3. The Lesson
A/N: I don't own nothin'. Wait...
"Wha—how the bloody—what are you doing here?" she tangles her fingers in her long curls, staring at me in disgust and anguish. "Get out."
"I could say the same, Granger!" I snap, leaping to my feet to tower over her. It's a good thing that she's short and I'm tall—I'd feel very weak, otherwise.
"I live here! Now are you deaf? Get out of my house, Malfoy!" Her dark eyes are practically burning with fury as she rises to her tiptoes, poking me hard in the chest with every slow word.
"Is something wrong?" Myranda—who, I suppose, is really Mrs. Granger—hurries into the room with a plate of cookies balanced in one hand. "Do you two already know each other?" Her brow creases in worry at the sight of our flushed faces.
In a perfectly synchronized chorus, I say "Yes!" at the same moment Granger yells, "No!"
Mrs. Granger raises her eyebrows, setting the plate of cookies down on the low coffee-table and turning to face us slowly. "Hermione, what's going on?"
"Malfoy goes to school with me. What is he doing here?" she folds her slender arms, looking sullen.
"Well, he knocked on the door and— what exactly is going on? Do you mean Hogwarts? He's a—he's a-"
"Yeah, I'm a wizard." I say shortly. "For your information, Granger, I've moved in next door."
"You're my next door neighbor? And I thought my life couldn't get any worse." She laughs bitterly, slipping off her sneakers and plopping down on the couch. "But why? What are you, of all people, doing in a neighborhood like this, Malfoy?"
"My mum left my dad." I turn from her, feeling humiliated and exposed. My cheeks are burning as I continue, not wanted to see her expression as she registers my words. "So my aunt found us a house here. And I'm not Malfoy anymore. You can call me by my mother's maiden name, Black, or simply by my Christian name, Draco." I keep my tone as cold and imposing as I can, knowing that my words are stiff and rather unfriendly.
"Well fine then. Sorry to hear about your parents." She mumbles. I force myself to look up, and to my surprise she does look genuinely regretful. "I can't just call you 'Black'—it sounds so… so forced. 'Draco' it is then. Why did you come to my house, though?"
I shrug, trying to look nonchalant. "I saw you swimming last night, but I didn't recognize you. My mother told me to go meet some of the Muggles, and I simply came to your house first."
Granger runs her fingers through her tangle of hair yet again, looking fretful. "The thing is… you're a danger to the Wizarding world! You are entirely clueless about how things work here—and it would be just like you to go blabbering about our life to the Muggles."
I huff indignantly, folding my arms and trying to make sure she relies exactly how wounded I am. "Excuse me, but I'm hardly clueless about anything! And I know how to keep my mouth closes, thank you very much."
She raises her eyebrows, evaluating me with cold scrutiny. I can feel the heat in my cheeks increase with every second that her gaze travels over me. As much as I hate to admit it, she looks almost beautiful in her anger. "Sure you are. What's the white board next to the swimming pool, then?"
I bite my lip, trying to recall. Well, 'recall' isn't exactly the right word, as I have absolutely no idea. More like, 'make something plausible up on the fly'. I answer her in my intelligent tone, fingers crossed that I'll be at least close. "A pool board."
Granger snorts with laughter, crinkling her nose charismatically. "You don't say? Close, but not quite close enough. It's a diving board. Listen, I think that I might have to spend some time with you over the summer after all. I'm going to do what I do best: instruct. I'll have you turned into a proper Muggle by the time this month is out, because so help me God, if you make a mistake and all of London realizes that there are witches and wizards living in the city's midst, I will feel personally responsible."
"I don't want to be a Muggle!" I protest, slightly confused by her words.
She jumps up from the couch, her long curls swinging behind her as she seizes my hand. "No, silly! I'm just going to help—oh. Draco, are you alright?"
My gaze follows hers to my pale hand, upon which the welts and slashes from my recent whipping still shine. I jerk my fingers from hers quickly, stuffing my hands into my pocket. "Yeah. I'm super. Tell me more?"
