A Hundred Storms

Chapter Fourteen: Dreams of Loneliness

Like a heartbeat drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering
What you had
And what you lost
And what you had
And what you lost
- Dreams, by Fleetwood Mac

Draco floated easily on his broomstick outside a respectable two story brick home in a respectable Muggle neighborhood. In the fading daylight he ignored the other homes and their occupants settling down for another normal, peaceful evening. He envied the Muggles and their ignorance to the world war going on right outside their doors.

He felt the slight tickle of incredibly strong wards surrounding the house. He knew one miscalculated movement or thought and his entire cover would be blown. He was secure in the knowledge that the spell shielding him from sight would hold, but the spell wouldn't fool the wards Hermione Granger put on her parents' home.

The witch herself was in her room, visibly agitated and picking things up before setting them right back down. Around her wrist a small cord connected to a slight beaded handbag hung, and Draco watched with some admiration as she conducted the complicated spell that would allow the bag to carry much more than what it appeared. She had several changes of clothing folded neatly on her bed, along with other personal necessities that didn't interest Draco in the slightest. On her desk waited more books than what a strenuous year at Hogwarts would require. He watched as she carefully settled each book one at a time into the decisively expansive bag before she turned to her clothes. She was packing for what seemed like a very extended stay somewhere other than her home here in the Muggle world. When all was packed she turned around in her room, her eyes searching for anything that might have been left behind. Her eyes trailed along to pictures and miscellaneous memorabilia that were obviously being left behind. Draco was right outside her window and taking it all in, but she was none the wiser.

When it looked as though she were finished with her task, she made her way to the bedroom door. Without a backward glance she closed the door behind her.

Draco drifted casually to the first story and settled himself right outside the living room window. The elder Grangers did not seem to be in any sort of packing frenzy like their daughter. On the contrary, it appeared that they were watching moving pictures on a shiny screen. A television, if Draco's memory served him. They did not look like they were going anywhere, actually.

Draco looked on with a morbid interest as Hermione's form appeared in the doorway behind her parents. Their backs were to their daughter and they seemed oblivious to her presence, completely immersed in whatever it was they were watching. With something akin to shock or horror, Draco watched Hermione as she slowly raised her wand to point at her parents. He didn't overlook the silent stream of tears that were flowing down her face.

"Obliviate."

Draco woke up from the dream slowly. Compared to the screams he usually heard when he was sleeping, this low-key and heartbreaking scene he witnessed over a year ago was a welcome treat. He remembered Hermione quietly exiting the house through the back door and walking down the middle of the road in the Muggle neighborhood. He wondered at the time why she didn't simply Apparate away, but he realized now that she needed that extra time to say goodbye to her childhood.

Draco didn't like feelings. He didn't like them then when he watched her walk away from her life, and he didn't like them now as he watched her walk into his. That night changed him. That night he learned how to lie to Voldemort. When his mission was over and he needed to report back, he solemnly told the Dark Lord that the Granger family was no longer in residence. That was the truth. That was not the entire truth. Thankfully, Voldemort's abilities to look into the minds of the weak could not detect a lie of omission.

Draco threw up every single thing he'd eaten that day very soon after that meeting.

After that he thought about Hermione Granger from time to time. He thought about Harry, too. He didn't spare a thought for Weasley; as far as Draco was concerned the red head was the weak link in the trio. Hermione and Harry certainly didn't need him, and it nagged at Draco as to what he was to the other two. They obviously didn't keep him around for his looks.

