A/N Thank you to my lovely followers for your reviews! The relaxation technique I had Draco practising at the end of the last chapter was something recommended to me by a work colleague after i had a run in with my boss that I couldn't stop obsessing about, even days after it happened. This way of thinking is called Mindfulness and i recommend you look it up if you find yourself becoming trapped by the same negative, pointless thoughts over and over, like I do on occasion, and Draco does in this story :) I warn you, this chapter is very long, but I couldn't find a good place to split it into two! Sorry about that. Please review if you have any thoughts!
Chapter 17 - Deciphering the signs
The grey pencil skirt was badly creased and tighter than she remembered it looking in the mirror. Her hair was engorged with humidity and a few strands seemed to be stuck unnoticed in the corner of her mouth. Hermione gasped as her face turned, unseeing towards the camera. She looked red and shiny, haggard, old. When had the bags beneath her eyes and creases between her eyebrows become so ingrained and deep? Hermione brought trembling fingers up to her face and gently patted the skin under her eyes, thinking about 30 years of staying up late to read, first by torchlight, later by Lumos. All those missed hours of sleep; all those added hours from the Time-Turner...
Suddenly Hermione reared back from the paper and let out a small moan. The photograph of her had gesticulated and raised an arm in slow motion, (a relatively new development in charmed photography no doubt invented by some enterprising young muggle born,) revealing, to her complete horror, a sweat patch. Hermione watched in dismay as she fell victim to another spiteful decision of the photo editor: a superimposed, throbbing red circle had appeared around the sweat patch, grotesquely drawing the eye to it, and moving as Hermione moved. Eventually, after far too long, the photo returned to normal speed, the arm dropped and the circle vanished. Hermione released an unconsciously held breath.
The photograph continued to repeat the movements on a loop and the witch sat at her kitchen table in a trance, deaf to the mews to her ancient ginger half-Kneazle, watching the photo's progression with morbid fascination.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her leg as a set of claws broke through her pyjama bottoms and she winced, brushing Crookshanks away with her hand. She wrenched her eyes away from the photo and read the accompanying headline.
GRANGER FINALLY LOSING IT
Phrases jumped out at her as she scanned the article. "Friends are worried... the stress finally showing... addicted to work... cracking under pressure... still single... evidence of weight gain as she turns to food for comfort..."
Suddenly the large, squashed face of Crookshanks loomed over the article and began butting his forehead into her cheek. Hermione sighed shakily and buried herself thankfully in his fur, wrapping her arms tightly around his large, warm body. He stood still on the table, stoically bearing this human need for comfort as only an old, patient cat would, and didn't move until she'd drawn her face back out of his fur. She could feel and hear deep rumbling vibrations as he began to purr as she stroked him.
"Sometimes I wish I were a cat, Crooks," she whispered. He turned his large, orange eyes on her reproachfully and blinked. "Why do they hate me so much? Why have the papers turned on me this badly? I don't understand what I've done wrong."
Hermione imagined Crookshank's reply in her head, and as it always was when he gave her sage advice he had the deep, rolling voice of Aslan, The Great Lion. By being Muggleborn, young, female and continuing to break their assumptions on what that should mean, my sweet Hermione.
"And I know I shouldn't care... I mean, it's the same old stuff, every single time, but... It's just - horrible." She hunched her shoulders and Crookshanks dragged the side of his face firmly along her hand. "It's humiliating," she said on a low breath.
Hermione shook her head and abandoned her cat to pick up the short note Orla Quirke had sent along with the paper, off the floor where it had fallen earlier.
Thought you should see this, I am sorry Hermione. I really am. Please don't let it ruin your weekend, the article is the same old unoriginal garbage, no actual substance to it. Now I'm thinking about it, I don't think I've ever seen you visibly sweat - I'm going to look into the possibility the image was doctored.
Keep your head up, they are all morons. See you Monday.
Orla
Hermione felt affection surge for Orla and her pragmatism. Chastising herself for that moment of weakness, she shooed Crookshanks off the newspaper where he'd appeared to be settling down and neatly ripped out the offending page, only letting her gaze slide across it briefly, as if it were some dark, corrupting piece of magic she'd accidentally come across in an old book. She grimaced again as she caught a glimpse of the red circle, but quickly folded the paper into quarters and reached for a notebook and pen that were balanced on the top of a large pile of folders to her left.
Harry,
Look what they've written this time! Is that the best they can do? Orla thinks that the
Hermione's pen paused, poised over the page. She winced and bit her lip before forcing herself to continue with the words. This was Harry, he wouldn't judge her. And with all the media lawsuits he'd been through he may be able to help.
sweat patch may have been edited in. I believe muggles practice this in their photograph technology and it's possible that wizards have started to do the same. Do you think this is legal? I know it's not a big deal, but do they have the right to do this? The articles and photos just keep coming, this is the third of it's kind this week!
Hermione paused again, wanting to tell him more. But she didn't want to worry him though. She was fine, really! The article had barely affected her, for Gods sake! She shook her head, added a few more exclamation marks so he would get how unbothered she was by this, and scribbled down the last part.
Hope you're having a good day! Send my love to the boys.
Lots of love, Hermione xx
Hermione folded the letter around the article and walked wearily to the utility room attached the the back of the house where Callisto was resting in her cage behind a curtain. She drew back the fabric, offering soft apologies for waking the owl in the middle of the day and opened up the cage door. Callisto gave her a long look before shuffling her way out and hopping on to Hermione's arm. She snatched on to a corner of the offered letter with one taloned foot and launched herself out of the open back door and into the warm afternoon.
Hermione watched her go, unease mixing with relief that the article was out of the house. If she'd just looked at it one more time... But too late now, and of course it was for the best. She made her way slowly upstairs and decided a bath would cheer her up. With lots of lovely bubbles and music.
