"Harry Potter, you have no right to keep me here!"
Harry and Ron had escorted Hermione to her room in St. Mungo's and Harry told her that he would take her to see her parents in the morning. She protested, insisting on seeing them now, and tried to dart her way around him to only slam into his outstretched arm. He easily pulled her back and held her firmly in place.
He spoke in an almost bored tone as if he expected her to react this way. "Your parents need to rest."
"He's right, 'Mione," agreed Ron, leaning against the wall.
The witch shrugged out of Harry's grasp and stared daggers at the redhead. "Ronald Weasley! Are you really not going to help me?!"
"I saw for myself what happened to your mum and dad. They need all the sleep they can get."
Hermione wanted to keep arguing. She wanted to plant herself in front of her door and wail until she got what she wanted like a child would do. But she was drained in every sense of the word, and realized that she herself needed all the sleep she could get.
The door closed behind her and she slogged off to bed without another word. She curled herself up under the paper thin sheets and shut her eyes, commanding herself to sleep. She drifted off... and then...
...Her Mum's sobs and her Dad's moans pierce her...
...She's standing next to them...
...She reaches down and holds out her hand... to help them... to ease their agony...
...But their cries intensify...
"Please stop!" her mother begs.
"Who's doing this to you?" she demands.
... Her father looks past her... Her head follows his gaze...
...A hooded figure in a Death Eater mask points its wand...
"STOP!" Hermione shouted, being ripped back into consciousness. The covers and her hair were drenched in cold sweat and she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. She sat up, attempting to slow down her rapid breath and convince herself that it was just a dream.
After a few minutes, Hermione was able to bring her heart rate down and she gingerly laid back on the mattress to attempt to sleep again.
"It won't come back, it won't come back, it won't come back, it won't come back, it won't come back..." she chanted softly, cajoling herself until she slept...
...The sound that bursts from her parents' mouths makes her skin crawl...
"STOP!" she shrieks.
...The awful sound continues...
...She goes to move, but she is rooted in place...
"Why are you doing this?!"she bawls at the Death Eater.
"Why are YOU doing this?!"
...She turns...Her mother asked the question...
"Mum-"
"This is YOUR fault!" her father accuses.
...She reaches out... Their cries intensify again...
...She withdraws and stares in horror at her hands...
...Was SHE the one causing them pain?...How?...She just wants to protect them...
...Tears sting her eyes...
"What can I do?!"
...Suddenly they're silent... They lay in the fetal position on the carpet... Helpless, Hopeless...And Merlin forbid, Lifeless?
...She turns back to the Death Eater...It reaches up and removes the mask...
...She is staring at herself...
...It speaks in her voice... "We killed them."
Hermione screamed. The blood-curdling noise echoed throughout her room, the hall, and all five floors of the hospital. It no doubt woke everyone up. But she didn't care. She just wanted it all to stop.
The lights came on and someone began to fervently shake her shoulders.
"Hermione. Hermione! HERMIONE!"
Once she recognized the familiar voice of Harry, she quieted down and began to weep into her pillow. The witch was closing her eyes and facing away from him, but he still sat on the bed behind her and soothingly rubbed her back.
"Get her a Sleeping Draught," she heard Harry command. She then listened to scattered voices scurrying out of the room. No doubt Healers came too; from the sound she was making, they probably expected to see Hermione writhing in unbearable pain.
The sound of the door clicking shut let her know that she was now alone with Harry. She began to speak hoarsely. "It was me. It was me. It was me..."
"Shhh..."
Her voice felt broken. "I killed them! I killed them! I killed them! I killed them..."
"No you didn't...Shhh..."
She, herself, felt broken as well. "My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault, my fault..."
Hermione continued even after the door opened and a Healer handed him a potion in a small, purple vial. She let Harry turn her over on her back and she stopped talking. The witch cracked open her eyes and was blinded by the whiteness that filled the room. She shut them again, averting the agonizing bright light.
"Hermione I need you to take this Sleeping Draught."
The word "sleep" instantly made her stomach churn violently. "No, no, no I can't go back..."
"Shhh... Hermione..."
"...Please don't make me..." She reminded herself of a little girl groveling to her parent.
"You will not go back," Harry assured.
She stopped herself and let out a relieved whimper.
