Chapter 4 – No Sound
January 19, 2001
Dinner is a quiet affair in the Malfoy family, always has been, and always will be.
Silence.
The only sounds are the scraping of cutlery against plates. Though I know it has been this way as long as I can remember, I feel it has worsened since the war. This silence is thick, tense, vast.
"Where were you this afternoon?" And the silence is shattered like a glass thrown across the room, an explosion of pieces falling neatly into the prestigious lap of my arrogant father.
I don't want to discuss this with him. He will tarnish the memory, insult Hermione and prohibit me from seeing her. It is not often that I completely defy my father's wishes but this is an occasion that I would. He no longer has the privilege of controlling my every move, of taking my life into his hands. So I will not discuss that perfect, broken, girl with my father who will do everything in his power to destroy her.
"I was out," I reply, keeping my eyes low, my voice unemotional.
"Out where?" he questions.
"I was out, and that is all you get to know," I tell him sternly.
For a moment, I think he may argue, but I am a grown wizard and he does not have the right to demand my every step outside this manor, this place that has become a prison to me. I am trapped in this home, in this family, pretending to carry beliefs I no longer hold true, just to please a father who has demolished my light.
"Did you have a nice time? Wherever you were?" My mother inquires. She has a talent for getting the information she wants without stepping a word out of place.
I can't help but smile to myself at the difference between the two other people sitting at this table. My father, who wants to control me, and my mother who wants to know I am happy. She understands that there are some things I cannot tell him, things that he would ruin if he knew.
"I did. It was quite . . . refreshing," I respond, careful of the words I use to describe the short time I had with Hermione. "And I think I'll go again tomorrow."
My mother smiles, just a touch, and looks back at her plate in an attempt to hide her pleased expression. I look at the man at the head of the table who is seething in quiet anger. If anyone else was present in the room, they would say he simply seems a bit unhappy, but I can see the hidden emotion behind his eyes.
My response is not what he wanted to know. He does not care that my outing was a wonderful experience, he only desires to ensure that I am playing the correct part, the part that I have been assigned. A good Malfoy.
Sometimes it is as if he believes I have no thoughts of my own, as if I would get lost in life without his constant prodding, when in reality, I am lost because of him. I am lost in a different way than he expects, in a way that would 'defile' the family name if anyone knew.
But I look at my mother and feel comforted that there is at least one person who cares about me. She cares about the things that my father claims are small and trivial. She cares about my happiness and mental well-being; she cares more about me as a person than if I am following her pureblood ideals. And I am comforted.
I am finished with my dinner and the conversation that arose so I slide my chair back and stand.
"Goodnight, mother." I turn to the stiff faced man who only cares for his name and fortune. "Father." I nod respectfully as I make my way from the room and move toward the staircase.
I still cannot comprehend the fact that Hermione Granger could possibly want to go on a date with me. I question my own intentions, what do I want from this? A bit more conversation? A friend? Something more?
I have already made reservations at The Pearl for tomorrow night, the most expensive and sought after restaurant in Wizard Britain. I hope she doesn't think it's too much, maybe it is, but she deserves the best. I am not the best. Not even close. But I can take her to a place that is.
It is truly incredible that I was able to get a reservation only one day in advance, but apparently, a little money can go a long way.
I enter my bedroom but I cannot yet go to sleep. It is still early, so I sit down in my black leather chair and open a book that I know I will not be able to concentrate on. My mind continuously goes back to her, to Hermione, and what I could possibly be thinking. This was surely not what she wanted, not what she had in mind when I asked her to dinner earlier today. She doesn't want me, she doesn't want a date. But she said yes.
There's a knock on my door and I know who it is. My father would send an elf to retrieve me from my room if he wished to speak.
"Come in Mother!" I call, closing the book and setting it back on the shelf beside me.
The door slowly opens and my mother enters and sits in my other black chair when I gesture towards it. Why I have two, I don't know. Perhaps for this very reason I suppose.
"Would you tell me?" she asks and I know she doesn't wish to pry but she is curious. "Were you with her? Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Mother. I was," I reply.
I can see the excitement she is trying to conceal. This was what she wanted. And again, her enthusiasm in this matter surprises me considering Hermione's blood status.
"And it went well then?"
"It did. I . . . sort of, accidentally asked her on a date," I tell her, unsure of what her response will be.
Her brows raise and I can see that she is considering the statement carefully.
"And what did she say?" mother questions.
"She said yes. So tomorrow night, I am taking her out. I'm sure it won't lead to anything."
My mother is silent for a moment, watching my face intently and I wonder what she is thinking. It was her idea for me to talk with Hermione, but surely she would not desire for me to begin seeing the girl romantically.