While it was running Hermione returned to her bedroom to undress. She passed the full length mirror next to her dresser and paused, and then after a moment, stepped into view, holding her breath. Hermione didn't own a set of scales, and she had thought her clothes all fit, but could the article be right? Have I gained weight? She attempted to look objectively at the reflection of her naked body, approaching it as if it were an academic problem, starting with a comprehensive view of the whole article, before surgical examinations of the smaller parts. She stood tall with her shoulders back and her stomach held in, muscles tense under the rigorous scrutiny of her gaze.
She concluded that she didn't seem any bigger. It must have just been an unflattering photo. She relaxed and her posture slumped. She frowned at the sight, and then, telling herself of the benefits of empirical evidence over purely logical, bent forwards at her hips and grabbed the rolls that then formed around her middle. She grimaced. Is that just skin? Have those always been there? She straightened up and turned around to look at her bum. God this daylight's harsh. Everybody's got cellulite in bad lighting, haven't they? Hermione swore under her breath at the environmental impact on her examination and ran to the bathroom, just stopping at the CD player to press play as she passed.
She turned off the taps and stepped gingerly into the steaming, deeply filled bath. The temperature was just on the comfortable side of boiling and she relished the slight stinging as she sunk down into the lavender scented bubbles. She picked up her wand from the side and cast a cushioning charm on the ceramic where her head would rest, and then lay back and tried to relax. Nina Simone's voice floated out of the bedroom on a backdrop of tinkling piano and harp and Hermione tried to focus on the words and the smell and sensation of the water on her skin. She refused to indulge in all the feelings that article had stirred up.
"Here comes the sun little darlin',
Here comes the sun,
I say, It's all right, it's all right."
But was she all right? Was she 'losing it'?
"Little darlin' its been
A long cold and lonely winter
Little darlin' it feels like
Years since you've been here"
Oh god, it really had been years. Hermione felt herself suddenly overcome by a desire to feel another body, to touch skin against her skin. To be held and hold someone in turn. How long had it been? Well, thanks to Witch Weekly and the article they published earlier that week on her lack of dating history, she could say it had been exactly three years and four months since she'd last had sex and four years and two months since her last relationship, and even that could only be labeled as a relationship loosely. She hugged herself in the water, feeling overcome by loneliness. It wasn't as if she had chosen it to be like this, as the papers kept saying. It had just happened. And while she pretended things were okay, to Harry, to Ginny, even to herself, they weren't. She was completely alone.
The song ended and Hermione suddenly came to herself, horrified by where her thinking had led her. Stop it! When did I become such a cliché! Wallowing in self pity is not permitted! That's what they want me to do. I'm not alone, I have loving friends, a loving family, she admonished herself crossly.
Hermione sat up, something wasn't right. The lighting. She stood suddenly, the water cascading down her body and splashing over the edge of the bath as she stepped out and into the the chill of the outside world. She walked briskly to the CD player and turned it off. Enough of that.
She saw the phone then and took it back to the bathroom with her. She lit a few of the expensive scented candles she'd bought a few months ago from one of the fancy apothecaries in Diagon Alley and never used, and placed them strategically around the bath. She switched off the electric light and nodded in satisfaction at the effect. Though wouldn't it be nice to be sharing this with someone else? Said a cruel voice in her head. An stubborn remanent of the dark poison from the article.
Hermione did her best to ignore it and got back into the water and sunk down. She picked up the phone and swung it between her fingers over the water, wondering if she dare call them. In the silence of the room, with only her melancholy and the gentle splashing of her arms for company, Hermione's heart suddenly yearned for her parents, and as if the logical part of her mind had been disabled, she began to type in a number and held the phone tentatively to her ear. Her mother's voice answered on the fifth ring and Hermione felt her heart leap and her throat seize up at the sound.
"Hello? Hello, is anybody there?"
Hermione found her voice just in time. "Mum? Mum, it's me." There was a pause.
"Hermione? Hello, darling, so good of you to phone!" Guilt hit Hermione hard. Ten seconds into the conversation, a new record. Was she imagining the slight accusation in her mother's tone?
"I'm sorry - I'm sorry it's been so long," she whispered, not trusting her voice not to break.
"Don't worry darling, we know how busy you are." There is was again, that hint of accusation. She hadn't imagined it. God, this had been a mistake. Only her mum could make her feel like this. Hermione heard her pull away from the phone at this point and shout to her father.
"Love, it's Hermione! Yes, she remembered!" Hermione winced, remembered what?
"Dad wants a word sweetheart. I've really got to run, I was just about to pop out when you called."
"Mum? I miss you." There was a long pause and Hermione could hear a deep sigh. Her mother's voice sounded weary and tired when she replied.
"I miss you too, love. Right, here's Dad. Talk soon?"
"Yeah, of course." Hermione felt her throat constrict painfully again and then her dad's warm voice was talking down the line.
"Hello love, thanks so much for calling! How are you?" Pressure was building behind her eyes and in her nose, a horrible physical prickling that was hard to ignore.
"I'm fine, thanks."
"Are you sure?" His voice was so kind, so lacking in any ulterior meaning that Hermione cracked and lost the struggle against the lump in her throat and the tears enveloping her eyes. She blinked and they spilled down her cheeks.
"I'm sure." She desperately hoped he couldn't hear the strain in her voice. "How are you?"
"I'm doing a lot better thanks. The operation went really well, I'm up and out of bed today, feeling a bit weak but a lot better." Guilt immediately rolled back over Hermione in forceful waves. She held the phone away from her ear, away from her father's voice, and lay back to submerge herself under the water. Fuck fuck fuck. She wracked her brains for mention of an operation, any memory of a conversation about an illness, but came up short. Had she forgotten? Am I losing it?