Harry spoke again in a calming voice. "Hermione, you know that a Sleeping Draught will give you instantaneous and dreamless sleep. If you drink this, you will be out like a light and the next thing you know will be me waking you up in the morning and taking you to see your very much alive, very much safe parents. I promise that you will not go back to that place when you sleep."
Hermione's eyes remained closed as she turned this over in her head. Her parents were alive and she didn't kill them. But of course she already knew this. How could she be so dense and forget?... Although, the dream was so real... so vivid. Even though it was over, she still had a horrendous feeling of guilt lurking in her stomach. Her mum and dad were living but she still felt responsible for their deaths. But why? Why did she see herself as the Death Eater in her nightmare? Why did she see herself as a murderer?
Not wanting to relive the dream, she opened her mouth to drink the Sleeping Draught. She felt Harry cradle her head gently as he tipped the small vial over her lips. Hermione again reminded herself of an infant, for she had to be fed by a capable adult because she didn't have the ability to do it herself. She loathed appearing so weak in front of everyone, especially Harry. But there were times where she just didn't want to face the world by herself. And as much as she hated it, there were times where she just needed to be carried. This was one of those times.
She swallowed the potion, and before she could thank Harry, she was unconscious.
Draco could feel William scrutinizing him from across his bedroom. Even though the man was blind, he still had an accusatory look spread across his face.
"So, where are you going again?"
Draco rolled his eyes, folding and packing clothes into his trunk on the bed. "I already told you; I'm visiting someone."
"And who would that someone be?"
The boy looked up at his tutor. He was sitting on his desk chair like it was a throne, and he held his cane in front of him like a scepter. William reminded Draco of his father in that moment with his imperious demeanor and arched eyebrow. The thought made Draco sick so he quickly returned to his trunk, not answering his question.
William cleared his throat. "Again, who would-"
"Again, like I told you, it's none of your business," Draco barked, slamming his trunk closed.
Isabella then sauntered in at the noise. "What's with the ruckus?"
William made a sound of relief, probably at the presence of another adult figure to interrogate Draco, and stood up. "Ah, Isabella!" He walked over to her. "Draco here is taking an impromptu journey."
Her head snapped toward him. "What are you doing?!"
Draco scoffed in annoyance. He did not need Isabella now to act like an overbearing parent. "I'm just going to visit-"
"Not Hermione, I hope!"
"Of course not Hermione! Do you think I'm that daft to go waltzing into St. Mungo's looking like this?"
"No! But where else would you go?"
Draco bit his bottom lip. He didn't know exactly how to deflect that question, let alone answer it. The truth might shock them and even though they couldn't stop him, they would be even more unwilling to let him go. Draco just figured that with Hermione gone, he would be doing no good just sitting on his arse in this God-forsaken place. He thought that he should go out and set something right.
Staring at the floorboards, he answered, "Let's just say I need to give and receive some clarity."
He was surprised that they didn't automatically laugh at such a vague statement. And he was even more surprised that, after a few moments, Isabella had a slight look of understanding.
"Just to be clear. You are going to a safe-house?" she asked.
Draco looked up and nodded slowly, puzzled at how she came to that conclusion.
The housekeeper stared at him hard. After another few moments she simply said, "Okay."
William guffawed in astonishment. "Er, what?! Isabella, Dumbledore's ordered-"
"If Draco is visiting the person I think he is, Dumbledore ordered that we let him go alone," she interrupted William, crossing her arms.
"But-"
She turned back to Draco, ignoring William. "When are you leaving?"
Draco raised his eyebrows, stunned that she somehow knew of his destination. "I'm leaving now," he replied with caution.
"How long will you be gone?"
"A few days. I'll owl you when I'm there."
"How will you get there?"
"Apparition."
Isabella nodded and then walked over and planted a motherly kiss on Draco's cheek. "Be safe." She then glided out of his bedroom.
He turned his gaze to William. He still had that condescending expression that made Draco think of his father. "So do I get to know where you're going?" he asked with a hint of irritation.
Draco shrugged. "Ask Isabella."
The tutor huffed, signaling Draco that he was giving up. "Alright, then. Good luck." He left the room.
