather nice. Draco and I thank you. :)

KodeV- Thanks very much! I expect much more jovial conversation between the two in the future, and much hilarity. (eventually, when Draco is more out of his shell.) And be sure that Molly will have a hand in it all!

The Wolf of Midnight- Thanks very much. And here's an update for you!

poincare- That's great to know. As much as clichés can be well done, I am glad to do something new.

Stardrop5- yes, yes, here it is miss Impatient ;) enjoy!

As for the rest… keep reviewing, and let me know if there's anything that you would be interested in seeing!

-Isefyr