"It is the weak who are cruel; gentleness can only be expected from the strong." - Leo Rosten

Chapter Eleven: Alive and Well

Bergen was a beautiful city that had a kind of wizarding flair to it; the air was very different from that of any cities in England, and Draco breathed it in happily. They might actually be safe now.

Draco tried not to think about what Frank had said to him earlier; it had made him uncomfortable.

"You don't have any family or friends here." It had not been a question.

"No. Hermione and I are running from someone."

Frank had nodded slowly, watching the crew members offload some unremarkable wooden crates. "I could have guessed that. I'd be rotten if I didn't offer you a place to stay, wouldn't I?"

Draco had not been planning to stay in civilization; he had been planning to get lost in the hills and mountains in Norway, putting a land barrier between himself and the Death Eaters still searching for the two of them.

"You offer too much," he'd said. "We really shouldn't burden you further."

"Nonsense. I have a great house, and we never have guests. My wife will be pleased."

Draco had bowed his head slightly. "Thank you very much."

"At any rate, we should worry about such things later. How's about you give us a hand in the meantime?"

He wondered why Frank was so foolishly kind.

Hermione was the last of the cargo to be offloaded. He'd found her replacing one of the bandages just below her collarbone, peeling the old, dirty bandage off carefully and rubbing off the sticky residue around the edges.

"We're staying with Frank, apparently."

Hermione had said nothing; she'd just felt around for the wrappers she had discarded, stuffing the used bandage into her jacket pocket to be discarded later.

Now that they were in the city, he took a good look around through the windows of the car, taking in the beautiful scenery of the harbor and the hills beyond. With the cargo going to a separate location, Draco and Hermione were being driven to Frank's house by Tim. He smiled at them in the rear view mirror as he went on about Norwegian currency, only stopping when he realized that even Hermione wasn't paying attention to him.

"Isn't Frank wonderful?" he began again.

Draco nodded, adding another notch to the number of times Tim had said those exact words. He was up to six. "Maybe too much so."

Tim shook his head at this, scanning the cars around him at the traffic light. "No one can be too kind. He makes it his goal... in order to make up for things he's done in the past. I say we all make mistakes, but he thinks that his mistakes could have been avoided. It makes him too careful."

Draco glanced at Hermione - she was being unusually quiet for this sort of talk. Her head was against the window, her glasses in her lap. He realized then how dingy the both of them looked.

"That's why I'm around… I make sure we're not taken advantage of. He likes to please people no matter what."

Frank's house was rather large, located in one of the many suburban areas surrounding the city. It wasn't nearly the size of Draco's manor, but it was big enough that he didn't wrinkle his nose. Hermione felt her way out of the car, taking in the crisp breeze and the sound of the trees.

"Frank's wife is Sasha; the two daughters are Amelia and Jessika, or Jesse and Amy. Mrs. Worthington!"

A thin woman with grey brown hair embraced Tim; she was nearly as tall as him. She had a thick white streak stemming from one of her temples and long, bony fingers; despite her deep laugh lines and crinkly eyes, she looked to be quite an attractive woman. "I'm always glad to have you Tim; Jess is in the courtyard. And who are your guests?"

Tim turned toward Draco and Hermione. "Yes, excuse me - this is Draco and Hermione."

Sasha smiled warmly at them. "You must be the couple Frank spoke about this morning on the phone." Hermione blushed horribly. "Welcome; my name is Sasha. What brings you to Norway?"

Draco bristled slightly at the assumption that they were a couple, but Frank had said Sasha was from Bath, which was Draco's favorite place to visit. He had a very friendly uncle there. "We sailed with your husband. He took us in; we needed a lift."

"Thank you very much for your kindness," Hermione said, speaking for the first time that day. She gave a slight bow, nearly in the wrong direction. Draco turned her a bit, unconsciously drawing her into his arm.

"Hermione. What a lovely name for such a lovely girl." Hermione smiled under her sunglasses, though she knew she looked anything but lovely at the moment.

When they were inside, Draco took in the white decor while Sasha readied them a place to sleep; Tim had snuck off somewhere in the direction of the back of the house.

"You haven't any trunks or baggage?"

Draco shook his head and indicated the bag slung over his shoulder. Hermione stuck close to his side, obviously afraid to break anything.

Sasha nodded sadly, looking down at the bed she had just tidied. She cleared her throat and continued. "Well, in the mornings, if you want more room, the bed folds up into a couch. The cushions are in the closet... dinner will be ready at about 5:00; Frank should be home by then. In the meantime, go ahead and relax. We're going to Galleriet tomorrow if you'd like to come."

Draco's mouth quirked into a small smile. He wondered what Galleriet was. "Thank you."

He glanced around at the muggle room. It had kind of a muggle... smell to it. He wondered when he would get to go outside to the city, which was more his style. Now that they were somewhat safe, he wanted a bit of freedom.

"I want a proper bath," Hermione said, detaching herself, arms stretched before her. "What's the room like?"

