A/N: Thanks to dragonjun, SereniteRose, Surugusasa, latina-pr, nickiesysstuff, princesspglouie, personne and guest for their reviews on last chapter. Thanks all for the follows and favourites.
**Before we proceed, let me inform everyone that we are one chapter away from the memories, Grape of Wrath part 4 (chapter 80). Since the upcoming second part is very long and contains a few important issues, I decided to split the chapter into two parts for better understanding of the contents. The memory chapter is also very long and the subsequent ones are too, so I'll really appreciate it if we all remained patient. TPA is a slow story because it's written in a way to touch everyone who read it. There may be only a few who do so but it has a few objectives and writing a love story out of rape absolutely isn't one of them.
**The dream about Jacques Chirac was what I had on him when I was in grade 7. He was the president of France at that time. I still remember it clearly. It wasn't included in this story to insult him in any way.
Thanks for reading everyone. You can review if you like. This chapter is rated M for mild language.
Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental.
Chapter 78: The Oneness and Two-ness (Part 1).
Hermione rose and left Audré's parlour. She never knew what carnage her words left behind.
It was early morning. Her head was bursting with numerous questions. Her mind was numb after what happened. But she was relieved that she had cried and confronted Narcissa. That woman needed to know those truths regarding her esteemed family. She needed to realize how horribly irresponsible and selfish she had been to her brother's disappearance. She needed to understand that, had she been in Hermione's shoes, she would never have helped her rapist even if she was last and only person to be able to do so, as she claimed Hermione to be. She needed to understand that Hermione was trying to be as fair and reasonable as it was possible in her situation; that the mission she was entrusted to was a daunting task.
She didn't feel like returning to her quarters yet. So she headed for the gardens. She could do with some fresh air.
Hermione wasn't fond of Narcissa but she didn't hate her either. It was something in between, a strange understanding between these two women who were related to Draco Malfoy. She hated her once, thought she could never breathe easy in her vicinity. But not anymore. She could breathe freely with her being around them: she and Adrian, now. She knew Narcissa was broken by her son's heinous crime. Hermione knew how she condemned it. She hated her no more. She had decided to keep the pearl brooch she gave her. They had even developed a comfortable silence amongst themselves. They knew where the endline was and why it should never be crossed if they wanted to maintain the harmony they had achieved. But this morning, while insisting that Hermione should help Draco, Narcissa crossed that invisible boundary. As a result Hermione was compelled to show her the mirror of reality and tell her on her face that even though, she claimed she was ashamed of her son's acts, she wasn't ashamed of he own role in being as selfish and ignorant as Draco was to his surroundings. It was easy to point fingers to others. Blame them. Most people never noticed that while doing so, the other three fingers were pointed to them.
She took a round of the garden. She walked among the many plants. Their leaves were glistening with the early morning dew. It was a beautiful sight. Hermione wanted to appreciate the view. But she couldn't. She felt restless.
It was strange. Hermione always knew her to be a very cool headed and logical person. She always knew what she wanted to do. She was never impulsive. Even if she were given two moments to do something, she would think fast in one and spend the other in executing her plans. She had always been like this. From lying to Professor McGonagall about the troll or setting Snape's robes on fire during the Quidditch match in her first year; or breaking into Snape's private storage to procure Boomslang skin to make Polyjuice Potion and the discovery of the Basilisk real identity in her second year; or keeping the truth about Remus Lupin to herself and using the Time Turner to help Sirius escape; or accepting Krum's offer to go to the Yule Ball with him knowing very well what she felt for Ron; or the formation of Dumbledore's Army, deciding to help Harry in his dire times or Obliviating her parents and last but not the least, choosing to keep Adrian realizing full well what it would cost her, she always knew what she was doing and why. Even her marriage with Draco wasn't completely her defeat. She had meant to protect Adrian by doing so and she had succeeded in it. Her son was now safe from that pureblood maniac and his plans backfired on him.
But now? She felt strangely detached from herself. It was as if she wasn't that old Hermione anymore. Logical. Cool headed. Considerate. Slightly bossy and stubborn. Very stubborn. No. This Hermione was brooding. Crying. Confused. Perplexed. Horrified. Shaken. Torn between the desire to stay and leave. She didn't know this Hermione. It was like being a foreigner in her own body. As if she was trapped inside a golden cage and knew not where the door was.
Gentle breeze brought to her the scent of early morning dew stained grass. She remembered her first class with Horace Slughorn. He had asked them about Amortentia, the Love Potion. She remembered telling him about its smell being different from person to person, according to what one liked most or attracted him or her. She told him that she liked the smell of freshly mown grass. She had learnt it when her father cleaned their small front lawn. The smell of freshly mown grass would come up to her room on the first floor, through the windows. She'd breathe deeply in it and close her eyes. It was strangely comforting and fulfilling. As if she was back in Old Times when people lived closer to nature. Thinking of her past Hermione closed her eyes. She wanted to forget them now. It was part of a past she had willingly left behind.
Hermione continued walking. At last she came to stand where Draco had almost bled to death. The patch of grass was stained with deep red and dried blood. The blood of the man who had attacked her before cutting his own throat with Hermione's wand. The air smelt of stale blood here. Hermione wrinkled her nose. Creases appeared on her forehead when a strange thought occurred to her.
How was it possible that Draco Malfoy could smell her? Like a werewolf. He wasn't a werewolf. That much Hermione was sure of. But how then? How did he find out that she was in the garden with him, waiting for his return?
She had an inkling sensation that she was missing something; that there was a logical answer to what happened last night. True that Audré's explanation was sufficient in pointing out what Draco was suffering from. She had seen it with her own eyes: a battle between two Dracos. But that didn't explain how he could smell her. Neither did Audré explain it to her or anyone.