She opened her eyes under the water and stared through the haze of her billowing hair. The candle light that was designed to be soft and enchanting, shone yellow and garish through the thick, static shapes of frothy bubbles, casting distorted shadows on her body like the ones made by clouds over hills seen far away in the distance. The pale, murky, rolling landscape of her nakedness seemed to taunt her and she hated herself then, in a real way. The way the author of the article had hoped to achieve, but the way in which you can only bring about yourself.
Finally, as her lungs started to ache she pulled herself out of the water and held the phone to her ear as if it would burn, simultaneously dreading, and desperately hoping he was still there.
"Hermione? Hermione? Are you there?" She cleared her throat and roughly rubbed the soapy water out of her stinging eyes.
"Sorry Dad, I think the reception just went."
"Can you hear me now?"
"Yes. I'm so glad it went well!"
Hermione sat and listened to her father talk and felt more alone and awful than ever before.
The worries and frustrations born from Draco's morning, while not fully forgotten, were at least pushed to the back of his mind when he found Scorpius's trainers kicked to the side of the very much open front door of Harry Potter. Happy excitement warred with exasperation at the sight. This was the security of the famous, Man Who Wouldn't Die? Draco shook his head in disbelief, rang the bell, stepped through the threshold and after waiting in vain in the hallway for someone to appear, followed the sound of music into the kitchen in search for his son.
The large, airy room was filled with warm afternoon light and evidence of recent use. A glass sat on the granite work surface half filled with pumpkin juice. A few brooms and a quaffle lay abandoned by the open back door. A great mess of coloured pencils and a stack of paper were in the centre of the big wooden table, the chairs pushed out at odd angles as if abandoned in a rush.
Draco walked over and picked up one of the drawings, recognising Scorp's style at once. It was of Noctowl in a tree but naturally, she had purple and blue flames interspersed within her feathers. He inhaled sharply as the owl opened its wings and flapped off the branch and across the page, trailing sparks. Draco shook his head, feeling absurdly charmed by Potter's enchantment.
A new song started and Draco glanced up towards the door from which it came. Whoever was listening turned it up louder and the base throbbed heavily and irregularly through the wall. Draco hesitated, it was definitely muggle music; he couldn't even begin to name some of those instruments. He knew then who he'd find on the other side and with a slight building of nerves approached the door.
He hesitated, feeling strangely as if he were at a crossroads, but he dismissed the feeling as overly sentimental, silently pushed it open and found Potter bent over a desk at the other end of a small, narrow, messy study. The deep green painted walls were clad in bookshelves and Draco glanced at a few of the titles, impressed despite himself.
Potter hadn't looked up, he was so engrossed in what he was doing. Draco couldn't understand how he could hold that level of concentration with the pounding music, but apparently, it barely affected him. He had his wand out and was glaring at a large lump of grey quartz with a frown, occasionally tapping it and mouthing words, causing runes to flash and run across the surface. His hair stood up wildly as if hands had been repeatedly run through it, and he was wearing his round framed glasses once again. If Draco really looked he could just make out the faded lightning bolt scar.
Suddenly Draco felt a great homely nostalgia well up within him and grinned, mind racing through possible insults he could throw at the man. But he shook his head and still smiling like an idiot turned to one of the bookshelves and decided to peruse the titles while he composed himself or until Potter noticed him. Both took a while.
"Malfoy!" Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to face the desk. To his relief the music came to a stop and Potter had straightened up and was midway through dropping his wand to his side. He looked surprised, but Draco was relieved to see, not in a bad way.
"Potter." He nodded at the other man, trying not to break into that ridiculous smile again. "How are the boys? Was Scorpius well behaved?"
"It's good to see you! And of course he was. They're upstairs in Al's room and I have to apologise - I tried to encourage other forms of entertainment, but Scorp's become rather taken with Al's Playstation." Draco frowned. "Shooting aliens or blowing up Nazis or some such enemy. It's a game, on a sort of computer." Harry went on, holding out his fists and wiggled his thumbs up and down in some sort of strange mime.
Draco shook his head slightly in incomprehension. "Right. Good. You know your security leaves much to be desired. I just walked in here, your door wasn't even locked." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you don't have rabid fans and desperate journalists on a slow news day throwing themselves at your feet as we speak." His potion fume damaged voice broke towards the end, slightly ruining the effect.
Potter grinned and leant back against the wall. "You think anyone could just walk in here? You don't want to see what would happen to someone who tried to enter without my permission. My wards can recognise a friend, Malfoy." Draco squirmed inside, more over Potter's use of that word than the implied threat but he was careful not to show it. Just before he looked away out of awkwardness, he caught Harry's smile.
"I - I never thanked you, by the way," he croaked out without thinking and then immediately clamped down on his tongue, cursing himself. It had been as if that dreaded word, friend, had been a wandless compulsion charm to blurt out whatever was on his mind. And Merlin, he sounded awkward. He wrenched his eyes off the floor and back at Potter who was watching him with a slight frown. There was a silence that thankfully, he didn't try to fill with a joke or a flippant comment, seeming content to let Draco collect himself for a moment.
Draco felt his heart begin to pound heavily as he furiously tried to think about how to recover from this. Or now he'd started it, how to actually verbalise his gratitude. Why had he just launched into this without planning? But then how could you plan something that you'd never actually done before? Well, not for a very long time. When had anyone actually done so much for him as selflessly as Potter had, apart from his Mother or Astoria? The concept was so un-Slytherin it was no surprise he hadn't encountered it much before.
He held Harry's clear green gaze, cleared his throat, praying his voice didn't sound as hoarse again and forced out the words, internally wincing at their blunt sincerity. Remember, this is a million times better than talking to Zabini. This is what you want. He deserves this much after all he's done for Scorp.
