Chapter 7 – Not Prepared
March 21, 2001
They say you don't know what you have until its gone. I've heard that the moment you truly know you love someone is the moment you are about to lose them. And I'm afraid this is it.
Just a minute ago, everything was fine, everything was normal. I was sitting at my desk organizing where our money will go for next month, which organizations to donate to, what may cause people to second guess their judgements of us.
But now, everything has changed.
In a single minute, my world has gone from normal, to full blown panic.
When Hermione's face appeared in the fire, she called out for me, and I could hear it in the desperation of her voice that something was terribly wrong.
The world seems to be going in slow motion as I now stand in front of my fireplace, staring at her wide and terrified eyes in the coals. I feel fear as I haven't in years, not since Voldemort's demise. I don't know for certain if I love this girl, but I do know I am falling and that I want a chance to love her.
"Draco, he broke into my flat," I can tell she is trying hard not to cry. "I thought everything was fine, I thought he wouldn't do this, but now, I don't know anything anymore."
"Hermione, is he still there? I'm coming. Right now."
She's gone from the fire and my eyes go wide. "Hermione!"
I grab a fistful of floo powder and practically leap into the fireplace, twist through the channels and jump out at her end. I have to see her. I have to get to her!
The next thing I know, she is throwing herself into my arms, and no longer able to hold them back, she sobs into my shoulder. I hold her tightly, rubbing her back gently with the palm of my hand.
"Hermione, is he gone?" I ask quietly and I feel her nod against me. "Alright. Everything is going to be alright," I soothe.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to calm my own racing heart. Hermione's okay.
Her breathing slows and becomes more even, but I can still feel her shaking in my arms as she pulls away, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
"I'm sorry," she says.
"Don't you dare apologize. There's nothing to apologize for," I tell her. "What happened?"
She clears her throat. "I just got home from work and he was here and it was like this," she struggles to explain, gesturing around the room. I finally notice the horrifying work, whoever this he is, did to her flat. My eyes go wide as I see nearly every surface covered in words.
Whore.
Traitor.
Murderer.
Death Eater.
Betrayer.
Red flashes behind my eyes. I don't think I have ever been so angry in my life as I am right now, for her. How dare someone say these things to her? To this perfect, kind, already broken girl. My fists clench at my sides.
"Who did this?" I ask in a low voice.
Hermione stays silent and just looks at me, her arms around her own torso as though she is trying desperately to hold herself together so she doesn't crumble to pieces.
"You have to report this. If you don't want to go to Potter, go to someone. Get the aurors involved –
"It's Ron," she says in a barely audible voice.
I stop. "What? I don't understand."
She just shakes her head. She won't explain.
"You can't stay here," I say. "Come to the Manor. I won't let anyone hurt you."
Her mouth drops open, just slightly, in unspoken terror and I know what I'm asking. I'm asking her to move from one fear to the next; go back to the place where she was tortured.
"I don't think I can," she responds quietly, voice shaking.
"Hermione, you can't stay here. If you won't come to the Manor, will you go to Potter's?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "They've been through enough. I don't want them to get involved in this."
"I don't care about them right now; I care about you."
She looks at me, the words I'm saying slowly sinking in. Her eyes, her beautiful, chocolate eyes stare through me, crashing into my soul with tidal wave force. And I know, that something is seriously wrong in the relationship between her and her friends right now. A tear rolls down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away.
"You care about me?" she whispers.
It's as though she thinks nobody could care about her and it burns my chest to think of how horrible the people around her must be that this girl standing in front of me, this incredible person, believes that no one cares about her.
"Yes," I reply. "And I know what I'm asking, trust me, I know. I live in that place and every time I enter, I have to remind myself that it's over. I understand how hard it is to go back there. I do. The things that went on there haunt me. But you can't. stay. here."
She takes a deep breath and slowly releases herself from her own grip letting her arms fall to her sides. I move over to her and take her hand in mine.
Hermione stares at our hands, interlocked together before raising her eyes to mine once again.
"It's not the same as it was during the war. My mother wanted no reminders so the old furniture is gone, the walls are painted. It's not perfect; the foundations are the same, the walls themselves still hold hints of dark magic, but it's not like it was." I pause. "Do you trust me?" I ask.
She's silent for a moment, her eyes searching mine.
"Yes. I trust you," she says.
Hearing her say the words is like a hammer being taken to those walls of mine. Those walls I hide behind are one step closer to being knocked down and flooded with light.
"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," I repeat.
"But your father –
"My father will not come near you. Yes, he does hold the same sick views he did during the war and oh, would he hate you being at the manor. But I will not let him hurt you. If he even steps foot in the same room, I have no problem sending a hex or two his way. I won't kill the man, and he knows that, but I've already told him that if he even thinks about hurting you, he will not like what comes his way."
"And your mother?"