She circled the ground around the half dried blood, deep in her thoughts. She never liked the smell of blood. It brought memories of her own rape – the blood between her thighs, Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Snape's death in Shrieking Shack, her memory of one night when she found her pregnant self bleeding and thought she was going to miscarry.
She wanted to leave the place; it was foreboding and pressing her already frayed nerves. But it drew her like a giant and strong magnet and Hermione stared at the blood stained patch of grass unblinkingly.
The sight of blood brought another thought in her mind. Blood. Blood. Inferi. Regulus. Kreacher. Elf. Their shrunken severed heads mounted on the wall of the Grimmauld Place. Narcissa. Her words on the Blacks sacrificing elves to cast Permanent Curses on valuable family heirlooms to prevent its passing outside the family. Hermione frowned deeply. Why the elves? Why the elves?
Why were these curses permanent? Her common sense and extensive research told her that for any curse that was designed to prevent a heirloom's passage to a non-family member, it should have a way or mean to detect the its rightful owner. Otherwise, it could curse the family members too.
Could these curses detect finger prints or hand prints when the objects were touched?
There was a possibility but it seemed highly unlikely.
There must be a way that those objects differentiated the family members. Was it through blood?
Blood. Blood. Draco's blood.
But the Blacks didn't sacrifice their sons. They used elves. The question was, why?' Why not a hen or a cow or a goblin or a hippogriff or something else? They were life forms too. Was it only because elves were considered by many as disposable creatures, just as Voldemort thought it when he borrowed Kreacher from Regulus?
Hermione tried to remember the pages of her 'A History of Magic' book. She had researched on goblin rebellions and from Bill's words she knew that the goblins would never recognize wizards as their masters. A hen or a cow wasn't a being, they were animals. Hippogriffs were very hard to tame. Elves on the other hand… She stopped abruptly and stared as a sudden discovery dawned on her.
The sun overhead slowly started to spread its heat and glow as Hermione's head worked faster than a flash of lightening and found the answer she had been searching for monthes. It was the blood stain on the grass that gave her what she was looking for.
The elves were the only beings in entire Wizarding world who were loyal to their masters until their last breath. It was their blood that connected them to their rightful owners.
It was simple yet very effective.
Hermione was shocked. The answer had been there, before her eyes and she couldn't see it. She? The brightest witch of her age. She? Hermione 'Jean' Granger, the Chief Curse Breaker of Gringotts. She had overlooked the possibility that blood might be the connecting factor here. Unable to contain her excitement, she started pacing.
"Elves are very particular about their ownership, Hermione." She was talking to herself loudly now, "They are usually passed from one generation to the next until they demise while in their services. They take pride in serving their master, his sons and grandsons. They don't like to be passed to someone outside the family and even if they are passed, they don't recognize the new owner as their master and don't do his or her biddings willfully." She remembered Kreacher and his reluctance to serve Harry until he was given Regulus's locket. That was when Harry had truly won his heart. "So if someone sacrificed an loyal elf and used its blood to place an Unbreakable or Permanent Curse on an object, that means that they were imbibing that object with the elves' undying loyalty and their wishes to be passed only within family members." She smacked on her palm excitedly, unable to believe that she has finally solved the problem, "That's the reason, Hermione Jean Granger, the Blacks used elves and not goblins. It's not the life but the nature of the being they are sacrificing, you fool, and with the help of the elves' loyalty to their family, a object cursed with their blood was well able to differentiate its rightful owner from those who are not so."
It was a glorious moment. The moment she had been waiting for. The moment she had been working for monthes. She wanted to celebrate it. Laugh. Whoop. Sigh in relief. She could save some innocent lives now, with her discovery. She wanted to compose a letter to the Wizarding Office of Magical Discovery and ask for patent ship. She wanted to do many things but she couldn't. The break she had been waiting for came to her when she was pacing around Draco's blood, the man who was a Black by her mother's side, and while observing it with unease. She tried to move away from it but couldn't. She should be happy and it was oddly dead inside her heart. She felt nothing. Nothing at all. And it troubled her.
Hermione circled the patch of blood another two times before leaving the spot with a sad sigh. Something about the blood has changed her, touched her and she wasn't what she was even a day ago. She wanted to know the answer. Why was it like this?
"Mama!" she heard a loud exclaim and saw her son, still in his red pajamas running to her. She moved away from the gruesome scene of last night's battle. She wasn't keen to scare him by showing it.
"Mama!" Adrian was panting slightly, looking alarmed as he came to stand before Hermione, ""Where were you? Hurry up! We'll be late for school!" he tugged and pulled her towards the Château.
Hermione didn't stop him. She wanted to be bossed by someone; wanted someone to tell her what to do in such situations. She wanted to be guided, told that she was near all the answers she was looking for just as she had been near the discovery about the elf blood and Permanent Curses. But there was no one to guide her. She was on her own and she needed to find her own way out of this.
"Little rabbit," she called him softly as soon as they reached the stairs leading to the front door, "We are not going to school today." She finished the declaration with a kind smile.
As expected, Adrian turned to her, his handsome and innocent features serious. Hermione knew it would happen. It was never she who told him that he'd be bunking the school. She always encouraged him to attend it, even when he would request a lie-in in the morning. She knew how eagerly he was anticipating today's school. He had been planning to tell his friends about the broom ride.
"Why?" Adrian asked, his tone half stunned and half-hearted.
"Come to Mama, Adrian." Hermione sat on the marble steps and offered him to join her. The little boy came and sat beside her, still looking hopeful that she would take back her words. Hermione, realizing the boy's tender and sensitive heart, wrapped her shawl around them and brought him closer. It warmed her to the core. How very strange that any proximity with his petite form calmed her senses and soothed her turbulent nerve!