"Thank you for sending me those letters after - after what happened. And thank you for looking after Scorpius. Over the last few days of course, but also, then." Draco felt his throat close up then and knew it was all he could manage. He hoped Potter knew to when he was referring. And he wasn't going to apologise for anything, that was for sure. As Draco began to wish the floor would swallow him as he waited for a reply, the other wizard saved him by merely nodding, his face clear and without a hint of judgement or amusement.
"Well," Harry drew the word out slowly, "In exchange for my help -" Draco relaxed, back on familiar ground, "are you still interested in giving some advice over this warding I was telling you about last time?" He beckoned Draco over and gestured towards the quartz. "You actually came at the perfect time. I'm sure one of these runes is wrong, it's not behaving exactly as it should, but I can't work out which." Draco nodded, hugely relieved that Potter hadn't wanted to actually talk about his problems, and that he could actually offer him something in return. He eagerly approached the desk to examine Harry's calculations, feeling lighter than air.
Draco barely had acknowledged to himself the strangeness of standing next to Harry Potter, discussing Ancient Runes before he was completely engrossed and beyond the point of making such detached observations. It had to take him a few moments to adjust to a Potter that while wasn't always that articulate, actually made somewhat coherent, intelligent arguments and as they spoke, he actually found himself becoming genuinely interested in the project, (despite his dubiousness over it's potential for commercial success.)
Maybe it was due to Draco's relief at the prospect of being out of the other's debt, but he didn't mind when Harry took a while to understand things, or even when his own explanations were interrupted by questions or comments. It felt oddly natural, not unlike when he gave Scorpius lessons. One such interruption however, completely threw him.
"I think if you cast those in this order, the Eihwaz the Lagaz, the Isa, and then the Hagalaz, holding in your mind exactly what you want each to do and to whom, it may work. It's one of the biggest advantages Ancient Runes have as a method to wield magic over spells where you need exact wand movements and perfectly pronounced latin incantations." By this point, Draco was leaning against a bookshelf to the side of Harry's desk as he spoke, arms pinned behind him, but then he stood upright to free his hands, bringing them up in sweeping motions to illustrate his words.
"There are so many meanings attributed to each Rune that the magic is a lot more fluid. Intent and desire are far more powerful, the meanings of the runes just provide a rough guide. There's no arbitrary distinctions like Light and Dark between them, because they were developed before modern wizards decided there needed to be a division. It's far more honest. And we're just using the Elder Futhark Runes here, there were many other ancient cultures that have their own completely different Runes and ways of casting."
A strange smile had replaced the look of interest Harry had been wearing and Draco trailed off, frowning. "What's funny?" he asked, feeling suddenly defensive. He found himself suddenly aware of how he had just been waxing lyrical on a subject close to his heart in the study of his one time enemy. But then his plummet back to earth was ricocheted back off to the side by Harry's next comment.
"Nothing! I didn't want you to stop! It's really interesting. It's just, you sound a lot like Hermione. Although she would never describe the difference between Light and Dark as arbitrary." Draco blinked, stunned. "Speak of the devil!"
"What?"Draco asked, dazedly.
"Sorry, muggle saying," Harry replied carelessly. There was suddenly a lot of noise at the window on the other side of the desk and Draco looked up to see Hermione Granger's owl clattering it's way in.
"Hey Callisto, what have you got there?" Harry stood up and made his way over. The owl hopped off the window sill, settled on Harry's arm and dropped a small folded piece of lined muggle paper into his hand. "Come on, I've got some treats in the kitchen. Do you want a drink Malfoy? I could definitely use one after that." Harry gave him another smile, this one big and guileless and turned towards the door.
Draco followed, still feeling slightly wrong footed by the comment, and even to his surprise, disappointed the conversation was over. As they walked from the study to the kitchen, Harry unfolded the letter, a frown forming as he began to read.
"Shit," Harry muttered under his breath. He unfolded a second piece of paper, what looked to be a torn out page from a newspaper, and the frown turned into a grimace as his eyes scanned the page. "Fuck." he said, louder. Draco sat down at the table, hands tensing into fists. His mind immediately jumped to what Zabini had mentioned about Hermione and The Daily Post. Could this be it?
Harry glanced up from the letter, biting his bottom lip and met Draco's eyes. There was a split second where Draco was sure Harry was deciding something about him, and then he said, "This is from Hermione. There's been more negative press about her." He shook his head and still holding the pages walked to a cabinet and got out two mugs. He began to make them both tea and Draco sat feeling impotent, desperate for some reason for Harry to tell him more, but not really sure whether their strange new relationship was developed enough for him to ask for it.
"What does it say?" he finally prompted, trying to sound uninterested. In truth, he couldn't bear to sit in ignorant silence any longer.
"Oh, the same old sensationalised rubbish," Harry said, with frustrating vagueness, waving the paper in the air. "The newspapers have been relentless this summer with their articles and pictures. They're picking up on anything she does wrong, picking apart anything in her past that they think is a weakness." He brought the mugs over and handed one to Draco and took a seat opposite. "It's almost like - well, never mind."
In lack of forthcoming information from Harry, Draco's mind returned to what Zabini had said earlier and without paying attention took a sip on his tea and burnt his tongue. He let out a hiss of pain, but Harry didn't notice, all his attention was held on the hand written note, as if he were trying to decrypt Runes once again. He began to mutter to himself and Draco leant slightly forwards, straining to hear.
"Too many exclamation marks, that's usually a really bad sign. Shit, I bet she's actually really upset about this. I bet she's trying to pretend it doesn't bother her, since it's not about Burbage directly... Oh God, I hope she hasn't tried to ring her parents like this..."
Draco felt a pang of concern rise up within him at Harry's words and tried again to see the newspaper article in his hands. What could upset her? I thought she was infallible, especially to any rubbish from the press. Draco thought of her, as he had done many times since, as she'd been in Diagon Alley and at the cafe. Confident, self assured, in control, angry at points, but admirably so. He found it difficult correlate that witch to the one Harry was talking about.