Once Draco was alone in his bedroom, he went to his closet and changed into comfortable Muggle clothing. It was strange to him that he was dressing so casual for such an important visit, but with the state of things, it seemed appropriate. He slipped on dark jeans and a gray shirt, throwing on a dark green jacket on top. He then tied the laces of his brown boots and placed a beanie on his head. Draco smirked as he stared at his reflection. Despite his mutilated complexion, he looked... normal. The clothes were much less stifling than his usual opulent robes he had been wearing since birth. It was odd, yet gratifying to see himself in such humble attire. He wondered how she would react to it.
Draco grabbed his trunk and wand and went outside, the noticeably warmer air tingling his skin. Time was thinning, but he knew that he had to spare some of it and spend that with her. It had been much too long.
He Apparated, and he landed on an island off the coast. He could hear waves cascading against the precipitous cliffs, the salty breeze filling his nose. It was twilight, and the sky formed a painting with a mixture of orange and pink. Draco turned and blinked at the setting sun. He raised his hand to his forehead to block the light, and he saw a silhouette of an unseemly house at the edge of the island. He had only been to this place once, and it looked exactly the same as the last time he had seen it.
Draco got a grip on his trunk and began to walk toward the house. The grass was thick, and it came up past his ankles. It felt like a hike to him and by the time he got to the door, the sun was gone and the only light he had was the moon. He raised his fist to knock, and then a surge of apprehension hit him square in the chest. Draco was just barely worrying about how she'd react to his clothes, completely forgetting about how she'd react to his bloody monstrous appearance. And, oh Merlin, he did not want to see the look on her face when he told her that he was falling in love with a Muggle-born.
But before he could convince himself to leave, he knocked three times. Draco took a sharp intake of breath and held it. He could hear footsteps approaching, unlocking of the door, the creak of the wood, an anxious greeting: "Who's there?"
Draco said nothing.
The door opened wider. A woman with white-blonde hair flowing down her back was holding out her wand. Her face was faded and worn by time, lines in her forehead and chin completely defined. Draco wasn't used to seeing her without make-up that masked her age. Crow's feet bordered her milky eyes, and yet he could still see bright blue protruding through.
Her eyes widened at Draco, but she did not attack. She continued to stare at him silently, with her wand pointed at him. Then, he saw her face soften.
"Draco?" she whispered.
He let out his breath. "Hello, Mother."
It wasn't Harry that woke Hermione up. Rather, it was the buzz of people talking as Harry shouted over them from the other side of her door. She sat up and looked at the door with confusion. Were there Healers outside? Members of the Order? The Ministry? Whoever it was, the bigger question was why they were arguing with her best friend right outside of her room. It must have been something about her.
Hermione figured that they would be a while so she went to the bathroom to clean up. She ached as she peeled off her clothing and stepped into the shower. She stood under the showerhead, letting the warm water fall onto her back, as she felt a blaring migraine seize her. The dream was coming back.
She really was grateful for the Sleeping Draught and that she was able to actually get sleep last night, but the potion was temporary. Images of murdering her own parents came flooding back without warning whilst leaving a painful pulse in her forehead. Hermione figured that yes, you can still have nightmares when you are awake. As much as she tried to rid her mind of it, she kept coming back and analyzing the dream. She was a killer. And her parents were terrified of her. Hermione couldn't help but feel like this had some truth in reality; with Hermione's bounty on her head, her parents were in constant danger. If not for her, they would be completely safe.
Along with the water, guilt began to wash over her again. Of course she felt like this attack was her fault. People would tell her that it wasn't and Hermione knew that they were wrong. Other people would tell her that there was nothing that she could've done and Hermione knew that this was also wrong. She felt like that she might as well have been the Death Eater holding them hostage with how much she put her mum and dad in peril.
...She turns back to the Death Eater...It reaches up and removes the mask...
...She is staring at herself...
...It speaks in her voice... "We killed them."
Hermione let out a grunt and shut off the shower. She needed to stop. She could not face her parents like this. They could not know that this was how she felt because she knew that they would deny her guilt like everyone else would.
Hermione stepped out of the shower and grabbed her wand. She swished the wand around herself, making hot air emit from the tip. After twirling her wand around her golden locks, she was completely dry. Feeling immodest, she wrapped a towel around herself as she went to go look for some clothes. She blushed at how silly this was, seeing that she was completely alone, but the thought of walking around naked with only a door to separate her from Merlin knows how many people was too much.