"Little rabbit, I know you have been waiting to go to school." She started slowly, resting her chin against his head, "I know you wanted to tell Louis and Gina about the broom ride. But something happened last night, when you were asleep. Something really really bad. And now Uncle Julian and the Minister of Magic both think that we should stay at home. Do you think it would be wise if we disobey them, especially the Minister?"
Adrian shook his curl adorned head, his eyes as wide as grey marbles. "No. We shouldn't disobey the Minister." He replied. "But what happened, Mama?"
Hermione took a deep breath, preparing herself for the hard part of explaining things to Adrian. She chose the easy one.
"You remember Mama told you about helping the Minister of Magic for an important case?" She asked him and he nodded, "Mama is not alone in it, you know my love. There are other people too. Grandma Audré. Uncle Julian. Uncle Alexis. Monsieur. They are from our side. There is also an old and good man named Élli Decazes. He's a very wise and a learned man." She noticed how Adrian listened hungrily, "But last night, some very bad people broke into Monsieur Decazes's home and hurt him badly for helping us, helping the Minister. He is now at the hospital and the Minister is worried. He thinks that we shouldn't leave home or go out until the bad men are caught or the places that we go are well protected. He even told grandma and everyone so. So, now Uncle Julian is out looking for the bad men and everyone else is at home, waiting."
Hermione tried to keep it as simple as possible, deliberately. She didn't like complicacy and yet her life was full of it.
"Oh." Adrian blinked, slowly taking everything in, "Mama, I want to fight the bad men." He declared suddenly.
"You want to what?" Hermione asked, surprised but proud internally. Adrian was a Gryffindor's son after all.
"I want to fight." Adrian repeated firmly. "No one hurts my Mama. No one hurts Grandma or those who help the Minister. I remember your story. You told me about that Evil Witch. She hurt you before I was born. And Monsieur hurt you too. Because you were not pureblood like him. But now, I am here. I am your man, Mama." he lifted up his little chin proudly, "I have a sword and I'll fight anyone who will try to hurt you. Where is Uncle Julian?" he looked around expectantly as if he was waiting for with a battalion of army.
"He is in a meeting with the Minister." Hermione replied, her heart filled with tender affection for her young and brave son who'd fight anyone who dared to harm his mother. Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him, grateful that she was blessed with the kid. "But when he returns home, little rabbit, I'll tell him that my son, the great warrior Adrian Thomas Granger, wants to fight those who want to hurt his dearest Mama and his dear family. I'll also tell him that my son was named after a great wizard who fought against many bad wizards and that he's as brave as his Mama, who was a Gryffindor."
"Yeah. You tell uncle that." Adrian piped from his place on her bosom. He then pulled out the chain Hermione was wearing with the Cornicello in it. She noticed how the little boy sighed in relief at the sight of the horn shaped amulet.
"Mama, you are always going to wear that, okay?" He bade her and Hermione nodded with an assuring smile. She was going to wear it anyway, at least for a while. "Okay, Mama's cute little man." She brought him closer and planted a tender kiss on his forehead. These little moments of tenderness with Adrian were her motherhood's bliss and she cherished them like treasure.
But to her surprise, Adrian shook his curl adorned head this time, looking highly affronted. "No. Not okay. I am not a cute man, Mama. I am a man." He corrected her with an aura of high dignity worthy of a Knight from King Arthur's Round Table.
Hermione laughed for the first time that day. Audré was right. Adrian did take his manhood very seriously. "But you are cute, my little rabbit." She supplied matter-of-factly and wrapped him into a tight and possessive hug.
"Men are not cute, Mama." Adrian protested as if surprised that Hermione didn't understand such an obvious and reasonable fact about men folk, "Men are just men."
Hermione laughed again. "Well my dear just man Adrian, you are Mama's man and every man who are their Mama's man are titled as cute. It's a universal law and there is no exception to it."
"Who set that rule?" Adrian asked, visibly annoyed about it.
"SMFG." Hermione replied confidently. "It stands for Society of the Mothers to Future Gentlemen." She made it all up at once.
"Future Gentlemen?" Adrian repeated after Hermione, seemingly liking the idea. "That's okay." He opined in the end. "But you'll not call me cute before Louis or Gina. Or they'll call me cute too." He warned her beforehand.
Relieved that the first part of the conversation went well, Hermione agreed and yawned. Now was the hardest part. The truth about Draco.
"There is something I want to tell my cute little son." She started, wondering how to explain things in simple terms. Adrian wasn't old enough to understand inner battle or sexual assault and Merlin forbade her if she ever explained it to him before his appropriate age arrived.
"Monsieur fell ill last night." she said in a carefully guarded tone.
As expected, Adrian's eyes became round again; this time concern and surprise were the predominant emotions in them.
"How?" he asked her.
"He is…" Hermione raced inside her head for want of a proper word. "…is very stressed." She finished in the end.
"Stressed?" Adrian repeated after Hermione. His tone suggested that he didn't all together understand the meaning.
"Yes, dear, stressed." Hermione assured him that he heard it right. "Stress is a…very tough situation." She tried to explain it very realistically so that Adrian could get the meaning. "Stress is when someone has a lot of things to do but has very little time. Like when you get a lot of homework and want to play and have little time to complete them, Adrian, that's what stress is."
"Oh." Was all that Adrian said.
"And when one is very stressed, you know, like really really stressed, they sometimes fell ill from the pressure." Hermione continued leaving out the monster and suicide attempt part.
"You mean Monsieur didn't do his homework and the Minister punished him?" Adrian asked her from what he saw in his class daily. His young and innocent mind was incapable of imagining things any other way than he always saw it.
Hermione beat down an urge to laugh at the explanation. It would clearly affront him. '
"No." she replied kindly, "It means that Monsieur had a lot of works to do and he was afraid that he may not be able to finish them in time. So he was stressed and fell ill."