Just as he was able to make out what looked like a large red circle appear on the page, Harry said, "Right that's it, I need to Floo call her," and had folded the letter back up. Draco leant back in his chair. "I won't be long, you'll be fine?" Harry asked, standing up and walking towards the living room door.
Draco rolled his eyes and tried to sound bored when he answered. He was in fact nursing a small knot of worry about the witch, which had grown a bigger with each passing second Harry's frown seemed to deepen. But he was also very aware of how that would come across if he showed it.
And why should he be this concerned about Granger anyway? It was probably more Zabini's comments that were putting him so on edge. What did he want me to see? Probably just thought whatever filth they've dredged up about her funny. As he did earlier this month. Yes, Granger had shown him some kindness, but that didn't mean he now had to feel concern over her hurt feelings from a few petty insults from a trashy tabloid. All he owed her was a verbal thank you and gesture of the kind he had just given Potter.
Well actually, a quiet part of himself started to admit, she had shown him far more than a bit of kindness. The amount of trust she'd shown in him that day at the cafe still shocked him, even after all this time. She'd even brought Scorp out of his shell, and most surprisingly of all, they'd both really enjoyed her company. She had been funny, sweet. And of course, no-one had ever defended him like she had against that shopkeeper, or sounded so impassioned when discussing his rights, or supposed atonement.
Though it sounded excruciatingly sentimental, even in his own head, she'd made him want to be a better person. He'd always assumed Scorp would be the only one who would ever hold that honour since Astoria had passed away.
Draco swore to himself, noticing his leg was fidgeting. He placed a hand on his knee to calm it, sipped on his tea and his eyes fastened on the shut door where Harry had just gone. He glanced around the kitchen and then the garden and before he could think too hard about it, put his cup down, stood, and walked as gently as he could towards the closed door, his heart rate increasing incriminatingly every step he took. He took one last look around, held his ear near to the edge of the door and the doorframe and listened.
"It's nothing. I'm just - I'm being pathetic, all right?" Granger's voice was quiet and broken sounding and caused Draco's breath to hitch in his chest.
"Hermione, come on -" Harry was saying, a gentle pleading to his tone. There was a quiet, snuffling sound that Draco belatedly realised was Hermione crying. His heart gave an unpleasant flip. Shit, I shouldn't be doing this. Just as he made to stand away he heard a voice behind him, shrill in childish outrage.
"Excuse me, are you eavesdropping on my Dad?" Fuck! Draco turned around, purposefully slowly to seem less suspicious. But it was unsuccessful. The boy was glaring at him, his eyes narrowed in accusation, his body held tense as if about to dual. Draco tried not to roll his eyes at the sight. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen and from the tips of his messy black hair, to the thin shape of his face, he was undoubtably Harry's eldest son. James? Draco leant casually against the doorframe and brought his wand from his pocket to tap against his left hand. He saw the boy's eyes dart apprehensively towards it, but then he raised his chin even higher in defiance, as if to remind Draco whose house he was in.
"I wasn't doing any such thing. I'm Draco, Scorpius's father," he said, with a pained smile that may have come out slightly twisted.
"Yes you were. And I know who you are." James said, eyes darting to where Draco's Dark Mark lay hidden beneath layers of robe. Draco felt a surge of annoyance, guilt over being caught out disappearing.
"You are, James?" the boy gave a slight nod. "You're just like your father was at your age. Gryffindor, right?"
The boys eyes widened slightly and he seemed to stand a little taller, his chest actually puffed out. "Yes. Am I really like him?"
"Yes, just like him." And it's not a compliment, he added to himself darkly. "Do you mind telling Scorp I'm here?" And fucking off?
The boy nodded, looking smug, and began to walk back towards the hall door. He threw Draco one last narrowed eyed glare and left the room. Little sanctimonious git. No wonder Severus turned into such a cantankerous old bastard by the end dealing with kids like him.
Draco let out a calming sigh, straightened up off the wall and moved quickly back to the other side of the room, lest Harry return and catch him hanging around there. He hovered instead at the back door and was just surveying the garden when he heard the distant sound of feet pounding down a staircase. He span around and his face broke into an enormous smile as Scorpius flung himself into the kitchen, distracting Draco totally from whatever was going on in the living room between Harry and Hermione.
"Father!" The boy ran around the table and threw himself into Draco's outstretched arms. In their crushing embrace, he pressed his face into Scorp's shoulders, and tried to absorb as much of him as he could, as if by osmosis. He smelt deliciously of himself, but clean and fresh and when they pulled apart Draco was surprised but pleased to see a smattering of faint golden freckles splashed across his son's nose and cheeks.
"Have a good time?" Scorp's smile widened and he nodded fervently.
"But I'm ready to come home. I missed you loads." Draco didn't even realise it were possible to feel such relief over something he hadn't been aware he'd been worried about. He felt his muscles relax, and they ached slightly, as if held unconsciously tense for a long time. Then Scorp frowned, and pulled away slightly more and Draco straightened up. "What's wrong with your voice? Why is it all croaky? And why are you wearing robes?" His nose wrinkled slightly.
"Oh, that's the potion brewing. The flat isn't a proper lab, after all. The ventilation isn't great. And I'm wearing robes as that's usually what wizards wear. I had a meeting this morning."
"Oh." Scorp surveyed him with that achingly familiar worried frown and Draco had to fight to smooth his features against the smile that kept wanting to break out, lest Scorp didn't think he was taking his concern seriously. Even mention of his morning hadn't ruined his immediate happiness. "And have you been eating enough? Have you been okay?"
"Yes and yes," Draco replied, as solemnly as he could.