The day the three of them fell (quite unwillingly) back into his life, he thought he would be sick all over again. Someone had cursed Potter's face within an inch of his life. Even without the glasses and the stupid grin, Draco immediately recognized the boy he had hated since childhood. When he found out that Granger had the wits enough to curse Potter with a particularly disfiguring spell under the pressure of being chased by the Snatchers he had felt another tug of admiration for the Muggle-born. They hauled Weasley and Potter away once the sword of Gryffindor was brought to light, and Draco watched with muted horror as his aunt had her way with the very young girl. The blood from the Mudblood brand on her arm had sunk into one of his mother's favorite oriental rugs. Days later, when he revisited the room, he saw that the blood had soaked through the rug and into the hardwood below. He almost laughed himself into fits when he saw it. The blood of a Muggle-born was now a part of Malfoy Manor, and in indulging her cruel nature Bellatrix had thrown out the red carpet for Hermione Granger. The Malfoy Manor wards would recognize her now, and the home's defenses were useless.

Draco still grinned at the thought of his aunt's major magical mistake. Bellatrix had been powerful, but she was so insane she never thought things through, much like her master.

Draco flipped over on his stomach and closed his eyes again. The booze from the night before was wearing off, and his head was starting to beat a tune he didn't much care for. Sleep was all he wanted.

In the next room Hermione was also lying awake in her bed. The demons that kept her up at night were just a dull ache behind her eyes as she remembered the look of the broken glass in the firelight. She had given Draco the most innocent of kisses but felt something inside her shift. Her face heated up when she thought of her childish action under the slight influence of firewhisky (really, really good firewhisky) and wondered what he was thinking now.

She meant what she said. She wished she could fix him. She wished she could fix herself. She wished she could fix the whole small generation of displaced magical children that were orphans, like Teddy Lupin, or broken families, like the Weasleys. Like her own. All the magic at her fingertips, and Hermione couldn't make those she loved happy and whole again.

Dawn was coming, and a Sunday breakfast sounded relaxing. Maybe she would spend some time in the library and read a few old favorites. Hermione was feeling nostalgic and sad, and the quiet and comfort of the library would make her feel at ease.

An hour later Hermione was by herself at the Gryffindor table, the rest of the student body enjoying a weekend lie-in before the schoolwork resumed the following day. A smattering of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were at the neighboring tables, but Hermione's reputation as a war heroine kept most students at bay. To her surprise, Ginny then entered the Great Hall and took a seat next to Hermione.

"Morning," Ginny said sleepily. "Why up so early?"

Coherent sentences were not common with Ginny first thing in the morning. Hermione smiled and poured her friend some pumpkin juice.

"Thanks," Ginny said and took a few gulps.

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione said with a shrug.

Ginny tensed slightly and looked over at Hermione, much more alert. "Can't sleep? When was the last time you slept?"

"Glad Harry is sharing my problems with the general population," Hermione grumbled and buttered a piece of toast.

"He only told me so I could help if you needed it," Ginny said, rising to Harry's defense. "When is the last time you slept?"

"Night before last," Hermione said, resigned. "I took a potion. I didn't want to take it two nights in a row. I slept a little last night, thanks to some firewhisky."

"You were drinking at school?" Ginny grinned a little at Hermione's random act of presumed rebellion. "Do you have a secret stash now?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "It's not against the rules for us," she explained. "And I don't have a secret stash. Malfoy offered some of his and I took him up on the offer."

Ginny's eyes widened. "You are drinking buddies with Malfoy now?" she asked.

"Not hardly," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm sure Harry filled you in on my little spiritual problem? And the potion I'm making?"

Ginny nodded. "He owled me last night,"

Hermione nodded. "That's what I spent the better part of yesterday doing. Malfoy helped. You know you shouldn't brew a potion you've never attempted before without a partner."

"Uh huh," Ginny said skeptically and reached for a plate of pancakes. "What is going on with the two of you? Neville has been telling me that you have random blow outs and then serious discussions almost on a nightly basis."

Hermione sighed and vowed to put a hex on Neville when next she saw him. "We have a history, Ginny, tension is bound to reach some level of breaking now and again."

"You should stay away from him, Hermione," Ginny said cautiously. "There's nothing but bad blood there, and no pun intended. I mean it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed then softened when she saw only goodwill in her friend's eyes.