"No… I want to know about those scars on your hand! Did someone beat you up?" Her brow crinkles in concern, and Mrs. Granger, who has been standing quietly in the corner all this while with a rather amused look, steps forward.
"Hermione, don't pressure the boy." She rubs Granger's shoulder gently, before turning to me. "Listen, if there's anything that you want to talk with us about, you're always welcome. I'd like to meet your mother sometime. Do you think that she'd be alright with that?"
I shrug, taking a small step back. "Thanks. My mother would probably like that a lot. She's not around at the moment, but I'll let her know when she gets back from Diagon Alley."
Granger's face splits into a wide, somewhat toothy grin. "Diagon Alley? Cool! Mum and Dad have wanted to go back there ever since second year! Maybe I'll have to take them sometime." She looks up into her mother's hazel eyes with a smile, and the older woman nods. "Okay then, Draco. First things first—your clothes. You're actually dressed surprisingly well for a pureblood such as yourself. Where did you get that shirt?" she tilts her head curiously, a few brown locks tumbling across her lightly freckled forehead.
"My mother purchased a few Muggle clothes for me once. It's a bit too small… but it beats my suits, so I like to wear it. Granger, are you sure that this is a good idea? I mean, what about your pals, Potter and Weasley? Won't they be mad if they find out that you've been spending time with me?" The last thing that I want is the stuck up boys of the "Golden Trio" coming after me for talking to their girl. I prefer to avoid trouble… or at least, I like to stir it up as long as I won't come into actual harm.
"Pff. They don't rule my life. Besides, they won't have to know. And anyway, it's not like you and I are going to become friends—I'm just doing my duty to the wizarding world by teaching you a valuable lesson. Now, call me Hermione. If I have to call you by your terrible first name, you might as well call me by mine." She says bossily. This girl sure knows how to make me look like a fool… there's no denying it.
Mrs. Granger chuckles softly and steps from the room, gesturing quickly to the platter of cookies behind her. "There are snacks if you want them, you two. Have fun—I have some X-rays to file. Hermione—dad's coming home from the office a little early today, so make sure that if you leave you get home again by two. Draco, if you want to stay for dinner you're welcome—your mother is too! We eat at five." She disappears from the room, leaving us in silence.
Hermione clears her throat loudly and gives me a pointed look. "I think that I should show you my favorite place to hang out. If you're going to be living here, you might as well know about the cool little shops down the road. Come on, you can ride my mum's bike, I think that you'll fit." She grabs a cookie and shoulders past me to get to the front door. I scurry after her, a knot of worry forming in my stomach. Hermione sits down on her front step next to her bike and begins tying up the laces of her trainers.
"Grang—Hermione, I can't ride a bike!" I confess, shaking my head slightly at her enthusiasm. Never in my life have a met a girl like her. From the first day that I ever laid eyes on her she's captured my attention, amazing me with her clever wit and blunt honesty. I know that I shouldn't have called her mud-blood… but perhaps now I'll have a bit of an opportunity to redeem myself. I feel like a new person now, free of every expectation that has been placed on me since I could walk and talk.
"Seriously? This is going to be harder than I though. Okay… well, I'll teach you then. Stay here, I'll be right back." She dusts off her hands and marches around the corner of her house—probably into her back yard. She returns in several minutes, wheeling a silver bike along beside her. "How can you not know how to ride?"
"Most wizarding families don't have bikes. I only recognize it because I saw a half-blood with one in Diagon Ally. I- I'm not sure if I feel comfortable…"
"Oh, shut up and get on. I'll hold it still for you." She laughs, holding the vehicle out with an expectant look.
I sigh in resignation, my shoulders slumping. "Fine. But if I get all bruised up I'll make sure that you pay!" I clamber onto the odd seat, feeling uneasy and wobbly. Hermione runs her hands over my sides, securing a hold on my waist and keeping me still. "Wh- what are you doing?" My voice cracks uncomfortably as I tense under her touch. I had never thought of Granger's hands making me feel good… but I can't contain the sudden racing in my heart or the warmth in my stomach.
