"Sorted Too Young"
Dumbledore tells Snape, "Sometimes, Snape, I think we sort them too young."
CHAPTER 20 – CHILDISH
Gratefully for Draco, his night went without torment. He had sat the evening while Hermione directed Harry on how to properly rub in the healing salve for Draco's wounds. Ron had stayed overnight and could be heard snoring from his room. Draco tried not to be annoyed by Hermione's teacher-tone as she instructed Harry.
"Harry? Pay attention. If you are going to be an auror, you will have to know some first aid." Draco only thought how little first aid actually helped against the terribly curses and hexes cast by dark wizards. But then, maybe it could help long enough till real help arrived and Hermione said as much.
Draco closed his eyes and simply ignored them, pretending a little as if they were house elves treating him and enjoyed the shoulder massage as best he could. He slept well for his first night after that. No nightmares of his woke him and he almost revelled in this. What did wake him was a yell from Harry's room and the sound of Hermione's feet trotting from her room to his. Of course Harry suffered nightmares. Draco vague recalled that Harry had suffered them all the time since he had met him. Harry had been linked in a way to Voldemort. Draco shuddered to think what vile things Harry had to be subjected to experience. The Dark Lord took pleasure like Belltrix, sexual, sadistic, terrifying.
Draco rolled over. The clock by the window read 3:00am. He closed his eyes. Someone moved over his bed an hour later and jumped off. His eyes flew open, but he did not move. A flick and tap and his wand clattered the floor behind him and the candle toppled and went out. Darkness swallowed the room. Draco gulped audibly. He had always been afraid of the dark. A thin dim moonbeam illuminated a bit of floor between his bed and the window. A skittering noise emanated behind him. His wand flew across the floor under the bed to hit the wall below the window. Draco held his breath. A low growl under the bed made him flinch.
Draco made a swift reach to try to either fling the curtains open or grab the wand. Both were just out of reach in the dark. A ginger flame licked his wand back under the bed. Draco pulled back to the bed. Heart pounding in his ears he tried to muster the courage to grab his wand. He reached shakily down and inched his hand under the bed with dread. A flash of sharp pain dashed across his hand. He yelled and recoiled.
His door flew open and there stood his heroine for the night. Hermione held her wand aloft to light her way.
"There's a monster under my bed! Be careful!" his voice almost squeaked with his fear. Only after the words tumbled from his mouth did he realize how ridiculous he sounded, like a child with imaginary monsters. The look Hermione gave him only added to his feeling, but her lit wand showed the beads of blood forming in four thin neat lines along the back of his hand. He thrust the back of his hand forward as proof. She walked across the floor fearlessly. He remembered how fearless she had stood refusing to answer his Aunt Bella, even the defiant glare between agonizing screams during torture. He admired her Gyffindor courage.
"Oh… just lick it, Malfoy," she stated flatly as she crouched to peer under his bed with her wand.
He recoiled in disgust at the idea of licking blood, even his own. How barbaric and … and … gross!
Without rising from her crouched position, she reached up and dropped his wand on the bed sheets. "Not yours, Crookshanks!" She pulled a large fluffy ginger furred cat from under his bed. It turned its head to Draco and he flinched in horror. She shooed her cat out of the room.
As she rummaged in his bathroom for a cloth and some water, he asked, "What happened to that cat's face? Bad hex? Stray curse? Angry house elf with a frying pan?"
"Persian breeding," she answered as she sat on his bedside and rook his hand in hers. She dabbed the back with the cloth to clean it. He hissed. "Oh hush, it's just a scratch." It healed swiftly with the salve she rubbed into the scratches.
He watched her in silence as she had ordered. In his head he thought how he ought to tell her what spell she cast on him to save his life. He decided not. Pure blood ancient magic was a fiercely guarded secret. Each family had their own. There were similarities with some of the binding rites and some were universal as they were simply ancient. Like wedding rites and vows that held stronger than unbreakable vows, like the incantation she had recited the first part to. The pure bloods never used them anymore in case they needed to divorce. Draco wondered where she had learned it.
"Draco? What are you staring at?" Hermione asked uncomfortably.
"Nothing," he lied smoothly. "Will… will you stay? Just till I'm asleep?"
