7. The Story

WARNING: Discussion of physical abuse! If you are unsettled by that kind of thing, please be careful.

Beeping. A stream of continuous noise in my ear—just the metallic ring of some machine in the darkness. I wince, twisting under soft blankets. I open my eyes, blinking in the sudden flood of light. I'm in a white-washed room, lying in a small bed encircled by curtains. I can hear the soft murmur of voices nearby, and the ever-present beeping noise coming from the strange contraptions at my bedside. I feel straps around my arm, and my ribs hurt terribly.

At this moment, I really wish that I was in the Wizarding world. My injuries would have been taken care of by now. I try to sit up, but fall back onto my pillow with a wheeze. A woman appears at the foot of my bed, dressed all in white. She looks at me for a moment with slight surprise, then bustles from view calling out for someone else. Seconds later, a young man is kneeling beside me, checking the beeping machine. "Where's Hermione and my mum?" I demand, consumed by a sudden fear that they might have been killed by my father while I was unconscious. "And—and what happened to my dad?" I finish, fearing the very use of the word.

"Your mother and friend are doing fine, they're in another ward and they're both conscious. They might be able to come visit you soon." His voice is so soothing that it irritates me. I hate it when people sound kind for no obvious reason, and I don't like being treated as if I'm helpless. "As for your father… I don't know. He hasn't been checked in." The young man smiles pleasantlt, and I scowl back.

"Where am I? When can I get out of this bed?" I probably sound winy, but I'm not one to pussy-foot around when I want answers.

The man grins again and tells me that I'm at the hospital, and I won't be able to get up until I've been looked over and had sufficient enough time to rest and recover. I moan as he departs, wishing that I had something to do. My father was right—I am such a disappointment. I failed to protect the two people I love, and now I'm strapped into a hospital bed, unable to see or talk to them. I close my eyes, feeling the hot prickle of shameful tears against my eyelids. I shouldn't cry. That's just about the most unmanly thing that I can imagine—but I feel so lonely and afraid. We'll probably have to move away, now that my father knows where we live.

I roll over as much as the wires attached to my arm will allow, stroking my blankets in an oddly comforting motion as I drift into a fitful sleep.

"Hey."

I wake to the soft face of Hermione Granger, leaning over me in her white bathrobe. One of her brown eyes is covered by a bandage and her arm is in a cast.

"I'm so sorry-" I begin immediately, but she cuts me off with a hiss for silence.

"Don't be. It's hardly your fault—and you were so brave! I wouldn't have gone through the dangerous ordeal of escaping from the smothering watch of my parents to come see you if I had been angry." I break her gaze, staring up at the white ceiling with a blush of mortification. "Draco? Why didn't you ever tell anyone? How long has that been happening?" her voice is nothing but a soft whisper as her hand finds my arm, touching me gently.

I snort bitterly. "Why should I tell anyone? They'd all use it against me. Besides, it has been well deserved. You know, Hermione, I'll bet that I'm the biggest bleeding failure that the Wizarding world has ever seen." I block her look of hurt from my mind, focusing only on the sour taste of anger flooding my mouth.

"You're not a failure, Draco." She says hesitantly. "You're the smartest boy that I've ever met, and you're a genuinely nice person."

"Really? Cause you sure didn't think that for the first three years of school!" I spit, simultaneously hating and loving the rage within me.

"Well, I think so now." She says slowly. "I'm willing to give second chances—we're friends now, aren't we? Or are you just one of those 'fair-weather' pals, who gives up as soon as a bump comes along?"

I narrow my eyes, feeling rather trapped. "I'm not—but- but you don't understand! You have the perfect family. You live in a stable home, with love all around, and a father who treats you like his little princess. I don't have that! Don't you see? I've never—ever since I can remember—heard my father tell me that I've made him proud. When I was little and he came home from work, he didn't kiss me or ask me about my day like yours does. He always found some fault to point out."

I gaze wildly at her, feeling the furious wave of words pushing and ebbing at my mind, forcing me to spit them out in her terrified face. "And then he started drinking. He had always found a lover in the bottle, but when I was ten years old, it became more than that. It became his life. He beat our house-elf, he beat my mother, he beat me. The first time that it happened I was playing in the backyard. He called me in, and Merlin was he ever drunk. He told me that no Malfoy wastes his time playing—no Malfoy would ever want to pursue the things that I found interesting. He- he called me over, and he put his heavy, heavy hands on my shoulders."