She quickly got dressed and then sat on her bed, watching the door. She could still hear people's voices along with Harry's shouting. How long have they been at it? Hermione crept up to the wood and pressed her right ear to it, trying to pick up any words.
"Again, I am not letting you, your cronies, or anyone ambush her!" Harry hissed forcefully.
Hermione's stomach plummeted when the voice of the notorious Rita Skeeter came through. "It's not an ambush! It's a search for the truth!"
There were many mutters of agreement. How many bloody people of the press were there?!
"Oh come on, Rita. You and I both know that is bullshite."
Gasps of horror at such colorful language echoed throughout. Hermione chuckled.
Harry continued. "You never write the truth! You just write your own sick, twisted version of it! So there is no way in hell am I going to let you interview Hermione or even say a word to her."
"Are you not going to uphold the Freedom of the Press?!" she asked with indignation.
"This isn't bloody America! There is no written law for 'Freedom of the Press'. So why don't you take your 'Freedom of the Press', shove it up your arse, and leave!"
There were gasps again, and Hermione could hear the clicking of cameras. If the Daily Prophet wasn't going to get a story on her, they were definitely going to get a story about the legendary row between Rita Skeeter and Harry Potter. But Hermione knew that it would be twisted to how Harry, the unstable and over-pressured Chosen One, assaulted a poor reporter.
"Well, Miss. Granger will just have to stay in there all day and not see her parents at all because we are not leaving."
Murmurs of agreement came again and Harry did not have an answer for her. Harry knew that, in the end, the press didn't matter to Hermione. She would let them write what they want to write and say what they want to say. Anything just to see her mum and dad.
Hermione heard soft knocks on her door. She stood up and cracked the door open an inch. She saw bright flashes of light from behind Harry's face. He mouthed, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she murmured.
He gave her a look that said Are you sure?
She nodded.
He exhaled as Hermione opened her door wider. The flashes became brighter and people began to exclaim her name. Harry grabbed her hand and began to guide her through the throng of cameras and reporters. Hermione said nothing and tried to block out the noise as they both meandered through. Every once in a while, she picked up some of the questions being thrown at her left, right, and center.
"Was there anything you could've done to prevent this?"
"Do you feel like you should've been there?"
"Do you feel responsible?"
Hermione answered "yes" to all of these questions in her mind, but she refused to voice it.
She honed in on the back of Harry's head, attempting to ignore the relentless flashing that left spots in her vision. At one point, she just closed her eyes and let Harry lead her through the, what seemed like never-ending, forest of press. Finally, they reached the elevator. Harry and Hermione stepped inside as a group of Healers prevented anyone else from entering; the press was only allowed to be on the visitor's floor. Cries of protest rang through Hermione's ears until the elevator doors closed and it started to move down.
At once, Harry began to apologize. "Hermione, I'm so sorry! I've been arguing with that insufferable woman all morning, but I couldn't get her to leave."
"I know," Hermione responded, staring blankly at the steel elevator doors. "I heard you two having quite the row."
Harry breathed out a laugh as he ran a hand through his scraggly hair. "Yeah, that moment wasn't exactly my finest."
"You were brilliant," Hermione said, giving him a weak smile. She turned back to stare at the doors.
Harry gave her a curious look. "Hermione, are you alright?"
"Yes," she lied.
He saw straight through it. "No. Something is up."
The witch turned and then gave Harry a look that he had seen many times before; a look that meant that she really did not want to talk about it.
There was a soft ding, and the doors opened to reveal the fourth floor of the hospital. Harry began to walk forward and Hermione followed him down the hallway. With every step she took, anxiety filled her. She was about to see her injured parents, no doubt marked up from the attack and dealing with possibly permanent effects. What she imagined made her wince. Were they still in pain? Were they damaged beyond repair?
She suddenly found herself in front of their door. Harry rapped his knuckles on it quietly and a young Healer clad in the normal lime-green robes cracked it open. She heard Harry mutter something to the Healer, and she looked from Harry to Hermione. The Healer gave a short nod and then stepped out of the room, followed by five more of them. Hermione was startled by the crowd pouring out into the hallway, trying to not imagine what terrible damage was done to her parents that required that many Healers tend to them.