She agreed as she crossed his room to replace the cloth in the bathroom. She returned and removed a candle stub from a wall sconce. "Containum," she cast upon the glass and set it back in place. "Flamis eternis." A small flame sprang to life inside the glass. Draco whispered the two new spells to himself to remember them for later. "As much as it is an eternis spell, it actually fades with the dawn light, so you will have to recast it each night. And, yes, I'll stay. I'm sorry Crookshanks gave you a scare. Ron hates him. But he's really very friendly if you just get past his prickly masks and give him a chance to show you how gentle and protective he is. I love when he purrs. It is so soothing. You always feel loved and never feel alone when he does that."
She sat upon his bed as she curled up under his blanket. She rested a hand on his sore shoulder, which was starting to feel more normal with the proper care it had been receiving. "Now go to sleep, Draco," she whispered. Like he'd been commanded, he drifted soon into peaceful slumber.
When he woke, she was not there. He figured she returned either to stay with Harry or back to her own room. He washed in his own bathroom, one that was not shared with five or more Weasleys. After strapping on his knee brace and dressing, he made his way down the stairs. Noise in the kitchen warned him of Ron who was up and routing around for left over cold pizza for breakfast.
"Want some cold pizza, mate?" Ron tried to sound friendly. Hermione insisted he stop being a foul git to Draco and he promised to try.
Draco was dressed very smartly like he was going to a formal meeting at the ministry. Ron wondered if Draco ever dressed down when he was not too injured to be otherwise. Draco wondered if Ron dressed like a bum all the time. Although, Draco held an unspoken decision to be polite to his benefactors and saviours. He was a guest in this house after all and that came with its own etiquette. Helping himself to the food was not appropriate etiquette of a guest.
Hungry though, he did accept the proffered pizza, having really liked it the night before. It was easier to eat cold and tasted fine. Ron kept his amusement to himself as he'd never tell Draco that he just engaged in the lowest of common people behaviour of eating cold pizza for breakfast. For good measure, Ron even put butter beer on the table.
The others trickled down slowly over the morning. Ron and Draco were glaring dangerously at each other in the sitting room over a chess board. Hermione walked into the room with Harry and watched from a distance for a few minutes. Then, "Accio king pieces."
"HAY!" they both yelled in her direction.
"After we get back you can finish. We have to go to Diagon Alley, remember? Banking, clothes shopping, peaking at books." She set the two chess pieces on the fireplace mantle.
Ron muttered, "She'll be in the book store for hours while we do all the work." The comment earned him a fiery look from Hermione that made Draco smirk.
"We should do the bank first," suggested Draco. Harry nodded, stuffing his complicated letters into his back pocket. Draco pulled them out and put them into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Never leave something this sensitive in such an exposed and easy to pick-pocket location."
They each used the floo network to arrive in Diagon Alley. It was bustling during this almost lunch hour. They took lunch in the Leaky Cauldron then headed to the back. Ron had no business in the bank himself so he headed to the sports shop to look at quiddich equipment and inquire about opening on any teams. They would meet him there after they were done. And Draco thought to himself that they didn't need to worry about losing Hermione in the book store, but Ron in the sports store… or in George Weasley's shop. It was a toss up where Ron would actually end up.
Mildly offended, Draco brushed off the dust of the floo, "You really need to get that cleaned. It should never leave so much… residue." His dress pants still bore a little dust by the cuffs. He refused to bend down in public to clean his shoes.
He stepped out onto the street and began the slow walk to the bank. Many eyes followed them. Actually, many eyes followed Draco, ex-Death Eater. It was not unlike the last time he walked through here. He wrapped around himself the mantle of noble airs. Lifting his chin, he tried to emulate of all hated people his father. Perfect poise. Perfect grace. So many more watched him though than last time. His name on the whispering wind.
Harry nudged his elbow, "Feels good to not be the one being stared at for a change."
Draco didn't seem to hear Harry. Hermione lightly touched his cane hand and he stopped to look at her. "What are you thinking? You are so deep in your thoughts."
Very quietly, he answered her. "That I belong here. That I have every right to be here, as much as they do. That I am powerful. That I have their respect. That I am the bar they dream of reaching."
Ron burst out into guffawing laughter. Hermione punched his arm hard, "RON!"
"Mate, do you actually believe that shite?" Ron asked between snickers while rubbing his bruised arm.
Draco's stoic composure faltered. He looked from Ron to Harry to Hermione and back to Ron. "No. Not one single bit and probably never will. But I am trying very hard to." He set his jaw and tried to ignore Ron.