"I don't want to sound condescending, Ginny," Hermione said, testing the waters. "Merlin only knows what you went through when Voldemort took the school last year. But-" Hermione looked apologetically at her friend, not wanting to trivialize the hell of a year she had. "There is one thing no one, save for the Malfoy family, can share with me. Beyond that, there's only so much I can handle on my own. Say what you will, but I think Malfoy is legitimate. I'm not stupid, I wouldn't have testified otherwise."

Ginny kept her expression calm. "I know you're not stupid, Hermione," she said. "But I don't want you to feel the need to take charge of him, or fix him, or whatever it is you think you owe to him."

"I don't owe him anything," Hermione said in surprise. "Our debts to one another are clear, you can be sure of that. Does everyone feel they need motive to be friendly?"

"It's Malfoy," Ginny said, stressing the first part of his name as though Hermione were slow. "You don't need to be friendly at all."

"It neither hurts nor robs anyone to spend time with him," Hermione said stiffly. "I'm an adult. You know I can take care of myself. What's the real problem?"

Ginny bit her lip and looked at her friend pleadingly. "You know it will break my brother's heart if you take up with Malfoy after him," she said softly. "Please don't do it."

Hermione widened her eyes in surprise. "Who said anything about taking up with anyone?" Hermione asked. She wasn't at all mad, as she felt she should have been, but curious.

"Neville seems to think you are getting closer than you should," Ginny replied in the same hushed voice. "You spend time in his room with the door closed."

"How scandalous," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because you're my friend and because you are legitimately worried, I will set the record straight for you. I am not sleeping with Malfoy. As of right this moment I don't have any plans to sleep with Malfoy. If I do decide to sleep with Malfoy, or anyone else for that matter, that is not Ron's concern. I love him, but he knows deep down that the love we have for one another isn't romantic. He thinks the idea of us is romantic, and so did I. He does not get to monitor my bedfellows, and I will not monitor his."

Ginny still looked nervous and unconvinced, but nodded to Hermione in defeat. Ginny knew Hermione was displaying a new sort of calm that only must have come upon with age. If someone had criticized any person Ginny wanted to take to bed, Ginny would have hexed them.

Hermione took another bite of toast and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand at attention. She felt the eyes of someone on her. She peeked around the room casually, as if to take in all who had decided to show up for breakfast, until someone caught her eye.

"Ginny, who's that?" Hermione said in an undertone, flicking her eyes to the person who had been staring holes into Hermione's back from the Slytherin table. He had looked away by now, but Hermione didn't recognize him.

Ginny scanned the area Hermione indicated and said in the same tone, "Connor Gibbon. He's a second year."

Hermione's mind was fast at work. "His father, was he the Death Eater that died during the fight after the Astronomy Tower?"

Hermione referred to the highest point in Hogwarts as an event, rather than as a place. Everyone present that year referred to it as such. The event of Albus Dumbledore's death.

"You're right," Ginny said, as though realizing it for the first time. "I didn't remember..."

"I kept track of the deaths on both sides," Hermione said grimly. "The Death Eater's name was Roland. He wasn't around for the previous war, but his father had been. His father had died years ago, and Roland felt it was his duty to continue. I knew he left behind a wife and a son. The wife, Mary, I believe, I don't know what happened to her."

"Maybe she kept her head down after her husband's death?" Ginny suggested.

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "I just felt Connor staring at me."

"Well, you're a famous hero," Ginny smiled weakly. "He probably wants to thank you for avenging his father's death."

Hermione felt the doubt deep in her stomach, and then the thought of any more breakfast was simply nauseating.

"I think I'm going to go spend some time in the library," Hermione said to Ginny as she stood and slung her school bag over her shoulder. "Hopefully the Maliceptor respects the rules in that regard."

Ginny looked worryingly at her friend but relaxed when she saw a smile playing at the corner of Hermione's mouth. "You might luck out," Ginny said by way of goodbye. "It only seems to bother you when Malfoy is around."

