Chapter Twenty-Two: Shutters
Everyone's been nervous for something. You shiver, you can't sit still. You pace or twitch or feel the butterflies crawl up and down your skin, you talk too much or too little. Once the event has come to pass, then you wonder how you could have been nervous in the first place.
And then there are the times that you panic so much that you feel sick. Dizzy, heart pounding, shaking hands. You wonder how you're going to get through it, you feel small and scared.
This is Draco, on Hermione's doorstep.
…
It had been hard enough to explain to Narcissa.
…
Draco had always known that Narcissa was an adult. She was a mother, nurturing and supporting, but she was also firmly Narcissa, grown into her strengths and weaknesses, able to handle herself in the world. He'd gone into her room knowing that she could handle it without punching him in the face.
Unfortunately, with Hermione, he had no such assurance. He could all too easily conjure up her unhappy face - and fist - from the past.
…
For some reason, doors were frightening to Draco. He supposed he might be developing a phobia… he would have to ask Hermione what "fear of doors" was.
This was silly. He'd knock on three.
One, two….
Two and a half….
Three….
…
Four, five, six…
…
He raised his hand and brought his fist down on the door with a sudden jerk of courage. The contact with the material made him shudder.
Draco pressed his ear to the door, listening intently for any sign that Hermione was walking towards it, waiting for the sound of her footsteps.
"Draco?" Came a soft voice from behind him.
He let his forehead rest on the door a moment longer. She would come and catch him looking like a total idiot.
…
Hermione was standing behind him, uncertain, holding plastic bags filled with groceries in each hand.
Draco turned to survey her appearance: she didn't look unhappy to see him, just… guarded. Slightly closed off.
"Let me take those," he said gently.
She stretched out her arms cautiously, but she didn't pull away when his hands brushed over hers, butterflies of made of questions.
…
He waited patiently, like a gentleman should, while she unlocked the door and ushered him inside. He stood at a distance, trying not to make her uncomfortable, when really all he wanted to do was kiss her and let his lips do the talking, let the words that he didn't know how to say present themselves to her without sound.
There were so many words inside him. They all wanted to come out, all at once. He never knew that there was this roaring tide inside him, wearing down his resistance, trying to come out.
…
The Hermione he knew was direct and practical, so it surprised him when she offered him tea. It was a stalling tactic, he could tell. He just couldn't tell what she was afraid of. It was Draco who should have been stalling for time.
He acquiesced, and once he'd deposited her groceries in her kitchen, wandered out to the living room to separate himself from the awkward silence building between them.
Wandering over to the bookshelves, he noticed the book that had caught his eye before. It was titled Growing Up in a Pureblood House, and it looked much more worn than when he'd last seen it.
Listening absently to Hermione shifting things in the kitchen, he opened it to a random page near the end, and lit upon a paragraph surrounded by handwritten notes.
…
"….but there is always that impulse in humans to throw themselves in front of death for those they love. The smallest, the quietest, the weakest- none of these categories will matter one someone is in danger. It is in everyone. Though in Pureblood households it may seem that the ability to love without reserve has been leeched out of them, it is there. It is waiting to come out, and this author fully believes that one day each Pureblood will have the opportunity to show their worth..."
…
Written around the paragraph, assumedly in chronological order:
…I wonder, if Draco had been there when Lucius died, if he would have thrown himself in front of that curse. I'm sure there are redeeming qualities in them both somewhere. If Draco ever comes out of the Manor I'd like to find out…
…Did Draco even mourn his father?...
…He mourns him every day. I can see it in his eyes…
…I think that Purebloods are definitely capable of all-consuming love…
…Throwing yourself in front of a curse for someone is easier than casting the curse and being the survivor…
…If someone kills their parent, what does that say about their character? Can it be forgiven?...
…And if they're defending someone else, what does that say about the other person? Who could possibly be so important?
...
Draco was shocked that Hermione had actually written in a book, but no more shocked than at what she had written. He blinked, and read it again.
He heard a soft "Oh…" from behind him, and turned to see Hermione, tea in hand, teetering on the edge of the room.
"You found… you found…" she swallowed. "What did you find?"
…
He dropped the book and was across the room in seconds, toppling the tea out of her hands and sweeping her into his arms, ignoring the crack of china and the hot tea spilling onto the floor.
"Draco, stop, Draco, the tea-"
"Was that it?" He murmured into her hair. "Are you worrying about not being important enough?"
She stopped squirming and tried to sound fierce. "Well… the part where you killed your own father might have something to do with it…" He flinched a little, but there wasn't any venom in her voice.
"But you've forgiven me for that," Draco said, and it wasn't a question, but he was tensed for the answer all the same.
It was a sigh, the slightest whisper into his shirtfront.
"Yes, I have."
…
"So is that it? Is that what's bothering you- being not important enough?"
He loosened his hold a little, so he could see her face when she answered.
"I'm just one person, Draco. Regardless of what I've done in my life, how can I be important enough to justify it… in your head? How can I be that important, enough so that you can look at me without thinking of him, enough that in the future you won't resent me for that choice? What if…" - and here her voice dropped and a blush rose in her cheeks – "…what if one morning, in the future, you wake up next to me and you question why you did it and if it's even worth the pain?"
…
What if… in the future… you wake up next to me…?
…
Draco crushed her to him again.
"Darling," he whispered, fierce happiness roaring in his chest, "You are the only thing that will ever be that important to me."
…
Apparently, Hermione liked this idea, because then there was some kissing.
…
Or maybe a lot of kissing.
…
"I'm going to have to clean up the tea eventually, you know."
"Tergeo."
"Oh… alright…"
…
A/N:
I am deeply sorry that it took me this long to get this chapter up. I found it very, very hard to write, so I hope I did it justice.
So! 103 reviews! Thank you all so much for giving me your input. 100th reviewer (Fulgance) and 101st reviewer (StarDrop5)- you can PM me with a story prompt at any time you wish!
Now… I have a lot of responding to do:
Honoria Granger: I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy it! Thank you!
ThestralRose: I thought that his Mark burning would be more like "phantom pain", something that is reminding him of the things he's done and generally adding to his misery.
KodeV: Thank you so much! These last two chapters were hard to write, so I'm glad it worked out :)
Guest: I will indeed!
Hafsa: Wow, thank you so much! I am so pleased that you like it!
Pug1998: Now, Hermione. :)
Fulgance: You do indeed get the 100th review! Thank you for continually pulling quotes out that you like. I'm so delighted that you think it's conveying every emotion I want it to.
StarDrop5: And yes, you get a story too. Thanks!
Sw: How incredibly inconvenient! But I'm happy that it made you laugh.
Ouggggggg: Thank you!
Alright… on to the next chapter! I think this story will find its end soon. But for now, see you in the next chapter.
-Isefyr