"She holds those beliefs as well, but she supports me. She was actually the one who suggested I talk to you in the first place."
Hermione takes a deep breath. "Alright."
"Alright?" I clarify.
"Yes. Let's get out of here."
"I want to apparate us outside the main gates. It will give you a bit of time to prepare yourself rather than suddenly appearing inside."
She nods.
Hands still clasped together, I apparate the two of us to the front gates of Malfoy Manor.
The sun has nearly set, sending dark shadows across the Manor grounds and a cool, spring, evening breeze brushes past our skin. Hermione shivers.
"Are you ready?" I ask. I don't believe she will ever truly be ready as she is squeezing my hand so tightly it feels as though I may lose circulation in my fingers.
Again, she simply nods.
I take my wand from my pocket and wave it in front of the gates, causing them to open, and I gently lead Hermione towards the place of her horrors. We walk across the grounds, which seem so much larger now than ever before, and finally reach the front door.
"Remember, it's not going to be like it was," I reassure her.
Stepping into the foyer, I can feel Hermione shaking beside me. Overwhelming guilt bubbles up inside, threatening to come loose. I feel sick to my stomach as I hear her screams, her pleading for the pain to stop, the laughter of my maniacal aunt as she leaned over Hermione's writhing form. It flashes through my mind every time I step foot in this room, but never as strongly, as violently, as it is right now. I stood there and watched. I did nothing. And it eats away at me, day after day.
I hear her exhale loudly beside me and turn to her. She's blurry and I realize I may be crying. I pull myself together, but not before she notices.
"It wasn't your fault, Draco," she tells me.
"But I was a coward, I just watched –
"You were only a boy. It wasn't your job to protect me. We weren't even friends, in fact, enemies. Why do you think you should have stepped in? Why would you have risked your life for someone you considered an enemy?" She pauses for a moment. "You're right. It's different now." She gestures around the room at the bright emerald green walls and almost golden wood floors, the new and sparkling crystal chandelier causing light to seemingly dance across the room. "It's different; the room, our friendship. It's different now."
I feel a heavy weight lift off my chest, freedom from the burden of guilt I have carried with me since that horrible day years ago.
She doesn't blame me. She hasn't been blaming me all this time, while I have been struggling to make it through each day without hearing her screams echo through my mind. And now she stands, in the place where it happened, and assures me.
"Are you alright?" I finally ask.
"Yes. I think I am," she sounds surprised.
I am relieved. She has survived so much and I can tell this has been a step towards healing.
I lead her up the stairs and to the West wing, where my father rarely steps foot. I can only hope he will not make an appearance while she's here. Leading her down the hall and showing her around a bit, I can see the awe in her expression. I have to admit, even the bathroom is quite extravagant. I finish up the short miniature tour at the guest bedroom she will be sleeping in.
"You can stay here," I say, opening the door.
"This is a guest room?" she asks, brows raised. It is a nice room, even compared to the other guest rooms; large with light lavender walls, a small white bookshelf, a fairly large, white wardrobe, and that same lavender colour on the bed.
"Did you expect any less?"
"I shouldn't have, should I," she states.
Hermione turns to face me and we stand in silent tension. I realize how close we stand, that if I lean down just a bit . . . She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth nervously, drawing my attention to them, and my sudden desire to kiss her.
But I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. She's my friend, we just became friends after years of being enemies. But now I want more. I want to push this thing, whatever it is we have between us, to its limits. I want to kiss her. And I can't want that. I can't, because, even though she doesn't blame me for what happened to her, I am still not worthy. I am a Malfoy, I am an ex-Death Eater, I am not worthy to love her.
"Uh . . . so . . . my room is down the hall if you need anything. I'll see if I can get you some night robes and clothes for tomorrow," I say, pulling us both out of our daze.
"Right. Yes. Thank-you," she replies. "Really, Draco. Thank-you."
I simply smile, nod politely, and make a quick exit down the hall to prevent doing something impulsive. Like kiss her.
As I walk away, because I need to walk away, I realize just how strong she is. She has no one to support her, one of the people she used to call a best friend broke into her flat and wrote horrible things about her around the entire place, faced the Manor, where she was tortured, and is still standing in one piece. I shake my head, utterly amazed. Anyone else wouldn't have cried once and moved on; anyone other than her would have needed someone else to pick up the shattered pieces. But she's Hermione Granger.
I close my eyes. She's Hermione Granger, and here, with me, safe.
Author's Note:
Hey my amazing readers! You finally found out who the letters were from . . . but why? What is going on between Hermione and her friends? I would love to hear from you guys! If you see anything that needs fixing, have any suggestions or theories, or simply just want to comment, I would really appreciate it.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed for the last chapter, you always make me smile.
My training for my new job starts on Thursday so I will have a chapter up for Saturday but depending on the date I actually start working, it may go back to once a week.
Anyways, thanks for reading!