Scorp nodded and his expression cleared slightly. "And what about Grandma?" At this however, Draco felt himself deflate.
"She's... she's not great, Scorp."
Scorpius's face creased up in worry and he began to bite his upper lip. His gaze drifted from Draco's face and out across the garden as he thought. Draco took the opportunity to sit back at the table and took a long drink of tea, soothing his throat.
"I met Teddy's Gran this morning, Father. Cousin Andromeda."
"Oh really? What was she like?"
"She was a bit scary! But nice, I think. I think you'd like her."
Draco nodded as he drank his tea. "Right, okay," he said, noncommittally.
"Do you think she'd help Grandma?" Scorp had sauntered to the back door and picked up the quaffle. He was spinning it in his hands as he spoke, voice as carefully nonchalant as Draco's was. "They're sisters and Cousin Andromeda was talking about her. She told us some stories of when they were little. It didn't sound like she was angry or hated her or anything." He threw the ball in the air and caught it before lifting his wide blue eyes to meet his father's.
Draco opened his mouth to speak but then closed it as he struggled with what to say. But Scorp was looking at him expectantly so he stuttered something out. "Scorp, things aren't that simple -"
"But why not? You said it happened before you were born! I bet she could help!" the boy interrupted shrilly, his casual act dropped. Draco could tell he'd thought a lot about this, and so didn't know how to word his answer. It would disappoint Scorp no matter what, and he so wanted them to be on good terms. Before he could speak though, Scorp was talking again, eyes wide and appealing, rushing the words out as if they were rehearsed.
"Father, I think you need to reunite them, and meet Teddy and Cousin Andromeda. Our family needs some more members in it, especially since we've stopped going round to Granny and Grandpa's house and seeing Aunt Daphne and Uncle Blaise anymore."
Draco winced, both in reaction his son's attempts at emotional blackmail, and at the mention of Zabini in such an innocent voice. The two were a complete contradiction. But then, with timing that couldn't be more perfect, Potter opened the door to the living room and poked his head around and Draco was saved from answering.
He spotted Scorpius and gave him a brief smile. Then he looked back at Draco and said, "Hermione's coming over in a few minutes." Draco rose from his chair, abruptly.
"Okay, well Scorp and I will be on our way then." But Harry was shaking his head.
"No, I told her you're here and she doesn't mind. She didn't want to make a fuss," he said with an eye roll and Draco knew he was repeating a snippet of an argument they must have had. Draco stood uncertainly and floundered over his decision. There was a brief moment of silence as both Scorp and Harry watched him and then he slowly sat back down and Harry smiled. It's mostly because I need to see that article, he thought doggedly to himself. Not because of a sudden desire to see the witch herself. To see if she was okay. And not because of the feeling he'd got when Harry said she didn't mind if he was there...
Harry pulled his head back around and Scorp sat down next to Draco and began to fill him in on the things he had left out of his letters. But Draco could only half listen, he was suddenly feeling anxious about seeing Granger, ridiculously so. In no time at all he could make out voices coming from the living room and he cleared his throat, eyes locked on the door. Merlin, he needed to get a healing potion from somewhere for his voice.
It finally opened and Harry walked through, going immediately to the kettle to switch it on. Granger then entered the kitchen. Her head was held high and any trace of the tears Draco had overheard had gone. But whether it was because he knew that they had existed, or that smile she gave Draco was slightly faltering, he could tell that she was still upset.
He found himself desperate for the knowledge of how he could make it better for her. It made sense, he supposed dazedly, that he should feel like this. She had helped him, and now he wanted to help her, in the same way that he had helped Harry earlier. That's all there was to it.
She made her way over to the table and sat down sideways on one of the chairs to face Harry, her body in profile to Draco. She curled a knee up to her chest and wrapped her arms around it, pressing her chest into her leg. She was dressed in muggle clothes: loosely fitting jeans and a simple long sleeved blue T-shirt. Her face was free from makeup and her hair was damp and loosely tied back in a long plait that was draped over her shoulder. The overall effect made her look very young and very wholesome.
She swung her plait then over her shoulder to hang on her back and Draco was wafted by the scent of lavender. His eyes were drawn to her newly exposed neck and he noticed a slight pink flush on her skin as if from a bath, and automatically wondered whether it extended down to her chest and over the rest of her body. He was transfixed by the thought, all internal arguments over the nature of his concern for her forgotten. Wholesomeness in relation to Granger was a concept far, far from his mind now.
He watched her exhale shakily and with faraway eyes cast down, accept a mug of tea from Harry. She nodded her head in reaction to something someone said that Draco didn't hear and he blinked, and shook himself. He suddenly realised Hermione was looking at him, her body angled towards him expectantly. He looked around at Scorp, who was watching him with a bemused look.
"Earth to Father!" he said with a sharp poke to Draco's side.
"What?" he croaked with a frown. Scorpius giggled.
"I was just saying how we may have cracked the problem with the warding." Harry said, flashing a smile at Scorpius.
"Oh, yes." Draco cleared his throat pointlessly and felt himself heat up. He latched gratefully on to the conversation topic, desperately hoping he hadn't been too transparent. She would think he was pathetic if she knew where his thought had taken him. He felt ridiculous, like some blushing, seventh year Hufflepuff virgin. Over just a hint of exposed neck!
He cleared his throat again and picked up his cup for something to do with his hands. "Yes, I thought perhaps instead of Potter's first idea of using the Algiz Rune, the Eihwaz Rune could be used in conjunction with the Hagalaz Rune. Along with the Isa and oneiric Lagaz Potter originally decided on." He hoped his voice didn't sound as shaken as he was feeling. Hermione nodded, and Draco noticed her expression clearing and her eyes becoming more focussed as she looked at him.