Hermione's eyes flitted to Harry and he cocked his head toward the open door. She swallowed and slowly advanced through the threshold and into the shockingly white room. Once the door shut behind her, two black-and-blue figures called out her name. They were in separate beds and smiling toothily at her. Hermione tried to hide her cringe, for she could tell that their smiles were being forced through their pain. And of course, these dark spotted figures were her mum and dad.
She walked over and stood between them, getting a closer look at their bruises. They were completely covered in them and bandages that were wrapped were stained with a faint crimson. Hermione could see marks of various healing spells that sealed and mended their wounds. Every once in a while, their joints would twitch and they would try to make it seem normal. Trails of the torture curse still clung onto their bodies and it made Hermione's blood boil.
"Hi Mum. Hi Dad," she greeted softly. She bent down and hugged them, squeezing as gently as she could.
She pulled up a chair and sat down between their beds. They immediately began talking to her like it was afternoon tea back at their home in the suburbs. Her parents were pointing out trivial things like how nice they were treated at the hospital or how good the food tasted here or "Honey, I really like the look of those robes. We should get some for ourselves," or "The Weasleys have visited. Capital people!"
After about five minutes of nodding and one word agreements, she had enough. "Aren't you two even a little bit concerned about- "
Her mum didn't let her finish. "Hermione, our only concern is your safety. And now that you're here, there's nothing more to worry about."
"But you were hurt- "
Her father stopped her this time. "But we are alive and in good hands. And now that we know that it's the same case for you, life can't get much better."
"Are you barking?!" Hermione stood up angrily, knocking back the chair she was on. "You were attacked! And it is almost certain that if we don't get you some protection this will happen again and you may not come out alive!"
"Hermione, you know that we don't want-" her mum began.
"I don't care! You will take the bloody wards and the bloody guards and you will not say a word! I will not have you almost killed again!"
Hermione couldn't help but feel inappropriate as she screamed at her parents. She felt like a whiny child once again. She kept her eyes glued to the tile beneath her, but she could feel her parents' stare boring into her. They sat there in agonizing silence.
Finally, her father spoke. "You don't feel responsible for this, do you Hermione?"
She felt a lump in her throat.
"Honey?" her mother voiced.
"Of course I feel responsible!" Tears poured onto her cheeks. "This is all my fault! If Voldemort wasn't after me…" A sob escaped her throat. "Maybe if I wasn't your daughter…"
She fell back into the chair and hid her face in her hands, muffling her cries. And here she was again, becoming a child in front of her mum and dad…feeling very, very small.
Hermione could hear rustling on the bed and looked up to see her parents standing up.
"What are you doing?"
Her dad answered, "Being parents."
They crouched down to Hermione's level and enveloped her in their arms. She could hear their hitched breath from the pain that resulted in moving. It made her feel worse. Once they let go, they sat on the edge of their beds and held her hands.
"Don't you ever think that we wouldn't want you as a daughter. We are so proud of you. You are standing up to an almost indomitable force of tyranny and bigotry. You are empowering people like us and you; you make them feel like they can make a difference," her mum said.
"But because of that, you two are put at risk."
There was a small pause. And then her dad replied, "Hermione, do you know why your mother and I won't accept magical protection?"
"Because you're stubborn."
Her dad snickered. "Which must be something we get from you. And yes, stubbornness, but it's not only that. We don't want magical protection because we don't want to live life like there is a war going on. What Voldemort wants is destruction, chaos, and thus the power that he could take from that. If we maintain a state of normalcy, we are showing that his attempts at chaos don't faze us."
"Dad, that's just denial," Hermione scoffed.
He shrugged. "You call it denial. We call it hope. We want life to go on whether there is a war or not, and that depends on us and not an evil madman."
The door opened and a mass of lime-green entered. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, time for your Sleeping Draughts," the young Healer announced.
"Oh! More anesthesia!" Hermione's mum remarked happily.
The golden-haired girl snorted into her palm.
The Healer looked dumbfounded. "Er, yes." She walked over and placed two vials on the table between the beds.
Hermione's parents slipped themselves back under the covers and grabbed their portion of the sleeping potion.
"We love you."
"See you soon."
They said their goodbyes and drank the potion. In the blink of an eye, they were fast asleep. Hermione observed them, thinking that they looked almost too tranquil. Their marked up bodies juxtaposed against their peaceful sleep almost made her laugh, but instead it sent a dull pain to her chest.