"And maybe it will," she says, though I can not quite tell the connotations in her voice. Is that something she would be alright with? She sighs, "Draco, darling, you know my beliefs, but I also know you have changed. You have become your own man and I respect that. It may be difficult for me to fully understand, but if she can make you happy, I will find a way to support that. And I think she might. I see how unhappy you have become and that is not what I wanted for you. None of this is what I wanted for you."
I hear the emotion in her voice and know she is being truthful.
"Thank-you," I express. "That means a lot to me." And it does. It means a lot to know that I have someone on my side.
January 20, 2001
I pace back and forth in front of the fireplace in my study, the piece of parchment Hermione owled me this morning with her address clutched in my fist. Everything is ready and it is nearly time to floo and pick her up for dinner. I am wearing my black suit, the same one I wore to the party back in November and I look absolutely fine on the outside, but inside, I am a mess.
I chuckle to myself. I have never been this nervous to meet a girl in my life. It has always been easy; in school they all wanted to go out with me. But Hermione is different. She is not just some other girl. She is smart, talented, successful, passionate, beautiful, and far too good for me.
I know I need to stop this thinking, this constant doubting, close my eyes and jump off the edge. Because she's in the deep end and knows how to swim; I need to hurry up and learn before I drown in my pool of darkness.
So I take a handful of the green powder and step inside the fireplace, not giving myself any more time to contemplate my possible failures. I take my own advice and close my eyes, tossing the powder at my feet and calling out the address she gave me.
And I am there, stepping out of her fireplace and into her sitting room. Everything is white with a bit of grey here and there and I wonder if it represents her life like my black and grey. It is small and modest, but homey, much more so than the manor. There's a glass coffee table in front of me and beyond it, a white sofa and armchair beside that.
I look behind me on the small mantle above the fireplace and it holds only a few pictures in silver frames; her and her parents, her and Potter, her and Potter and Weasley as children.
"Hello." I turn around at the voice and immediately am struck by such a magnificent being.
Hermione stands before me in a royal blues dress, its sleeves off her shoulders to wrap around the top of her arm, it hugs her waist before falling ever so gently to a pleated skirt above her knees.
"You look beautiful," I tell her, finally finding my words, pleased that they didn't take too long to come.
She bites her bottom lip nervously and smiles. "Thank-you."
"Shall we go then?" I ask, offering my hand.
"Yes," she replies and slides her hand in mine.
Just like the last time we touched, a tingle makes its way through my body, making my breathing and heart rate increase. I look at her. Does she feel it too? If she does, I can't see it on her face.
I apparate us directly outside the restaurant. It doesn't look like much from the exterior, just a regular building with the name hung on the front in gold letters, but Hermione is smiling. And shivering. And I realize she must be absolutely freezing in that dress, outside, in January, so I rush us in the doors.
"Sorry about the cold," I say, thinking that this isn't starting out very well.
"Oh, it's nothing. You got us in at The Pearl? With one day's notice?" she's excited and impressed.
"It's no big deal," I admit. But she is staring at me with wide eyes and her mouth, partially open in shocked delight.
"No big deal? This is amazing!" I'm happy she thinks so.
"Mr. Malfoy," a deep voice calls from behind a podium. I nod. "Right this way."
The man is tall and lean, with tan skin and impeccably dressed. He leads us behind the red curtain that hangs just beyond the podium and into a world of wonder.
The ceiling is an incredible version of the enchanted one at Hogwarts, showing a night sky full of bright, sparkling stars. A narrow pond runs down the center, splitting the seating area into two halves with a small bridge joining them and each table is dimly lit by its own glowing moon floating just off to one side.
The man takes us to a table on the left side of the room and I have to rush ahead just a bit to pull out Hermione's chair. She laughs and it is the most spectacular sound. I wish she would do it more often.
As soon as we are sitting, two menus appear in front of us.
"Draco," she breathes. "This is one of the most incredible things I've ever seen."
"I'm glad you think so," I reply.
"My name is Nigel and I will be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?"
I order us some wine and Nigel nods politely, leaving us to talk.
Hermione opens her menu and she quickly looks up at me, seemingly shocked. She's seen the price of everything.
"Draco, this is far too much!"
"I'm a Malfoy, remember? Don't worry about it, get anything you'd like," I tell her.
She is silent for a moment but gives in. "Alright," she agrees, part smiling, part biting that bottom lip nervously.
When Nigel returns, she orders the poached salmon with dill cream sauce, while I order the roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.
Hermione is smiling and looking at me with that tilted head again.
"What is it?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "It's nothing really. Just, it's a bit strange to be here, with you, on a date." I agree but let her finish. "I know we're starting over, but it's mad to think of where we started."
And it is. I used to bully her, I used to think she was inferior, I used to fight for the opposing side in the war. I feel terrible about all the things I put her through. I realize now how wrong I was in the words I used to describe her.