"But the Hagalaz Rune channels power that could potentially rampage through the subconscious. It's quite a risk," she said, sitting up a little straighter as she spoke. Her voice was quiet, but at least it was steady. Yes, Harry was right to have brought this up as a distraction, he thought, casting his mind far back to Hogwarts and how passionate she had seemed during that class. Well, every class really, but Ancient Runes, just like Arithmancy, had seemed like a particular favourite.
"But as long as the Eihwaz is instructed to protect all areas of the mind apart from those memories that contain evidence of magic, and the barriers supplied by the Isa are slippery enough, it should work. Given Potter's magic is strong enough to bend them to this purpose, that is." He glanced at Harry, who snorted.
"I think I can handle it."
Draco rolled his eyes and looked back at Hermione, but instead of looking at Harry she was watching him with such directness it was like stepping into a patch of warm sunlight.
"Did you read about those Runes that were recently discovered in Peru?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing about her lips. He blinked, her sunlight startling him. Pull yourself together. She just asked you a question that has nothing to do with Harry, or Scorp. And she's already looking better, so keep her interested.
"The ones that the muggles discovered by accident and the Peruvian ministry had to do a hasty intervention over? Yeah I did."
She finally cracked a proper smile. "Well, if you think the Lagaz Rune will be strong enough to trick a muggle's brain into believing that it's consciously dreaming instead of actually seeing magic," we hadn't even explained that part to her, she just worked it out, he thought, momentarily rocked by the reminder or her intelligence "- then you should look into some of these Runes they've managed to decipher. I think they've worked out there are about five or six completely separate Runes so far that just relate to different aspects or types of dreaming." Her voice was almost incredulous with wonder and Draco felt himself smile and finally start to unwind.
"Why's that then?" Harry asked, sounding mildly interested. Hermione raised her eyebrows at Draco, almost like she really wanted to hear his answer. If it meant her continuing to look more and more like herself, then he would happily oblige.
"The wizards, or Shaman as they were known, shared their gifts of magic with the muggles through the use of magical plants to induce dream-like states. It was a way for the muggle to have access to their own subconscious." A quick glance at Scorp's confused look caused him to add, "Well, the ancient civilisations in Peru, and most of the Americas really, didn't have a separate magical and muggle culture you see."
"Wow, imagine that." Potter said dryly, but Draco ignored him and turned back to address Hermione.
"I imagine these Runes were another method, one that got lost in time. A lot of the Shaman's magic revolved around the ability to enter one's mind, as if it were a physical place. Dreaming is just a small aspect of that. It puts our own forays into the mind arts into shame," he said.
Hermione was nodding along empathetically and she dropped the leg that had been clasped to her chest to the floor and scooted her chair towards Draco. She leant forwards, resting her elbows on the table, causing the scoop neck of her T shirt to hang away from her chest slightly. Draco found he had to focus all his attention very hard on her words and her eyes and on not looking down.
"It's incredibly fascinating. I'd love to be able to study it further. That we just dismiss dreaming as a phenomenon without any actual intrinsic power, other than as a psychological tool, and er, divination, I suppose," she added with a smirk, as if it were barely worth mentioning.
"Don't forget about providing psychic two way links to evil Dark Lords," Harry said facetiously, but Hermione merely rolled her eyes at him and continued talking to Draco, as if that wasn't the single most horrific thing he'd ever heard in his life.
"But these wizards saw it as so much more. I can't even imagine what they could achieve."
"It is fascinating, yes..." Draco shook his head, still thrown by the levity used by Harry in reference to the Dark Lord. And, fuck, had that been true? He frowned, but ploughed on - that was a question for another time. "But of course those Runes could never work here, for what we want them to do."
"No, of course not. But still." She looked distantly sad.
"Why not? I demand ancient Peruvian Wards!" Harry announced in exaggerated indignation, banging his fist on the table, causing Scorp to laugh. "But seriously, why not? That sounds brilliant."
Draco gave Harry a wry smile and ran his hand down the back of his son's neck to rest on his back. "Well, surely you know a bit about this from that book in your study? The magic the Runes tap into is the same as we use with our wands, but it comes more directly from the earth. The ancient cultures who developed runic magic had a much closer relationship with nature and the earth and so the runes they developed truly reflect their environments.
"The South American's magic involved so much dreaming because of the hallucinogenic nature of the magical plants in the Amazon. They were shaped by their environment, just as the Anglo-Saxons were shaped by theirs. It's not nearly as glamourous sounding but The Elder Futhark contains so many Runes that relate to temperature or weather because, for one of many reasons, dying from frostbite or in a blizzard was a real danger to them.
"Therefore we can expect, and this has been proven, that the Nordic Runes will work a lot more effectively here than they would in Peru, and vice versa. This is because the Elder Futhark is more attuned to the magic that flows from the earth here, than anywhere else," he finished.
"It sounds almost Heathen," Harry said.
"Well it is, of course." Draco replied with a frown. Didn't Harry know anything? He looked at Hermione then and saw her looking at him with such a complex expression that he could barely work it out. Well, he could certainly tell she was thinking hard about something, something that had just immediately come to her, if the hint of surprise and wonder about her eyes was anything to go off.
The awareness came to Draco then, like a jolt of magic, that Hermione was actually showing her feelings to him at all. When they'd met the previous week, she'd been acting as if she'd received the greatest Pure-Blood training in schooling her emotions. Nothing had been given away, right up until the incident in the Quidditch Shop. But something had changed and she was back to wearing her heart on her sleeve. What was different today? Was it that he had passed from a possible threat in her eyes, to something else? Or that she was still badly shaken from the article and hadn't erected those defences back up? It was ridiculous really - this was the type of thing he would normally have noticed immediately.
And now she was frowning, looking at him in puzzlement. "Malfoy, what's happened to your voice?" she asked, distracting him from his revelation.