My voice breaks, but I can't stop. I've wanted to talk about this for my entire life; I've needed some form of release. "He asked me what I was going to be when I grew up, and like the foolish child that I was, I told him the truth. I told him that I was going to become an Unspeakable. That didn't settle well with the great Lucius Malfoy, though."

I laugh loudly, gasping as the motion causes my ribs to scream in pain. "He beat me that day. He was too drunk to know what the heck he was even doing, but the next morning when he was sober, he saw my bruises." I hold my hand in the air, showing off the pink and white scars of four years like a medal.

With another choking laugh, I continue. "Oh, he smiled. The most sadistic smile that you could ever imagine. He called me over—a frightened, confused, little boy—and he pulled up my shirt. My mother had tried, you see. She had tried to cover the welts. Her specialty lies in those glamour charms, but not even they can fix everything. They can't take away the pain, you see. He made sure that I understood that he had really meant the punishment. He enforced in my mind, that morning that it wasn't just a drunken rage — that it was deserved. I've been conditioned to treat everyone the same. I'm not blaming anyone but myself, but I've been taught to conceal how I feel behind a mask of cold indifference. And that's nothing to his treatment of my mother. That sweet, proud, woman has taken the brunt of every sick thought in his twisted mind—but she still loves me for my failure to protect her. My failure, Hermione. It's all my fault—you saw what he's like, he hurt you… and all I was able to do was black out like a useless infant on the floor." I wipe away the tears that are beginning to leak down my cheeks, feeling thoroughly spent and ashamed of my outburst.

Hermione makes a weak, choking sound. Her one un-bandaged hand flies to her mouth, and tears begin to shine in her eyes. "Oh. Oh, Draco—I am so, so sorry."

I cut her off roughly, turning away to hide my pain. "I don't want your sympathy, Hermione. I can't stand such emotions—that's why I didn't want anyone to know."

"Then don't take my sympathy, take my apology. I am sorry for the way that I have treated you. Can you forgive me for not giving you a chance—for never looking to see who you truly were? Harry, Ron, and I misjudged you, and I'd like to apologize for that."

I face her; my cheeks burning and my mouth open slightly. "I- I- thanks, Hermione. I forgive you, then. And sorry for, you know, being a prat."

She nods and smiles, rising to her feet in a graceful movement. "You're wearing white."

I look down, noticing for the first time my white hospital gown. "Yeah?" I shrug, confused by her simple observation.

"It looks nice. You should try that more often for a change."

"Lean on me, sweetheart. That's good."

"Mum! I'm not a baby! My legs are hardly broken- I can support myself just fine." I laugh, shoving her gently away. She smiles and makes a motion to open the front door to our house, but I halt her with a light touch. "Before we go in, can you answer two questions for me?"

Her large blue eyes search me, and she parts her lips before giving a miniscule nod. "What is it?"

"What happened to him—Dad, I mean?"

She frowns, casting her gaze to the ground with a sharp intake of breath. "We tussled for a bit, but as soon as the sirens from the police came into range, he Disapparated. Hermione showed great wisdom by calling the police. To be perfectly honest, we would have never made it without her. Anything else?"

I bite my lip, staring around at the neighborhood that I've actually come to love. "Are we going to have to leave?" I whisper, overcome with fear and regret.

Mother pulls me into a hug, rubbing my shoulders gently as she speaks softly into my ear. "Oh, Draco. Let's just go inside first—let's enjoy the evening. We can talk about the more serious things tomorrow."

I nod faintly and allow her to open the door for me while I lean on my crutches. I'm greeted by an enormous banner on which "Welcome home Draco!" is written in drippy multi-colored ink, and a fistful of confetti to the face. I spit the stuff out, gasping as Hermione engulfs me in a warm hug.

"Gentle!" I protest, detaching her from my still-tender ribs. Mr. and Mrs. Granger sit on our low white couches, beaming at me. Mother bursts into laughter as Hermione blushes.