"I don't think I've ever apologized to you. I was so delusional in school. The things I said about you-
"Are in the past," she finishes for me.
"Yes, but still –
"No, no buts. I don't want to dwell on past mistakes. Been doing that far too much lately. I want to think about the good things," she taps her fingers on the table. "Nice things like pretty gardens or bright colours or . . . whatever else is pleasant." Her smile, her smile is pleasant.
"You don't think those things are a bit superficial?" I ask.
"No. There's a reason for the saying of stopping and smelling roses. The little things matter. They make life a bit more . . . livable, don't you think?"
"Guess you're right, but, since when does Hermione Granger have the time to 'smell the roses'?"
She laughs, but it doesn't truly meet her eyes.
"I'm not all intense and bookish anymore," she says.
"Alright, we'll see about that."
In a few more moments, our food appears before us and the conversation has changed.
"I know you don't really want to talk about the past, but I'm rather curious. I never saw you in the news after the war. I thought I may have simply missed it," I inquire.
Hermione shrugs. "Wasn't really in the news." She puts a forkful of salmon into her mouth, chewing softly. "The boys took most of the credit for the way things went, and I'm alright with that. Never really wanted to be famous."
It is what I expected she'd say, but I see something else, sadness. It makes me angry to think of everything she went through in the war, and to get nothing in return? This shouldn't have happened. She was the one who was tortured by my insane aunt, and she was probably the brains behind everything Potter and Weasley did!
"You had a bigger role to play than Potter, or Weasley. Without you, they would probably still be trying to end the war. It isn't right what they've done," I say.
"They both lost a lot and I don't need recognition," she argues, but I can see how her eyes light up when I tell her I believe in her role.
She went through so much and it is obvious she is still attempting to heal. Now I see that Potter and Weasley may not be as helpful as I thought they could be. Hermione needs someone who understands what went on during the war, someone to lean on, someone to support her.
I want to be that person.
The thought scares me. But it's true. And I don't really know what to do with it.
"You may not think you need recognition, but you do deserve it."
She looks at me. "I may deserve it, but they needed it. Those boys live off their reputations. Thought you would understand."
I stiffen. Yes, my old arrogant self, constantly relying on my name, my family's reputation, to get me through things. I was jealous of Potter's spotlight and I didn't hide that fact.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Don't know why I did," she says, shaking her head and looking down at the table.
"It's alright. I do get it, but that isn't who I want to be anymore." I tell her. "And them, having recognition isn't what bothers me. Its that they took yours."
"If I really wanted to, I could have argued. I could have made my name be seen."
She's right, she could have. But I think of how it would make her friends look if she were to argue her place. It would ruin Potter's perfect reputation.
But I look at her and see that I have put a damper in our night by arguing about this, a topic she didn't want to breach in the first place.
"I have more to say on this, but for now, I can let it go. You wanted to talk about bright colours?" I introduce, bouncing my eyebrows.
She giggles softly and shakes her head again, looking up at me.
The conversation turns down other rabbit holes that end in her, smiling, laughing, and me, thoroughly enjoying myself for the second time in years. We finish eating our food and simply sit there, together, appreciating each other's presence.
"On a typical day, what do you do during your lunch break?" I find myself asking, heart pounding in my chest, wondering what I'm really looking for.
"I go, eat lunch?" she replies, eyes questioning.
"Well," and I may be totally off base, completely out of my mind. "I would love to make this a more regular thing. Well, not this exactly, but . . ."
"You want to go out for lunch during the week?" she clarifies.
"Yes." I'm surprised that she understood my weak suggestion.
"Friday afternoons? Seemed to work last time. Give me something to look forward to during the week?" she's trying to sound confident, but I can tell, she's just as nervous as I am, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and looking down at the, now cleared, table every once in a while.
"Sounds good," I confirm.
I pay for our dinner and we head back outside to apparate her home.
Standing in her sitting room once again, she looks up at me.
"Thank-you, for tonight," she says. "You have no idea how much I've needed something like this."
"I think I might," I reply. "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight, Draco."
Author's Note:
Here's Chapter 4 you amazing people! Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed, I got some really great comments that will hopefully help me to improve my writing. I am working really hard on creating realistic and interesting dialogue. I hope this chapter is an improvement from the last. Please let me know.
Another question for you guys: the next chapter can either go through a few weeks of meetings between them or skip ahead to when more action starts. I originally skipped ahead, but now I'm not sure. Please give me some thoughts on this as it would be the next chapter that I post!
I really loved writing this scene, but I wasn't sure about a couple parts so I did the best I could.
Thanks for reading, I will hopefully post the next chapter soon. It will be sooner if I have a better idea of what my readers would like to read, so let me know!
Have a great day!