"That's bad." Adrian opined, looking sad about it. "I don't like it when I fell ill. I can't play with Peter or Hedwig or Gwyn. I can't draw. I feel tired. So I sleep. But I don't like it." he shook his head, "It's sad that Monsieur is ill because he didn't do his homeworks in time. Monsieur's Mama, grandma Narcissa should check that he does his homework in time." he remarked.
"I don't think that's possible now." Hermione said, relieved beyond anything that her son didn't enquire more about Draco. "Monsieur is a grown up man now, Adrian. He is responsible for his own actions. Grandma Narcissa can't always supervise him."
Adrian sighed. Strangely it sounded like Hermione sighing when she was sad and disturbed about something she didn't understand. Did that mean Adrian was feeling sad for Draco too?
"Mama, can we go and see him?" Adrian asked her after a while. It surprised Hermione. She hadn't considered the possibility that Adrian would like to visit his biological father in his sick bed.
"Of course we can." Hermione replied cautiously. She didn't want to appear very eager or very neglectful about it. "But the Healer said that he should be in bed rest for three days. That means that he is to eat and sleep for three days to recover from the stress. Talking to him might disturb his…er…peace." she finished with much internal battle on how to explain it safely to Adrian.
"Okay." Adrian nodded in understandment, "Then I should send him a letter…no, a get well soon card." He said excitedly, forgetting that it was Draco Malfoy they were talking about.
"Get well soon card?" Hermione blinked in amazement.
Adrian nodded vigorously. "Get well soon card." He repeated as if Hermione didn't hear him right the first time, "Louis sent me three and Gina sent me two when my arm broke. Remember?"
Of course Hermione remembered. How could she not remember that? She even remembered the card Ginny had sent Harry when he was in Hospital Wing. He had to keep it under a fruit bowl in order to stop its shrill singing.
"Are you sure?" she asked him, wondering if it would be a good idea to prevent him doing so. But then she remembered Julian's words about letting her love guide her son and Audré's assurance that Adrian was her son through and through. If that was right, Adrian was bound to feel sad for Draco just as she felt sad when he was rejected by Adrian the day before. It seemed that the mother and her dear son were almost alike when it came to feelings and conscience.
They had a very quiet breakfast afterwards, Narcissa absent from it for obvious reasons. Hermione was relieved that Adrian didn't enquire after her. She took it that he was thinking Monsieur's Mama was with Monsieur when he was ill just as she would be when Adrian was ill. Thankfully, Lillian was prudent enough not to tell Adrian anything about Draco at all. The little boy mostly asked Audré about the good old man who was hurt and Audré replied to all his queries with a trademark pleasant smile of hers that she always wore to hide what was in her mind.
Hermione was tired after breakfast. She wanted to sleep. But she was curious to what her son would draw on his get well soon card. It was decided between them that they wouldn't visit Malfoy but Adrian would owl him a card as soon as he could. Hermione wanted it to be over. There was no point in delaying it.
She took out her own research material and unrolled the parchment in which she was writing her theories of Permanent Curse. It was unfinished after Friday night, the night she fallen asleep and dreamt about Draco, something that Audré explained to her as a spiritual consummation. She dipped her quill into the ink and started writing.
Occasionally, as he wrote her theory with reference to some well known books on Nature of Curses, she squinted at her son, who was working on a small and rectangular folded piece of his thick drawing sheet to make the card for Draco. He was using the same colouring pencils she had bought him for the Drawing Competition in Brussels. It brought to her the memories of those beautiful days. Adrian and her friends enjoying a holiday. Alexis proposing her. Adrian's Saining. His first day in school.
The days evidently became dark afterwards. Adrian was kidnapped and she got married to her rapist to save him. Now she was to save the said rapist too because she sought after many questions.
Audré was right. She couldn't afford to be emotional. She needed to pull herself together. Discipline her mind. Control her thoughts and emotions. Strangely it sounded like Professor Snape's Occlumency lessons. She had heard about them from Harry.
She left the piece of parchment she was writing on and opened the diary where she noted down her important things. It was a old and Muggle one. A gift from her grandmother: Hermione Sarah Leeds Granger. She thumbed out a blank page and wrote down the questions she needed a definite and logical answer.
1 . What did Malfoy do to Rochés? Why did he choose the Rochés Hotel for his party?
2 . Why did he say 'he saw it' when Adrian got hurt by Pierre tearing down his favourite drawing book?
3 . Where was he the night her soul went out to allegedly save him?
4 . Where was he yesterday after the lunch?
5 . Why was he wincing when he returned? How could he locate her with her scent?
6 . Why did she feel sorry for him?
7 . Was her soul betraying her?
8 . Does he really have a monster inside him? If so, how was she going to help him fight it?
Hermione looked down at the questions. There were eight of them. She hoped that it would be all and no more would be added to it.
"Mama." she heard Adrian as soon as she closed the diary with a bookmark in it, "Look." He showed her the card he has made for Draco.
It was wonderful, even to Hermione who knew who would be receiving it. There, in the blue of the sky and white of the clouds that Adrian has drawn with his Muggle pencils, was a broom with a man on it in blue Quidditch uniforms. His hair was drawn in yellow pencil with a tinge of golden and silver in them, to make it silvery blonde. His eyes looked light grey. His posture was impeccably perfect, the slight leaning forward and the feet folded to hold the broom between them, one hand gripping the broom handle tightly while the other was extended in midair, reaching for a Golden Snitch that flew before him.
Adrian has drawn his father as a Seeker in a game of Quidditch. There was no magic but it was alive, very much alive, as if Hermione could hear the cheers of the crowd if she brought the card closer and strained her ears. It was beautiful. Hermione's fingers etched to cast a charm on it to make the pictures move but her wand was with Lillian, who would be cleaning it. In the end, she decided to keep it as it was.