"Surprise!" She exclaims, nudging me into the house and closing the door behind us. Her pale face is flushed with happiness, and the faint bruises still covering her collarbone and face do nothing to dampen her radiant, motherly beauty.

"You did all of this for me?" I ask, dumbfounded. This gathering may be comprised of my mother and our next-door neighbors… but I've never had this kind of party thrown for me before. Then again, Mother always found kind things to do for me behind Father's back, like all the sweets she sent me at the start of each term. Not that Father didn't spoil me either—yet his gifts came with a lot less love and more manipulation.

Hermione tugs on my hand, pulling me into the front room. "Of course! We figured that you might want a bit of an encouragement after three days in the hospital!" With a smirk, she unzips her white hoodie, reveling bare skin and the little white bikini that I saw her in on my first day here. "Go on then, go to your room and change! We can swim while the parents are making dinner—it'll help the bruises, trust me."

I nod, dumping my crutches on the floor and hurrying towards my room to change into my swimming trunks. Hermione and I have been swimming several times since her mother bought me the trunks, but she's only worn a one-piece. For some reason, the bikini fills me with a sense of detached nostalgia. This night, for all I know, may be my last place in this town—how fitting that she would wear the first thing that I saw her in. Alright, technically the first thing that I ever saw her in was her Hogwarts robes when we were eleven, but my point still stands.

I pull on my black trunks as quickly as possible and yank a dark tank-top over my head before bolting back into the front room. "Woah! Slow down, you don't want to trip and get yourself back into the hospital on your first night out, do you now?" My mother cautions from the kitchen.

I halt, panting slightly. "Sorry mum. Where'd Hermio-"

"Hermione's out in the pool already." Mr. Granger finishes with a chuckle. "I'll call you two in when dinner's ready." I hastily nod my thanks, opening the glass door to our backyard and stepping out into the warm summer's evening. Hermione sits on the edge of the pool, one dark hand trailing in the water.

"What took you so long?" She teases, splashing me lightly as I sit beside her.

"Nothing." I grin at her, quelling the inward tremor that I may never see her again. What if mum tries to leave the country to escape dad? What if she decides to go back to him? In that scenario, my survival might be questionable, but if I did live, an education at Durmstrang's would probably be inevitable.

She slips into the water, a tanned streak beneath the shimmering waves. Hermione breaks the surface after several moments, shaking water from her long brown hair. "Come on! Get in—it's really warm." She treads water expectantly as I ease in. The warmth could, in my opinion, be extremely debatable… but then again, I've never been the biggest fan of swimming. I do this for her sake—she loves it. I stand with the water lapping against my collarbone, breathing slowly to adjust the shift of pressure on my ribs. "Why don't you take off your shirt? It'll actually be nicer without it."

I shake my head at her, thinking about the marks that not even the strongest of spells could disguise. "I really prefer this." I say, glancing musingly up at the twilight stars. I tense as her fingers wrap around my shoulders and she presses her stomach against my back.

"Maybe, when I defined friendship… I should have expanded my horizons. Or maybe, I should have just cut to the chase and told you exactly how much you mean to me. I should have—but I left you hanging." She murmurs, resting her chin on my shoulder and pressing her lips to my ear.

I blink, frozen in anticipation and surprise. "Hermione?" I squeak, immediately regretting opening my mouth, for my voice breaks embarrassingly, making her giggle.

"I like you, Draco. I mean, I really like you." She says, dipping under the water and resurfacing at the pool's edge. She pulls herself onto the concrete patio, her dark lean body glistening wetly and her little white bikini shining in sharp relief through the fast darkening air. "It's cold. I'm going to run over to my house to get changed and dried off. I'll be right back." She waves goodbye over her shoulder and scurries from my yard without a backwards glance.

I haul myself from the pool, scarcely noticing the cold for the heat rushing through my body. She likes me. It's like my entire brain has disappeared, but I could care less. It's all I can do to stop myself from saying my thoughts out loud. No, not saying—screaming. Hermione Granger is the cutest, hottest, most desirable girl that I have ever laid eyes on. I resort to a semi jig, and punch the air about a hundred times before calming myself.

I just hope that this isn't all another misunderstanding on my part. And even if it isn't… I won't be able to stay.

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter, and Lucius would never do the things that are described above- at least in my personal opinion.