Chapter 5 - Not Enough
Each week is a new adventure. And sometimes completely insane.
I guess we've gone to that café a few more times.
February 2, 2001
"So, what was Hermione Granger up to this week?" I ask, with as much false confidence as I can muster up. She's doing so much with her life and then there's me, who hasn't amounted to anything after the war.
"Let's not talk about my week," she says, looking down at her soup.
"Did something happen?" I ask. I don't like the look of pain and sadness on her face.
She shakes her head.
"It's nothing. Just, a bit of tension among friends. Isn't as though I haven't faced worse with them."
There it is again. Her 'friends' have made her feel this way and it angers me to think of people she cares about treating her like this. And she shouldn't have to keep it all inside. I know how that works out, and it is not pleasant.
"You don't have to tell me right now," I start. "I don't know what's going on with you and your friends, but I can give you a bit of advise about emotions. Holding them inside doesn't help anyone and will truly harm you, I know from experience." I sigh. "I know, I haven't really given you a reason to trust me. I wouldn't trust me. But I hope you can. If not now, then at some point. Just, don't keep it all inside."
She looks up at me. "Sixth year," she whispers remembering what experience I may be thinking of.
"That was a bad year indeed. But we don't have to talk about that yet," I tell her. After a moment of silence, I continue. "So, there had to be at least one good thing to come out of this week."
"Well," she pauses, thinking. "I did finally put your generous donation to good use. Some of it at least."
"Oh?" I ask, interested.
"I hired a potion-maker for the wolfsbane. Have a few werewolves who would like help on a regular basis and your money is going to give it to them," she explains.
"I'm glad," I say with a small smile.
Hermione has insisted on doing some strange things on our outings together. We finished eating quite early so she had something else in mind she wanted to do. In the second week of February, she had the brilliant idea to go to the beach. In the winter. And yes, we have magic, but did we use the skill that could have made the experience more pleasant? No. We did not.
February 16, 2001
"Oh, such a baby!" she calls out to me, laughing.
"Really? You're enjoying this? You do realize we could make this so much better!" I argue, teeth chattering.
"And miss out on hearing you complain? You're such a wimp!"
I can tell she's cold too, just doesn't want to admit it. She has her arms crossed over her chest and is nearly bouncing to keep warm.
"I told you this was a bad idea," I continue.
"And I told you; I don't have bad ideas," she says, chin up, walking backwards to face me.
"So you're enjoying watching me suffer are you?" I demand playfully.
"Not at all." She sends me a look with her big, innocent looking eyes. "I would never." I can see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she tries not to laugh.
"Well, then. I guess I'll have to warm up somehow," I warn.
She turns and sprints away down the beach, sand flying up behind her. Laughing, I give chase, though the icy mist makes my eyes water and my vision blur.
A couple weeks later, she dragged me to a muggle restaurant. Hermione seemed a bit unsure of her decision at first, considering the beliefs I am known for holding and the family I belong to. It was definitely an enlightening experience. Quite strange.
March 2, 2001
"What do they call this place again?" I ask.
Hermione ordered and paid, and we now wait at the other end of the counter to receive the food.
"McDonalds," she tells me. "It's considered fast food."
"That's ridiculous. With magic it would be here in seconds!"
She just smiles. "All the name really means is that it isn't one of those restaurants that take half an hour to serve you and the food is cheap and greasy."
I scrunch my nose. "Cheap and greasy? Why are we here?"
"Because you'll like it," she says, though the strength in her voice is lacking.
Our food finally comes up and Hermione grabs the tray, walking it over to a table with two very uncomfortable seeming chairs. She pushes a strange box in front of me and I watch as she opens hers and finds the sandwich inside.
I open my box and stare at the thing, tilting my head to one side, sizing it up. How am I supposed to eat something like this? I look around the table and find that there isn't even any cutlery.
"You eat it with you hands," Hermione explains and I can hear the laugh she is trying to conceal.
"Really?"
She nods and takes hers out with her fingers, bringing it to her mouth and taking a huge bite, making grease and sauce leak out the bottom.
I look back at mine determinedly, and pick it up. The act seems unnatural and I half expect someone to yell at me because of my horrid table manners. But Hermione simply watches with amusement as I take my first bite. I'm surprised by the rush of flavour. I actually like this strange food.
And the fact that it is eaten with your hands isn't as disgusting as I thought it would be. In fact, it's quite freeing. So different from the constant formalities upheld by the members of my family. Oh, if my father could see me now, sitting in a restaurant surrounded by muggles eating greasy food with my fingers.
I can't help smiling at the thought.
March 16, 2001
"Where do you think you're going?"
I am organizing the papers on my desk and am just about to leave the manor, about to meet Hermione, when I hear my father's voice.
"Out," I reply in a cold, emotionless tone. I push past the man, who has entered my study, and pull open the door. I no longer have to answer to him. "And since when do you ever come to me to talk?"