Harry dragged Ron off, "You two? I'll meet you on the stairs of the bank."
Hermione sighed. Draco wasn't sure if it was relief for the break from the embarrassment of Ron or for some other reason. "Draco, you do belong here." She made her pint by coming around and sliding her arm around his right elbow. He automatically crooked it like a gentleman. "You do have every right to be here, as much as anyone else. You are a powerful wizard. And you have the respect of many for the daring you had to stand up against not just the Death eaters, but your best friends and your family for what you believed was the right thing to do. That takes great great… don't take this the wrong way… great Gryffindor-like courage. And the things you are now doing, the changes you are trying to achieve, that earns you respect as well. They simply stare because they don't see you often. You have been so secreted away from everyone while you were healing. They are just curious." She walked at his slow limping pace, reminded of Remus Lupin. "Oh, and also, they are not used to you walking with us."
She nodded to someone stepping out of Flourish and Blots and waved cheerily. Looking back at Draco she urged, "hey… stop looking so stern. Smile." At his fake almost sneering smile, she tisked and stepped in front of him. This was going to be a scene of total humiliation and he dreaded every second as they stood in the middle of the street. "Look at me." She touched his cheek with a finger to hold his attention. "Forget them. Smile, just for me, okay."
A soft blush rose in his pale skin, giving him a little color. His eyes watched her and softened, letting the world vanish for a moment. And he smiled, just a little, for her, because she asked and he found himself wanted to comply. She smiled back and he suddenly felt shy.
"There!" she declared victoriously as she took his arm again. She smoke with people around them as smoothly as his mother did. It surprised him how unawkward Hermione was. She moved among these people like she knew them all and was friends with them all. Usually, when he moved among them or more his father, they snapped to please him. They obeyed his commands with fear.
"Draco, my son. There are two ways to earn the respect of others." Narcissa stroked the platinum blond hair of her five year old son. "Fear will make them do as you tell them. Honour and love will ensure the always be and do what you need."
"How does Father earn his respect?" asked an innocent boy with bright pale blue eyes.
Sadness filled his mother's eyes. The boy did not miss the look. He understood then that this was not the life she wished for either of them, but they were trapped in it. He didn't know how to get out. He was only five. Mum would fix it though, or he would obey his father till he found his own way out.
"Papère Malfoy is very ill, Draco. Before he passes, would you like to see his ring? One day, you will wear one as heir to this family." She opened a silk handkerchief to show Grandfather Malfoy's authentic ring. She had removed it without permission from his room, or with it. No one would ever know. "Go ahead, put it on," she smiled to her son. "And we will pretend for a moment that you a an ancient king in exile charged with the secret mission to protect those who cannot protect themselves and this is the only proof of who you really are, making you the key to the future of the family."
The fair child grinned excitedly, the earlier distress already forgotten in the thrill of boyish fantasies of heroism. He gingerly took the ring and put it on. It was of course way too big. He jumped playfully around the room, pretending to brandish a wand, "I will protect you Mum from the evil king who has forgotten the old ways!" Then he yelped and dropped the ring. "Mum! Mum… it bit me!" the dropped to the floor.
She gathered it up in the silk cloth and put it into her pocket. Then she soothed her startled son and kissed the tiny prick better and whispered that one day she would tell him of the great and wonderful secrets of Malfoy, but for now, he was late for his French lessons with the house ghost. He pouted but gathered his books and dragged his feet. "Draco, manners," she chided, "You are a Malfoy, raise you chin and walk with grace." He straightened. "That's my sweet boy, now, smile for me Draco, just for me."
Draco tried his best to relax into his role a little more and to smile and nod to people. Although, in this more casual social excursion, he really had no idea how to speak to people. He had only witnessed his father's curt commanding of the populous like he was king of the British wizarding world. The boy he used to be was forbidden from speaking to anyone but his parents. That commanding air had its uses, but not when you wanted to appear friendly and maybe earn the love of the people. It was a confusing knife's edge he walked. He felt like he would teeter and fall with each step. Hermione stayed close to steady him.
The steps of Gringots goblin-run bank rose before them. Harry sat on the fourth step waiting. "Cheers. I lost Ron at George's. I expect he'll still be there when we are done."
Hermione covered her mouth as she giggled.
A/N: childhood memories are fun! mmmmm... foreshadowing.