"Miss. Granger, we need you to- "
She turned to the Healer. "Can I just have one more moment with them, please?"
The young woman stared at her and then eventually left the room with a nod.
Hermione fixed her gaze on her parents, watching their stomachs rise and fall and listening to their even breathing. Again, they seemed so carefree in this moment. Hermione knew that the only time they could achieve "normalcy" was when they slept. When awake, they had to live with the constant danger that hung above their heads provided by their reckless daughter. Hermione wished desperately that she could give them that easy life. A life without Voldemort. A life without magic…
…And then she realized that she could. She could give them the chance to go somewhere else and escape from the sights of the Death Eaters. She could make them erase any fear for themselves and for their child. In fact, she could wipe herself completely from their lives. She could make them forget. And it all just required a simple charm…
Hermione steadily took out her wand, and pointed it at the two people she most cared about. If they wanted a normal life, she would give them a normal life.
"Reproba Memoria," she whispered.
She then exited the room, refusing to give another glance to her parents, and found Harry sitting in the empty tearoom on the fifth floor.
"How did it go?" he asked.
She ignored his question and said sternly, "Harry, I need you to do something."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"
"You need to tell the Healers that my parents aren't the Grangers anymore. Their names are Monica and Wendell Wilkins and they want to move to Australia. They do not have a daughter named Hermione Jean."
GRANGERS ATTACKED. MUGGLES BEING TARGETED?
Last week, parents of the famed Muggle-born witch Hermione Granger were attacked and held hostage in their home. The situation was quickly rectified; the Death Eaters involved were put into custody and the Grangers were taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. They were unable to give a comment and their daughter has said nothing on the matter. Could this incident be the inception of a new wave of Muggle attacks, in where they are specifically targeted, ordered by He-who-must-not-be-named? Should Muggle leaders be alarmed?
Hermione's picture spread across the front page of The Daily Prophet was what made Draco snatch the paper and read the article. He didn't really pay attention to the words because his eyes kept flickering back up to her portrait. She had a vacant expression and her eyes looked hollow. No doubt she felt dreadful. But the complete lack of life in her face startled Draco and he longed to know what was going on inside her head.
He suddenly heard the door behind him open and the footsteps of his mother on the wooden porch. He threw the newspaper on the table beside him and resumed to rock himself in the chair.
"Morning," she sang, giving him a cup of tea.
He gratefully took it, feeling chilly from the morning breeze. "Thanks."
She sat down in the rocking chair beside him and joined him in watching the sun rise over the ocean. Draco inhaled the scent of the sea as he saw waves rippling across the dark water and the tall grass at the edge of the cliff. This safe-house had become familiar to him over the past week. He was feeling unusually relaxed now that he was staying with his mother, and the visit had been much better than he expected. He figured that Bellatrix must have contacted her when Draco was cursed because she didn't shriek in mortification when he arrived at her door. In fact, the first thing she did was fling herself into his arms and begin to cry. She then quickly led him into the house and got him settled. And then they had dinner together, talking for hours into the night.
It seemed so natural to Draco even though everything was different. She seemed like a whole other person. Her hair was thinner, her cheeks were sallower, she wore simple and worn Muggle clothing, and not to mention that the safe-house she was in was a stark contrast to the Malfoy Manor; the house was built out of splintered wood and everything inside it only had the bare bones to be considered furniture. And of course, there was no house-elf. His mother didn't complain, though. In fact, she seemed to quite enjoy the place. But Draco hated to imagine her loneliness here. She had been in this house all alone for a little less than a year, completely isolated from the outside world. So when he came, he only aimed to stay for no more than a couple of days. But the comforting presence of his mother kept him here for the rest of the week, knowing that she would feel inevitable remoteness when he was gone.
The Order treated her well, however. They sent her monthly provisions along with a daily owl with the Daily Prophet to give her at least some insight on what was going on. Draco felt a pang of shame at how much the Order gave to his family. Last year, it was his family's mortal enemy and now it was protecting and sustaining them. And it was all because he chickened out and didn't murder his Headmaster. Draco knew he didn't deserve it.
"So what has captured your attention in the paper this morning?" his mother suddenly asked.