"What should I write, Mama?" she heard Adrian asking her. In all honesty, she didn't know. She was speechless temporarily.
"Anything you like, little rabbit." She returned the card to him, "It's your card."
"Okay." Adrian nodded and took up the pencil-quill he used to compile his school works. "Get… well… soon…" he said between his teeth and wrote. He paused and looked up Hermione. "…and…play…Quidditch…" he added.
Hermione smiled. It was strange that she was not angry or resentful that Adrian was making a card for her rapist. It was very strange. She should give it more thorough thought.
In the end, the card ended up with two messages. One from Hermione and one from Adrian.
Adrian's read:
Monsieur,
I heard you are stressed, (Hermione checked and corrected all the spellings) and ill. I think you should be more careful next time and do all your homework well.
Get well soon.
Adrian.
Hermione's one wasn't exactly a message; it was kind of a warning and it read:
Don't even dare to explain my son what you actually did. I told him that you are stressed and he thought its pressure of homework that made you fell ill. Don't expect us to bring flowers and singing cards for you. Get well soon because you have hell waiting for you after that.
H. J. Granger.
She carefully tied the card and the message on an owl's leg and it took flight. She yawned and stood up. She was tired. She could do with a nap.
She laid down her body on the bed and closed her eyes. Adrian was still drawing when she drifted into sleep.
There were few occasions on which she had slept so soundly and tired to her bones, Hermione didn't even stir in her sleep until noon. It was then that she had a very unusual dream.
She saw herself standing before a water well. It was hooded with a small tiled roof. The brick wall had an aged and mossy appearance. A distorted looking bucket with a frayed rope was hanging from the wooden frame. The entire scene had a foreboding aura about it and somewhere inside Hermione's heart, a beat missed when she heard a muffled voice coming out from it.
Was someone there? It couldn't be. Who'd go down there and why?
Mustering her courage, Hermione took a few tentative steps towards it and reached the water well. Her heart leapt to her throat when she realized that the voice coming up wasn't singular but plural. Gulping, she peeped into the cavernous depths of the well.
At first, nothing came in to view. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the dim light and then she saw a peculiar scene.
Draco Malfoy was hanging for his dear life from one of the brick steps that led out of the well. The steps being mossy and old; it was a very difficult job. What made it more difficult was the presence of another man who was clutching to Draco's feet like doxies clung to dirt and pulling him down. He looked exactly like Draco.
Hermione's mouth fell open. What was she witnessing actually? What's happening down there? Who are these people?
"Leave me, you bastard!" stunned, she saw it when Draco kicked at the hand holding him down. But it didn't budge. He looked over his shoulder and spitted on the creature or whatever that was holding him down.
But the other Draco only grinned maliciously as the climbing Draco's spit landed on his face. "You are going to go down, Draco dearest. I am not leaving you. If I die, so will you." he cackled and bared his teeth in a feral grin.
His words clenched tightly around Hermione's heart. She took a deep breath and prepared herself to help the climbing Draco. If he was trying to get out then Hermione wasn't letting him die in there. That was out of question.
"Draco, come up!" she leaned forward and offered him her hand, "Take my hand and come up!"
She saw as Draco, panting heavily and fighting against the other Draco pulling him down, tried to heave his body and reached for her outstretched hand.
"Hermione…" he pleaded, "…don't leave me here. I am coming. Okay?"
"No, Draco, I won't leave you!" Hermione shook her head vigorously. How could she leave a man to rot and die down there? In fact, how could she let anyone to die down there? It was pure hell. She must help him. She was Hermione Granger. She couldn't leave to man to die. "I will be up here until you come up." she called back. Their loud conversation kept resonating across the walls of the well.
But this time, the other Draco looked past the climbing Draco above him and gave her same sinister look that she was accustomed to see on his face during their times in Hogwarts. To Hermione it resembled the appearance of the man who had beaten and raped her mercilessly.
"You can spend the rest of life up there, Mudblood, but your Draco is never going to reach you." it proclaimed and pulled Draco. He lost his balance and slipped down another inch, "I'll take him down with me."
"No, you can't!" Hermione screamed. There was no way she was leaving Draco with that monster down there. She remembered the time he had produced his Patronus on her insistence. She rummaged for her wand but couldn't find it. "Draco! Fight! Fight! Don't let him win!" she leaned forward instead and urged. Her hands were trembling terribly but she was going to hold him as soon as his hands were closer.
"I won't, Hermione, I won't!" Draco replied. "Stay there, Hermione; hold on, I am coming up!" He wrapped his numb fingers around another slippery brick and tried to pull himself up but the monster simply clung to his feet like a stubborn leprechaun do on stash of gold.
"No, you are not." He said, trying to drag him back to the water, "I am not letting that Mudblood kill me. I am you, Draco. We live and die together."
No. It couldn't be. Hermione won't let it happen.
"Draco…don't let him win…take my hand…" she cried.
"Hermione, I am coming… wait there…" Draco pleaded.
"You can't go up, Draco…we die together…" the other Draco cackled.
"Draco!"
"Hermione!"
"We die together!"
But that moment, Draco's final hold on the brick slipped and he landed on the dark water with a loud splash. The last sight of him that Hermione glimpsed was a man desperately trying to catch at a straw to prevent his drowning.
"DRACO! NO!" she screamed and sat up, her hand still stretched in the mid air and her whole body shaking violently.
It took her five minutes to realize that she was on her bed and not leaning over an old and sinister water well where Draco had drowned seconds ago. Breathing heavily and disoriented, she downed three goblet of water before she was able to think properly.