"I sent an elf but you foolishly refused." His stuck up voice is grating on my nerves. I don't have to listen to this. I step one foot out into the hall when he speaks again. "I know where you have been going each Friday."
I freeze in the doorway.
"You had me followed." It's a statement. I should have known that he would. The nosy, controlling wizard always ends up getting his way. Whether or not his methods are legal, well that is a whole other matter. "You have no right!" I turn back to face him.
"Of course I have a right! You are my son! You represent the Malfoy name! How dare you see that mudblood! And regularly!" he yells.
"Do not use that word," I warn, my fingers tightening around my wand. He notices.
"Are you going to curse your own father now? Quite the man you've become," he finishes with sarcasm and I have to fight to hold my temper.
"I will see her today, and next Friday, and the Friday after that. You cannot prevent me from seeing her. She has put just a touch of the life back in my soul that you helped steal from me." I march up close and touch my wand to my father's chest threateningly. "If you hurt her, I swear; you will not enjoy the result."
His eyes go from shock to amusement. He knows I would never seriously injure him. He is my father. But I have defied him, and he was not expecting that.
Breathing deeply, my wand slips down to my side and I walk back towards the door.
"How can you live with yourself?"
Even though I know he is playing tricks with my mind, I can't help but stop once again.
He continues, "The things you've done to people, just like her. You've tortured them, killed them, and now, you sit with one for lunch. Draco, how do you even know you weren't the one to kill her parents?"
My blood runs cold. I couldn't have. Hermione would have said if her parents were killed in the war. My father is just trying to convince me not to go, he is reminding me of a past I wish I could forget. I cannot let myself believe him. I cannot let him lead me back into the darkness in which he constantly, and voluntarily dwells. I did terrible things in the war that I desperately long to undo, but I can't. I can only hope that Hermione's parents are not on that list of things I regret being forced to do, ever single day.
I continue walking, right out the front doors of the Manor. I cannot give him the satisfaction of watching me wrestle with his cruel words. I know I'm not good enough for Hermione. I know this. But the thought that I could be responsible for the death of her parents is too much. How can I face her today?
I realize that this is exactly what my father wants, that he said those things with the sole purpose of destroying the friendship that has been growing between Hermione and I. And maybe it will, because I can't go on without knowing. That is the cruellest part of all. I have to ask.
I rub my hands over my face and pull my fingers through my hair. It's Friday, the day that has become my favorite, the one I look forward to, the day that makes all the other ones worth pushing through simply to reach it. I am supposed to be meeting Hermione any minute and it is supposed to be the most special hour of my week. But now I am in desperate turmoil.
I threatened my father should he ever hurt her, but perhaps I'm the one who has hurt her most of all. And I can't bear the thought of it. My heart is peeling at the inside of my chest, attempting to break free from behind my ribs and run screaming from my feelings. I feel lost. And cold, oh so cold.
The sun is shining, spring is nearly here, but the shadows are beginning to cover me once again and drag me back down to the depths of darkness where I deserve to be.
Meet Hermione.
Her image calls to me from the back of my mind.
But how can I, if indeed I have done this terrible act?
I don't even know if I did.
And isn't that the worst thing of all? That I was forced to kill so many, without even knowing their names?
But she'll be waiting now, and I should ask, I should tell her if I did. She would want to know, wouldn't she? She would want to know that she should be hating me?
So I go. I turn on the spot and disapparate.
"There you are!" She is happy to see me and I die a little inside. "What do you want to do today? I was thinking grab lunch to go and walk around a bit. The sun is out and it's getting a bit warmer, we should enjoy –
"Hermione," I interrupt. "I have to ask you something." I pull her gently to the side of the little cottage style restaurant, where we can have a bit more privacy. "I'm sorry if this is painful for you to recall, but I must know." I take a deep breath. She seems confused. "What happened to your parents?" I ask the question as softly and tenderly as I can, but the words still feel like daggers being catapulted from my mouth.
I see it, the sadness that creeps over her features, and I fear the worst.
"Draco, what's this about?"
"Just tell me, please. Were they . . . were they killed?" I don't want to say it, I don't want to hurt her, or cause her pain in remembering, but I can't just go on as things have been without knowing.
"No," she looks at the ground. "Draco, I obliviated them, took all memories of me from them and sent them to Australia. I had to protect them."
And a weight is lifted off my chest, but replaced with utter amazement, respect, and sadness. I can't even imagine what that would feel like, to know that her parents don't remember they have a daughter. I was one of the people who made it necessary for her to go through that. The relief I feel that I did not kill her parents is taken over by the feeling of guilt that she had to do something like this.
"I don't understand what this is about," she says.
"My father had me followed, probably last week because he would have said something earlier if he had known." I tell her. "He knows that I've been seeing you and he stopped me before I left today. Reminded me of the things I was forced to do during the war and mentioned that I may have been the one to kill your parents."