He jumped and then scarlet flooded his cheeks. "Er, I don't know what you're talking about."
She smiled, still staring at the horizon. "You're never interested in the paper, Draco. But when I came outside this morning, you were bewitched by the front page. Let's see…" She put her cup on the table and grabbed the paper. Her eyes flew across the front. "…Muggle attacks? St. Mungo's? Ah! Granger…"
Draco saw her eyes come up from the edge of the newspaper. He looked away, feeling his cheeks becoming even hotter.
She grinned. "So, Draco. Why does Granger lure you to the paper?"
"Er, it's a name I recognized. You know her."
"I know of her. When Bellatrix wrote to me of your curse, she mentioned that you seemed quite protective of her when she told you of the planned infiltration on Hogwarts."
Draco felt sweat on the back of his neck. He kept staring at the ocean, trying to ignore his mother.
A few moments passed and then she mused, "She is quite pretty."
"What of it?" he said bitterly.
"Draco, I know."
"Know what?"
"That you're falling in love with her."
Draco's jaw dropped as he whipped his head back to his mother. Surprisingly, she looked amused. "How do you know?"
"Well, your cousin, Nymphadora, was the one that delivered provisions to me last November. I asked her about you and she informed me that you were staying in a safe-house and that you gladly took in Hermione Granger. Since I know about your curse, I assumed that you were meaning for her to fall in love with you. And with how you were looking at her picture, I can tell that you are falling in love as well."
Draco looked at the ground and murmured, "Are you upset?"
His mother sighed and leaned back in her chair. "No. Not really. To be honest, my whole mentality of our kind being superior over half-bloods and Muggle-borns has completely changed. After what happened last year, it's hard not to be humbled. The Order of the Phoenix, which does consist of half-bloods and Muggle-borns, helped our family without a second thought. My monthly provisions have never been late and every member that has delivered them to me has been gracious. I've learned that the purest pureblood can fall from grace just as easily as a Muggle-born can be the greatest person that ever lived. Lineage or 'blood' does not matter."
She paused, and the corners of her mouth lifted. "Now as for Granger, I can already tell she is doing wonders on you. You are more cheerful, kind, and thoughtful." She then chuckled. "And I know that there is no way you could've developed those traits by yourself."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So, do I have your blessing?" he asked sarcastically.
"I suppose so. But I have to at least meet the girl before you marry her."
The pale boy put his hands up. "Oi! Let's just get this curse broken first."
"Then what are you doing here?"
He looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean? You want me to go?"
"I want you to be happy! And it's obvious that you're happiest with Granger and not with an old hag like me- "
"Mother!"
She leaned forward. "Listen, Draco. I'm fine. I'm fine with the ocean being my only companion out here. I am elated that you came to visit me but you have to be with Granger. Especially now with her parents. She needs you."
Draco was floored by his mother. She not only accepted Hermione but was now encouraging him to go to her. He would, but then he remembered that she was still at St. Mungo's. "Well, I may not be able to see her for a long time. She may not even be coming back to Grimmauld Place."
"Does she care about you?"
He never really thought about it. Did she really care for him? He thought about the night he first revealed himself and how she didn't run away. He then remembered when he learned to produce a patronus and how she held his hand, looking at him with deep compassion. And at last, that day she found out about her parents being attacked. She let her walls down and she let herself be vulnerable just for a moment… just for him. The evidence was clear.
His stomach burned and his ears went red at these memories.
"Yes," he finally answered.
"Then she will be back. I guarantee it."
He gave a crooked smile. "Right. Then I should go pack." He meant to stand up but then he remembered something abruptly, which immediately eradicated the smile on his face. The thought was giving the urge to vomit but he had to ask her. She would be only one that knew the truth.
Draco gulped down the bile that was slithering up his throat. "Mother? What happened to Father?"
Her skin became a shade paler than it already was. She opened her mouth to answer many times but nothing came out. Narcissa Malfoy closed her eyes and exhaled deeply and then finally said, "There was a breakout in Azkaban back in December. It was the Dark Lord. He personally took out Lucius and brought him back to the Manor. And there, in front of everyone, he…" She faltered.
His mother didn't need to say it. Draco already knew what happened. He had assumed for the longest time, but now it was confirmed. Lucius Malfoy was executed by Lord Voldemort.