Needless to say, it was a very strange and bizarre dream. Ever since her rape, Hermione never dreamt about anything but that horrific incident but her recent dreams had been an exception. Now she dreamt of her mother who she knew was connected to her by soul, a feat that made her feel immensely grateful and relieved. But she wasn't ready to dream her rapist and be connected to him by her soul. Even the idea was suffocating and highly uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than what she experienced last night or when she was pacing around his blood.
She wondered what it meant. The dream. Was she going mad? Or was it another of those instances when her soul allegedly went to rescue Draco's soul? What was happening to her? Why was she worried for him last night? Why did she lie to Julian about Draco not trying to assault her again? Why couldn't she get the image of her blood smeared wand out of her head? Most importantly, why was she calling him as Draco, his given name. She had never used it except for before the Minister or Pasteur. Why was she using it now? And with such ease? As if it was normal. Why? Why? Why?
She leaned against the headboard of her bed and sighed. There were so many 'why's in her life that she wondered where to begin. Was she slowly succumbing to her terrible fate as Draco Malfoy's wife? Did these dreams mean that she was secretly accepting him as her husband? Or was Audré right in saying that Draco was battling with himself, with his dark side and his good side trying to redeem himself in her eyes?
In all honesty, Hermione didn't know.
She noticed a thin blanket over her prone form. Adrian must have tucked his mother in after she fell asleep. It brought a sliver of smile on her lips. How wonderfully protective and considerate he was of his mother!
Resigning the endless stream of thoughts, Hermione left her bed and checked the time. It was almost half past one o' clock in the afternoon and way past her normal bathing time; but then again, who cared? She drew herself a bath but instead of undressing, she climbed into it the bathtub fully dressed and lowered her body in the foamy depths of water.
She sat there, hugging her knees, her chin rested on them and lost in her thoughts; the thoughts of her childhood, Hogwarts and her friends – those golden days of her life; the war, her parents, their journey to uncover the truth and bring Voldemort down, the fateful day of her capture and rape – the darkest time of her life; the dreams of a small home with a man she loved – the past she had crushed under feet in order to remake a new life for another new life growing inside her womb – Adrian, her son.
If she ever got an opportunity in the future, she would sit and write down a book on her life story. Was it less fascinating than those stories she read and loved: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and so on? But for the time being, if she could just share them with someone, with her mother preferably, and ease her soul a bit! Why didn't Adeline Granger come to her when she knew her daughter needed her desperately in such dark hours of her life? If her soul could go to rescue her rapist's, why couldn't the mother's one come in aide to her daughter's?
"Jean?" she heard a soft voice calling her and came out of her musings. She felt tired to even finish her bath. It was almost like her earlier days in France, when she was constantly tired, depressed and pregnant. The days had been long and nights even longer then. She wondered what she would've done if Apolline wasn't there to support her at that time.
"Jean?" it was Audré again and sighing deeply, Hermione replied from her place inside the bathtub.
"I am here, aunt, in the bathroom. Come in."
On her words, the door opened a fraction of an inch and Audré's head peeked in.
"Jean!" she exclaimed softly, noticing that Hermione was sitting in the bathtub fully dressed. The opening widened and she entered her bathroom, visibly disturbed.
"What's wrong, dearest?" She crouched down beside the bathtub, placed a hand on her shoulder and asked her kindly.
"Where is Adrian?" Hermione ignored the question and asked instead. She was so tired of her own confused and ever distressed self.
"He's in the gardens, playing with Lillian and Nicolas." Audré replied with a gentle smile, "Nicolas called in to see if his fiancé was doing well. Lover's little concern, you know." she winked.
Yes. Lover's little concern. Hermione knew it. It was part of a life she left behind long ago.
"Are you unsure if you want to take the bath?" She heard Audré enquired cautiously.
Hermione shook her head in response. She didn't know how to proceed with her life, let alone bath.
"I had a dream, aunt." She told Audré after a moment of silence, "It was very very strange."
"Well, they are dreams, dear and they are meant to be strange." Audré remarked airily. "You know what I dreamt when I went to bed one morning a few monthes ago? I saw that I was walking on a long, red carpet wearing a pair of very dirty shoes. It kept making dirt tracks on the carpet but I was ignoring it deliberately and continued my walking on the carpet with those dirty shoes. Then I noticed a man came and started cleaning that carpet with a Muggle vacuum cleaner. Do you know who he was?"
Hermione didn't reply. She had no suggestions.
"The French Muggle President, Jacques Chirac." Audré replied with a laugh, "And I was his wife, Bernadette Chirac, making those dirt tracks on the carpet he was forced to clean begrudgingly." She laughed heartily and Hermione frowned, "You know, Jean, it's not a secret that Chirac has many mistresses and is very rude to his wife. Maybe that was my own way of taking a silent revenge on him for being unfaithful." She winked at Hermione.
Hermione couldn't follow her. She was too lost to laugh at jokes when her own life was making cruel faces on her.
"I assure you, aunt, that I wasn't dreaming about walking on a carpet with dirty shoes and making Malfoy to clean it." She said somberly, "Though I'd love to do that in real life." she added, "My dream was really unusual." She emphasized.
"I see." Audré was still unfazed. "Then let's hear about it." she said and conjured a wooden stool to sit beside Hermione's bathtub.
Hermione took a deep breath and looked down at the soap water. The water. The well. The two Malfoys. One of them trying to get out of it. The other one holding him down and pulling him to the water. Those words. Those pleas. Her own hand offered to Malfoy. Then the loud splash and Malfoy drowning and disappearing with a loud scream of Hermione.
"Jean." she heard Audré gently calling her and looking up, she started straightaway. She told her all about the dream; the bizarre nature and highly unusual state in which she found herself when she woke up. She didn't leave out even a single tiny detail. When she finished recounting her tale, Audré's features were pensive and unfathomable.