He cleared his throat self consciously. "Oh, I've been brewing potions for a few days. The fumes got pretty bad and I couldn't bear to be in a bubble head charm constantly." He shrugged. "It doesn't hurt, I just need to get a healing potion."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I heard about that, that's really great. It was quite the order, right?" She gave him a dazzling smile that this time, Draco had to strain to return, knowing he didn't deserve it. "Come here." She drew her wand and leant forwards, beckoning him towards her.
He faltered, unsure of what to do. But then Scorp poked him again in the thigh and he stood, placed his hands on the table and cautiously leant towards her, fully meeting her warm, chocolate brown eyes. Up close he could just make out that they still had a slight puffy redness to them and he felt concern ripple through him again. She was still vulnerable, she was probably still upset, despite all of his and Harry's work to distract her.
Draco could have stretched out a hand and run it along her cheek, they were that close. And he found he really wanted to, she looked so soft. Her face was beautifully clear and smooth, with the only discolouration to her skin a slight blush, high on her cheeks and a hint of blueish shadow beneath her eyes. The lingering lavender scent washed over him and as he breathed it in, deeply but inaudibly, he began to imagine again, just how warm and good she would feel beneath his fingers and how gentle her own hands would feel on him.
But he balled his hands into fists instead and tried to get a hold on himself, berating himself for how easily his thoughts kept straying. It was painfully juvenile, and totally pointless anyway, as Hermione Granger would never return these kinds of feelings. He couldn't have a repeat of what he had done the last time they had stood in this kitchen. Merlin, that had almost crucified him with embarrassment the next day. At least he'd had an excuse for his loss of control, however shameful, and she seemed to have got over it.
She raised her wand to point at his neck. Draco instinctively tensed and she gave him a reassuring smile that only served to make his heart beat even faster.
"I'm going to heal you. Trust me." She said, gently. He nodded, quite literally not being able to speak. "Episky."
The magic that coated his throat was hot and stung for a split second, but then faded. He swallowed delicately and sat back down as soon as Hermione drew her wand away.
"Thank you," he ventured, and found his voice had lost the hoarse edge. Hermione beamed at him again and he returned the smile, cautiously, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward at how intimate the moment had felt, and how it had taken place in front of Harry and Scorp. Fuck, I hope they didn't notice anything. I hope I wasn't acting as strangely as I feel.
Just as he was beginning to pray for someone to break the charged silence, Harry said, "Oh Hermione, you should have left him. I'd got used to Malfoy sounding all husky. I thought it was sexy." Harry pouted and then laughed as each person looked to him in varying degrees of incredulity. Draco grimaced. Of all the things, that was meant to make this less awkward?
Scorp had screwed up his face and brought his hands to his eyes as if the word 'sexy' should never have been uttered in relation to his dad. Draco squeezed his hand in camaraderie and Hermione shook her head, looking slightly embarrassed and said something under her breath that sounded a lot like, "honestly." Harry grinned cheerfully down at Scorpius.
"Don't worry Scorp, I'm only joking. Your dad really isn't my type. I'm not that masochistic." Scorpius looked around at his dad in confusion and before Draco could decide whether or not his come back was appropriate for his son's ears, Hermione let out a burst of sudden laughter. It rang clearly and irresistibly around the room like early morning birdsong, and as Draco caught her eyes he found he couldn't help but to join in. It made his chest feel lighter and looser, as if the tension he'd felt building within him since Granger first beckoned him over had drained away.
He looked at Harry, curiously wondering if that had been the man's aim, and received the quickest flash of a wink. He nodded, almost imperceptibly in reply, in a silent communication of thanks. So it would seem Potter had noticed Granger's effect on him.
"Come on, let's go into the garden, summer isn't going to be around forever." Harry then announced. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and leant back in his chair, slapping his hands down on the table. "It's only four thirty... but it is a Saturday. What do you say we crack out a bottle?" he asked with a solemn raise of his eyebrows.
Granger made a show of deliberating and glanced at Draco quickly before nodding, looking almost painfully resigned and slightly embarrassed over it. "I shouldn't really, Harry... but maybe today I can make an exception."
The adults began to make their way outside, Harry clutching a chilled bottle of white and three glasses, but Draco faltered at the door, excusing himself for a moment to have a private work with Scorpius. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment, despite how strange it would feel, than to sit down and drink wine with Potter and Granger, but there was something he needed to do first. For his own piece of mind.
He turned back into the kitchen, and saw with relief that it was empty. Draco stole another look into the garden through the window to see them both sitting on the lawn furniture, already deep in conversation and moved quickly to the living room. He slipped inside, shut the door gently behind him and spotted Granger's letter folded on the mantlepiece above the fireplace.
The handwritten note, however tempting, was held to the side and Draco hastily unfolded the newspaper, eager to finally find out exactly what Zabini had promised he'd find interesting. His eyes ran briefly down the article, immediately discounting the contents due to the purely Skeeter inspired style of journalism. Surely that couldn't be the reason she was so upset? Zabini had probably found it hilarious. It's almost a relief it's just this. Why was I so paranoid?
And then he gave his full attention to the image and his contempt soon gave way to pure, heart racing, panic.
For this skirt had looked far better on her in reality, and at first, he merely snorted in skepticism at the appearance of the animated red circle and what it highlighted. That definitely looked fake.
But then he was hit by a flash of gut wrenching understanding and he knew, with absolute, irrefutable certainty that it was fake, and the thought made his blood run cold.
For while he recognised her outfit, and while he could just about identify the shop in the background, it was the way her frizzy mane of hair whipped around her in an angry storm, the way she looked as she pleaded and ranted with all her glorious, righteous outrage, that told Draco that this photo had been taken mere moments after they had been kicked out of Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley the week before, and the person who Granger was addressing and who had been cropped out of the frame, was himself.