Hermione nodded and left. Walking through the corridors, she turned Ginny's parting comment over in her head. She hadn't thought about it before, but it was true. The Maliceptor only bothered her when Malfoy was present. She assumed she was the intended target because the thing had pushed her, not him. Maybe she was approaching this problem from the wrong angle.

The spirit had attacked her while in the company of only one other witness, Malfoy. What if the intent had been to both harm her and implicate him? It wouldn't have been a far stretch to convince anyone with a pulse that Draco Malfoy had taken the first opportunity to avenge his father's incarceration and his family's humiliation by physically punishing, or killing, Hermione Granger. They would have locked him up and thrown away the key without so much as a trial. Even Harry wouldn't have been able to remain fair. Who would believe a former Death Eater when he tried to explain that it was a corporal spirit that really pushed Hermione to her death?

Hermione shook her head as though to loosen the thoughts that were jumbled around in there. Moving on. The next time the Maliceptor showed up they had been together in his room. Hermione didn't think she imagined the odd sort of chemistry between them. It wasn't lust, exactly, or attraction, although there was plenty of that if she were being honest. It was an understanding. They had planted a seed of understanding between the two of them and it was beginning to grow. The Maliceptor hadn't bothered them when they were screaming at one another, had it? It only showed up when something more tangible took place between them.

Was the Maliceptor after her? Malfoy? Was it after the both of them? Hermione stopped in her tracks in the middle of the sparsely populated corridor. The few students who were making their way through it gave her a curious glance, but nothing more.

Hermione didn't believe in coincidences. If the spirit only attacked them together, then there had to be something more to explore. Hermione turned on her heel and headed back to their common room, nearly growling in frustration. She felt like she had all the pieces to a puzzle but no idea what the picture was supposed to be. There had to be more to it. She scrambled into their common room and was relieved to see it empty still. Either her classmates felt more comfortable in their house common rooms or they were still sleeping. Hermione slapped the palm of her hand to her forehead and willed all the half-formed thoughts she had to work their way to something more tangible that she could actually put into words. That didn't work. She needed another head, someone to help her come to the right conclusions. It was still early, but she marched over to Draco's door and knocked loudly enough to wake the dead.

From inside she heard a thump and a swear word. In spite of herself, Hermione smiled. She had the feeling Draco was not a morning person by any means. Just for the satisfaction she knocked just as loudly one more time. More swearing. She waited a few more moments and then the door opened.

Draco looked like hell warmed over, which unfairly, still meant he managed to look good. He was obviously hungover, shirtless, and his hair was tossed around his head. Hermione resisted the urge to reach up and run her fingers through it. Giving herself a mental slap, she crossed the threshold of the room and looked around.

The broken glass was still by the fireplace where it had been the night before. Mindlessly she waved her wand and the glass cleaned itself up and landed in a handy rubbish bin. The decanter of firewhisky was empty, she wasn't surprised. The bed looked like a hurricane had had its way with the sheets and blankets, and with another wave that too was set to right. Hermione glanced up and down at the man in front of her and pushed him towards the door of the bathroom. He didn't put up a struggle, still slightly drunk and half asleep.

He emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later looking glassy-eyed and tired, but his hair was righted and his face was clean. Hermione hoped he brushed his teeth (her parents were dentists, after all) and she thrust a bottle she had grabbed quickly from her room at him.

"Pepperup potion," Hermione explained. "Best hangover cure there is."

"I know what pepperup potion does, Granger," Draco growled at her but downed the potion in one gulp. Instantly he looked awake and alert. He also looked mad as hell.

"What is the matter with you?" he demanded once his wits returned. "Is there some crisis that you can't handle on your own that you need to barge in on sleeping men to take care of for you?"

Hermione glowered at him but kept her temper at bay. "I think my problem is actually our problem," she said through gritted teeth. "I don't think the Maliceptor is actually after me. I think it's after the both of us."

Draco looked at her for a moment through narrowed eyes, then relaxed into a weak grimace. "Well," he said. "Took you long enough to figure that one out."