"I'm holding you up." She laughs as if I'm the most brainless boy in the entire world. "Now put your feet on the pedals and pump." I groan, but obey.
"This is stupid. You know that right?" I whisper, feeling like a complete idiot as she guides me along the roadside.
"No it's not! Riding a bike is a valuable skill that everyone should learn."
I personally don't think that this is a skill worth my utter humiliation, but I bite my tongue and try to block out the tickling of her hands on my torso as I wobble like that oaf Hagrid when he gets drunk. "Whatever you say, Hermione."
"There." Hermione brushes off her shorts with a victorious look. "You can officially ride quite a ways without falling over. We can go now, I think—but we've only got an hour. Gosh, I didn't realize that it would take so long for you to learn. Aren't you supposed to be really smart or something?"
I know that she's only teasing, but I can feel my heart drop at her words. I'm instantly reminded of my father, yelling in his drunken rage that I'm a disappointment—that I'll never be smart, or good enough, to be a Malfoy.
"Hey. Earth to Draco…" She waves her slender brown hand in front of my eyes, and I snap to attention with a jolt.
"Oh. Sorry." I steady myself on Mrs. Granger's bike, while Hermione laughs. "I guess I just zoned out."
"Yeah, I could tell." She smirks, kicking off on her bike and riding in a perfect circle around me. "Come on! Follow me and be careful." She leads me down a series of wide, twisting roads lined with identical white houses. I'm thankful she's here to guide me—I'd be hopelessly lost otherwise. "So. Draco, tell me, are you really the nasty person that I've known for three years?" She looks over her shoulder at me, but I'm to busy trying not to fall over and die to answer for several minutes.
"Well… I suppose that I am, in a sense. Do I want to be like that? No. But I can't help the way that I've been conditioned." I say simply.
"So you're saying that your home life was the cause of your attitude?" I can't see her face, but I can almost sense the frown in her sweet voice.
"I don't blame it… and I'm not saying that I wouldn't be the way that I am had I been raised differently, but I do think that I'm going to make a change. That's all." I try to explain, feeling like I've fallen chronically short of illustrating my true feelings. But then again… I'm not sure if I want Hermione to know that every time her skin brushes mine my heart gives an almighty leap, or that the sight of her eyes alone makes me feel warm all over.
"Interesting." She says slowly, her tone neutral. "Turn here." We continue along a busy lane for a few moments, before Hermione screeches to a halt. I promptly tumble from my bike and hit the concrete with bone-breaking force.
I moan, picking myself up and pulling down my shirt, which unfortunately flew up in my fall, exposing my lower back. "Ouch." I mutter, wresting the bike back into an upright position.
"Draco." Hermione's voice is so soft that I almost don't pick it up.
"What?" I snap, turning on her to find that she's staring at me with fear in her dark eyes.
"You have cuts and bruises all over your-" She begins. I flush instantly, cursing myself for being so careless. I haven't told a soul about my father's punishments, and I intend to keep things that way. I'm not the kind to go looking for sympathy—unless it's for a false reason. I know that I might be able to worm benefits out of my scars, but that would also destroy my sense of pride.
"It's nothing. I fell down the other day." I turn from her, gazing up at the small brick storefronts along the street.
"But—Draco, is there any particular reason your mother left your dad?" she touches me shoulder, sending shivers over my entire body.
I shake her off stoically. "No. Of course not. Now what is it you wanted to show me?"
She breathes in sharply, withdrawing her soft fingers. "Oh. Of course—right. See that shop right in there? It's called a 'soda fountain'—make sure to remember that! They sell all kinds of great things…. Here, let's go in, shall we?"
I nod rather tensely, realizing that her voice is still soft and rather pitying. "Sounds nice." My tone is cold, I know, but I don't want to get to close with this girl after all. I'm afraid that I've been forgetting myself.