"Do you think it means something, aunt?" She asked her anxiously. "Was it my soul again? I mean...it was so vivid...as if I was really there… and it took me some time to get oriented with the reality after I woke up."
Audré was silently pinching her lips, evidently lost in her own thoughts.
"Aunt?" it was Hermione's turn to bring Audré back to reality.
"Ahhh..." Audré sighed and focused her eyes on Hermione, "I agree Jean, that's a strange dream indeed, but not unheard of."
"Not unheard of? You mean it's my soul again?" Hermione sincerely wished that it wasn't the case. She just couldn't take any more of that nonsense.
"No, Jean." Audré shook her head, "What I meant is, people are prone to strange dreams when they are very stressed and what you saw wasn't anything out of ordinary considering your current mental state." She took her wet hands and squeezed to assure her, "If you want I can lend you books on meaning and interpretation of dreams. There is a very well known Muggle author whose work both Morpheus and I love to read. Sigmund Freud. Heard of him?" she asked and Hermione nodded, "He is called the father of Psychoanalysis. He even worked extensively with dreams and postulated that they can be a guide to know one's wishes that needed fulfillment. I think you should read them, Jean, because it will help you to understand both yourself and Draco."
Hermione nodded, somewhat relieved that her soul wasn't betraying her as often as she thought.
"Okay, I'll read them." she agreed. Reading wasn't a big affair for Hermione Granger and books were her all time best friends. "But do you think that these dreams mean that I am losing my mind? Slowly?"
Audré shook her head, still lost in her thoughts.
"No. Dearest." she replied with a kind and assuring smile, "One doesn't simply lose his or her mind by the virtue of weird dreams. Mind isn't something so plain and naïve as a piece of paper that you can crumple any time you like and throw away. It's a very complicated part of our existence and requires years of physical and mental torture to finally lose it, like the prisoners of Château d'If or Azkaban do after prolonged confinement there."
Hermione was reminded of Sirius and Hagrid's account of the horrors of that Wizarding prison during their long and short stays there, respectively. They had told her that many prisoners went mad there from lack of hope and thick aura of despair. Assured, she went for her next query.
"Do you think..." She felt a lump in her throat at the merest idea of the horrible thought, "...aunt, do you think Malfoy has turned me into his... Horcrux? You know..." She licked her dry and chapped lips, "...implanted a part of his bloody soul in me somehow?"
"No, Jean. Definitely not." Audré was calm but dead serious when she replied this time. "I know Draco has many flaws beside his name but murder is definitely not one of them."
"But what if you don't know about..." Hermione protested.
"Jean, you don't use a mirror to look at your fingers. Do you?" Audré asked and Hermione shook her head. "I told you, dear, that Draco has many flaws but he is not a murderer. He doesn't have that in him, you know, the nerve to kill someone with a cold head to create a Horcrux. And you nonetheless. Someone he is idolizing now, someone whom he considers his salvation. Why should he spoil your soul with his one when in you, he finds his relief, his solace?"
"Aunt, I think you are just overestimating me and underestimating your nephew!" Hermione cried, sick of the idea that Draco was considering her as his last stand on earth. "You don't know Malfoy. He can do anything to get what he wants, reach his means. Look what he did to me, to Adrian, to us." She said resolutely, "And don't forget you yourself said that he won't let me divorce him. Maybe he did it to forge a connection between our souls so that I can never fully leave him even if I divorce him."
"Sounds nice but very unrealistic." Audré remarked dismissively. "Listen Jean, I can understand that you are overwhelmed and stressed by what's happening with and around you but please don't let that skew your judgment. Draco never murdered anyone. Ever. Maybe, you are right, I don't know my nephew. I never thought he would be a rapist and a kidnapper. But I know this much about him to state confidently that he is not a murderer." She said firmly, "You can put him under Veritaserum and check my statement if you want. More importantly, he wasn't anywhere near you since you got married to him. He can't enter this quarter. I am the Secret Keeper here and I haven't even allowed Narcissa to this place knowing your distrust towards her."
"I am sorry." Hermione said after a while, her mind finally at ease with Audré's logical explanation. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"I know, Jean." Audré smiled and patted on her shoulder, "You know what? I think you should have a change of air. The air in Château is definitely not the healthiest of its kind now with everyone being tense and depressed. It looks like we have turned to mini-Dementors. I therefore, suggest that you finish that endless bath of yours and go to Apolline's place for a break. I am sure she'll be happy to have her daughter and grandson back for an entire evening."
Hermione considered the offer and smiled. It sounded pretty well. The Château was so suffocating with everything that happened since last night and she definitely needed a different place to spend the rest of her day.
•••••
Draco left his seat and walked into his bedroom. He was exhausted. More than ever he could remember. He laid on his back on the bed. Some elf must have made it while he was talking to Audré. Under him, the bed sheet was fresh and crisp.
He looked up at the ceiling. Like most of the rooms in the Château it had a chandelier. Candle stubs were thick from the waxes that had dripped around them while burning. He strained his eyes. He could see everything perfectly. His eyesight was perfect.
He sniffed next. The air was faintly fragrant with the perfume of soap and Audré. She had a mild aquatic scent about her. Next came Adrian's thought. His scent was peach and honeysuckle. And his mother? Hermione? She had the most enticing and exotic smell of all.
Daisies. She smelt of fresh daisies; their innocent white smile was all over her and Draco remembered her sleeping form in the first memory. She was innocent and beautiful as them.
How strange that whatever he started to think, no matter how distant and unrelated it was to Hermione, it would inevitably end up with her. Hermione. His wife. Hermione. His quest. Hermione. His salvation. Hermione. His spirit. Hermione. His half Patronus. Hermione. His dream of a home. Hermione. His dream of a better Draco. Hermione. His everything. She was everywhere and Draco closed his eyes, feeling her in him; filling himself with her.