Draco decided to leave out the part that there was only one bed. "It's white... and very muggle-like."

"And there's only one bed."

The back of his neck became hot. "Yes."

Hermione nodded carefully and felt for the door frame to the bathroom, managing to find the closet instead. Draco silently steered her into the bathroom and turned the shower on before walking out. Her company in this closed little room was suffocating him after being alone with himself for nearly a week; awkwardness had joined them once again.

Draco turned from inspecting a print of a famous painting. There was a girl standing behind him; she looked about fifteen and had a mess of dyed cherry red hair. She said something in Norwegian, and he quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're the... guest we're having." Her sudden blush was not lost on him.

"Draco," he said, extending a hand. She took it softly, only giving it a bit of a squeeze before letting go.

"Amy."

He nodded and turned back to the portrait. Who had painted this? He had the original in his room at the manor.

"So um... what brings you here?"

Draco shook his head. What was it with muggles? Did they really enjoy idle conversation so much? And what was he going to answer that with? He opted for a shrug, deciding to tell a half truth. "I'm being chased by psychotic murderers." He looked directly into her eyes to let her think that he wasn't serious; his eyes were piercing.

"Well yeah... okay." She rushed away determinedly. Draco resisted the urge to smirk. She will learn how to deal with smoothies like me.

The "courtyard" that Sasha had spoken of was more of a garden than a courtyard; the grassy nature of it gave it more the feel of a courtyard however, as well as the light grey square in the center of it. A woman in her mid twenties was sitting in the grass with what looked to be a sheathed sword in her lap. Tim was sitting across from her, his eyes smiling.

Draco decided to avoid that introduction for now in favor of searching for Sasha; all this hospitality and kindness was making him a little sick and uncomfortable. He felt that he needed to pay them back somehow.

He found Sasha in the kitchen, a grey cat rubbing against her ankles as she chopped vegetables.

"Hello dear. How is your lady friend doing?"

"She's in the shower. I plan to go in next."

Sasha smiled at him with the same note of sadness she'd had earlier, dumping some peppers into a bowl and turning to a discarded onion bulb. "That's all good and well. It's nice to have some company when Frank is at work; my daughters tend to avoid my nagging and prying."

She finished chopping the celery and added that to the bowl, along with something that looked like shredded cheese. She had the practiced hands of a woman who had been cooking and cleaning for many years. Draco liked to separate the roles of women, men, and servants, so seeing her do this made his nose twitch a bit. He almost felt bad about that fact.

"What are you making?" he asked to keep up conversation (as he was learning to do in the presence of muggles), his eyes on the grey cat that was now coming towards him.

"Tortellini alfredo, Frank's favorite. Nice and heavy." Draco nodded, though he had no idea what tortellini was.

"What's her name?" Draco reached down to the cat at his feet, letting it sniff his fingers gently, decide that he was all right, and put its head against his hand.

"Loki. She likes you."

Draco actually liked cats quite a bit - they tended to understand him on some mysterious level. He scratched the cat behind the ears.

She had no need to speak to him. In fact, she didn't know if she could without betraying her thoughts.

Just remember - your thoughts are not safe around me.

He had broken into her mind back there, when they had been cornered by the Death Eater. He'd told her to retrieve the wand out of his pocket. He'd called her Hermione, and he'd sounded pleasant.

In her mind, he had almost sounded normal.

She had been waiting for him to try it again now that they were back on solid ground.

What was the magic behind such a trick? There were strict laws against telepathy in the wizarding world; it was one of the laws that could only be suspended during wartime. Besides, telepathy wasn't the same thing as what she had felt back there. It was more like... his soul was speaking. She couldn't hear the words as much as she could feel them; she understood them as emotions and intentions more than words.

Telepathy leaves a trail anyway, and could not be engaged in unless a certain spell is performed with the other person. The spell itself is illegal to perform without a Ministry official present; privacy rights apparently had something to do with that.

She wondered if this different magic was how, a year before, the Death Eaters had found her and her friends when they were miles away from Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Feeling around for the shower nobs, she turned them until the water sounds stopped... oh yes, this was why she had been in the shower for twenty minutes:

She didn't want to face that room... with that one bed. She didn't want to think about later in the day, didn't want to hyperventilate because she had no idea what time it was and how many hours she had left before she had to face it...

She couldn't even be happy about the fact that she was once again in civilization, and once again had others, besides Draco, to talk to. They were in a large city, a very large city, and it would be impossible to find them here; she had wanted that as well.

So what would he do? Would he make her sleep on the floor? Would he demand that she sleep on the bed because of her injuries as some ploy to make her uncomfortable and thus unable to sleep? After all, there was no way Draco Malfoy would let his delicate little arse touch a carpeted floor, much less a wood one. She'd have back pain in the morning, and would probably be cold all night... the possibilities looked grim. What ever the case, one thing was certain - he would never do anything to show that he cared about her.

A towel had been placed on the toilet sometime during her shower; it hadn't been there when she'd tripped over the thing earlier.