"No, Draco, you didn't. They're safe, they're alive." She's concerned about me and rests a hand on my arm.
"But the fact remains that I did kill people, I killed mothers and fathers and I don't even know their names." I feel the despair twisting and writhing within me.
Hermione's hand drops back to her side as she considers this new information. This could be it, this could be the end of our friendship and the re-start of an enemy relationship. She is good, better than me, better than what I can offer. I don't come close to measuring up to what she deserves. Maybe this was too wrong to begin with.
Finally, she speaks, "I don't know everything that happened on your side or how you felt about it, but I do know that many did what they thought they had to and people do change."
"But the things I've done –
"You don't think I know? Draco, I know you were a Death Eater and I know the kinds of things Voldemort made his followers do. I also have a fairly good idea of what happened to those who refused. Doesn't change the way I see who you've become since then."
She has known what I did this whole time and still wants to see me? My mind is turning, frantically trying to grasp the concept that she sees me, yet, she accepts me; she sees me, yet, she isn't afraid of me.
"Now, can we get lunch?" she asks.
"I guess so," I reply.
We order some sandwiches and walk along the square, the sun brightening the mood.
"So, I have a question for you," she starts. "And, you don't have to answer if you don't feel comfortable."
"Alright?" I agree tentatively.
"Why do you see me each week? You go against your family to be here, so, why?"
What is it with the 'why' question?
I think for a moment before responding.
"Because I want to. You are someone worth getting to know."
Hermione smiles shyly. "And what about blood status?" I thought this would be quite clear from my agreement to go to a muggle restaurant but, maybe she just needs to hear it.
"Near the end of the war I realized that it doesn't really matter. A life is a life; pureblood, muggle-born, they both end the same way. Nothing is really different except heritage, tradition, and large houses," I tell her.
"I'm glad," she says. "I always thought you were too smart to believe those things for long."
"My parents still believe it," I point out.
She looks at me. "Sometimes, the longer we believe something, the more our lives revolve around that belief, the harder it is to let it go."
It seems as though she is talking from experience, but I don't ask. She'll tell me when she's ready for me to know, just as there are things I will one day tell her.
I sigh. "Since when did things get so complicated?"
She looks at me. "We grew up. I guess that's what happens. We gain a mind of our own and what seemed so plain before is suddenly completely different."
"I guess when things were easy we hated each other," I say, smiling. "Maybe growing up is a good thing."
We walk for a little while longer, but time is running away on us. As it comes to a close, I feel myself stepping back out of the shadows my father pushed me into. Once again, Hermione has released me from the pain, the frustration, the anger I held inside only a short while ago.
"I have to go back to work," she says.
"So, I'll see you next Friday then," I reply.
"Actually," she takes a deep breath. "I wasn't going to ask. It's silly. But, would you pick me up from work tonight and floo home with me?"
"What's going on?"
"It's nothing really, I've just been getting some rather frightening letters recently and got another one this morning. You don't have to if you're busy," she explains.
"No, of course I will. Have you told anyone about the letters?" I ask, becoming worried.
"I've told you," she says quietly.
"Hermione. If someone is threatening you –
"It's fine, really. They aren't truly threatening. I just don't want to go home, alone, to an empty house tonight."
I can tell she is downplaying the severity of these letters.
"I'll be there," I tell her.
"Six o-clock?"
"Of course. And, if you need help, if you're in trouble, tell me you'll go to someone," I plead. I can't stand thinking that she could get hurt and I don't understand why she wouldn't talk to Potter about this. He's an auror isn't he? Isn't this what he does for a living?
The image flashes in my mind of her beautiful eyes, cold and unseeing. I realize that I care about this girl, a lot. I care about her and the thought scares me. The thought of something happening to her scares me more.
"I will, I promise," she assures me.
"I'll see you at six then," I say.
"Yes. And, thank-you."
"It's no problem. Really, if you ever need anything, I'm just sitting around at the manor."
She smiles and disapparates.
Author's Note:
So, a bit of a longer chapter for you guys today. I didn't really want to go through each one of their lunch dates so I took some wonderful advice from sshanholtzer44 and gave a summary type part at the beginning as to not have a gap in the story. It was a bit different, so I hope it was alright. The transitions were a bit tricky, but let me know what you thought! I was hoping to give some information into the growth of their friendship during the past couple months. There are a few awkward places that I wasn't sure how to fix, so, sorry about that.
I'm looking forward to sharing the next few chapters with you guys! The next one will be up on Saturday.
The reviews I have been getting are amazing and super helpful. If you have any suggestions, things to improve on, things you want to see in the story, let me know! I will give it some consideration and do my best to incorporate it in.
Thanks for reading, you guys are awesome, and have a great rest of your day!