Was he obsessed with her? No. Obsessed people couldn't bear to be away from those with whom they are obsessed with. He could. Comfortably. As long as her thoughts were there to accompany him.
He liked her. He adored her. He admired her. He looked forward to see her. Know her better. Protect her. Make her feel safe and special. Make her feel home.
And love? Something that he had thought that he was in dire need to fall with her before he could proceed? That could wait. He would wait. A lifetime was lying before them. He had more important works to finish before that.
First thing on his list was Hermione's home. Otter's pond. He would make it the way she liked it. A cottage with a swing and a piano was all he knew. He needed to know more. For that he needed to know what she wanted exactly. He knew from his experiences with Astoria that women could be very selective about their homes. They wanted it to be perfect. Draco wanted it to be perfect too. For Hermione.
Next thing was her mother's locket. It was still in his iron safe. He had been planning to return it to her this week. He even had his plan ready. Old Yves. The cat shop. It was a fine and funny plan. Now he was stuck here for three days. Everyone's hawk eyes were on him. This wasn't Hogwarts. He couldn't just slip out of bed, trick Filch, executive his plan and return to bed unnoticed by anyone. Audré was insomniac. She'd notice it if he left the Château, even for an hour.
Okay, Draco Malfoy. Patience. Patience. You got the locket. You'd get the chance to return it to her too.
With that thought came the irresistible desire to see the locket and make a list of things he wanted to give Hermione. He sat up and went to his study table. It was then that he noticed a new letter.
His heart jumped into his mouth as soon as he identified the handwriting. It was Hermione.
With slightly trembling hands he picked it up. He weighed it. It was pretty heavy.
What was it? A letter? Or a legal notice from her lawyer where she notified him that she'd be divorcing him shortly for his aggressive behavior? Or a curse?
Draco didn't know. He wanted to but was afraid. What if it was a divorce notice? His throat was dry at the thought.
But Audré hadn't mentioned anything about it. She never told him that Hermione was planning to divorce him. He wouldn't allow it. Ever. Yes, he'd done wrong. He admitted it. He'd fall on her feet and apologize. He'd do anything. Anything to prove that he was sorry and his actions weren't intended. Hermione couldn't be allowed to leave him without giving him an opportunity to explain himself. She was all that he had now.
Draco returned to his bed with a heavy heart and a very quick thinking mind. He tore open the side of the envelope and carefully emptied its contents onto the bed.
Two pieces of parchment came out. One was a card. The other seemed like a letter.
Wondering what the hell it was Draco reached for the card first. He held it before his eyes. It bore the picture of a man in blue Quidditch robes riding a broom and trying to catch a Snitch.
Draco was laughing now. A laugh one would give when they was pleasantly surprised. A laugh of tender joy erupting in his heart. A laugh of disbelief that one could be so fortunate.
It was him as a Seeker and Adrian had drawn it. He kept looking at it. He just couldn't get enough.
It was the first and most beautiful get well soon card of his life and from his son nonetheless. He wanted to cry in joy. It was so wonderful. Amazing. Overwhelming.
The drawing was a mark excellence that flowed in Adrian's vein through Draco. It showcased how minute his observation skill was. From the posture to the uniform to the broom, everything about the drawing was worthy of another first prize with ten thousand galleons prize money. Draco was proud, extremely proud that he has fathered this son. This wonderful boy.
He opened the card. It carried a brief message too. Like the one on the card that read 'Get well soon and play Quidditch.' It was short but innocent and completely lovely. Just like Adrian. Just like his mother. Hermione. Draco read it again and again until it was burnt to his retinas.
It read:
Monsieur,
I heard you are stressed, and ill. I think you should be more careful next time and do all your homework well.
Get well soon.
Adrian.
Draco loved it. He kissed on the writing softly. It smelts of faint, very faint Peach. Adrian. He pictured his face drawing the card. His face was screwed up in concentration. His sleeves were rolled up. Just like he had seen him in the Drawing Competition. It was such a good feeling that he felt he has half healed already. He noticed that the word 'creepy' that was used by Adrian to denote him was absent from the letter. It was a great achievement. It meant he had a purpose in life. His hopes were not all gone. The card was an incredible proof that his son cared for him, even if it was very little. He might not like to look like him but he cared for him. For now, that was enough for Draco. He could live with it.
He reached for the letter next. He was certain now that it wasn't a divorce notice. He was extremely relieved. He unfolded the letter. It contained a short message.
Don't even dare to explain my son what you actually did. I told him that you are stressed and he thought its pressure of homework that made you fell ill. Don't expect us to bring flowers and singing cards for you. Get well soon because you have hell waiting for you after that.
H. J. Granger.
That explained the issue of the homework and Draco grinned when he finished reading it. That's like Hermione. She'd hate him but save him nonetheless. She loved these little things about her.
He remembered comparing her to mud months ago where lotuses like Adrian was born. He had been wrong. Damn wrong and foolish.
Hermione was like rose. Beautiful but dangerous. Gifted with charms and thorns. If one wanted the beauty he'd have to accept the thorns too.
Ecstatic, Draco laid back on his bed. He reread Hermione's letter several times. He liked it the more he read it. He pressed it to his pointed nose and inhaled deeply. Hermione. He wondered how hell would feel like with her in it.
He smiled and concluded that it wouldn't be too bad a place with Hermione to take care of him there.
He placed the card and the letter on his chest and closed his eyes.
There would be no more bad dreams with these to comfort him.
He was certain of it.
Draco exhaled deeply, imagined Hermione and drifted off into sleep within next ten minutes. It was a nice dream that came to him.