Wednesday – October 27th – Thursday – October 28th
As she walked back to the floo, Hermione held the morning's copy of the Prophet up beside her face, giving the slew of reporters the version of her face that they'd printed already today. She grit her teeth at the onslaught of questions being hurled at her yet again, just as they had been this morning when they'd arrived, just like last night when they'd finally left.
"Any news on Lucius Malfoy?"
"How long have you been dating Draco Malfoy?"
At least those reporters hadn't been rude. Well, unless you considered the fact that they were waiting in the lobby of a hospital to hound a man's family as they came to visit. But others' questioning did cross the line of journalism to jump wholly into the territory of malicious gossip and slander.
"Miss Granger, is it true that you're after the Malfoy fortune?"
"Hermione, were you working with the Death Eaters all along?"
And her personal favorite…
"Are you sure you aren't being Imperiused?"
Hermione rolled her eyes as she stepped into the floo. Fighting the urge to curse them all, she called out, "The Leaky Cauldron" before being sucked through the swirling green flames and deposited into the backroom of the pub.
Lucius had been in the hospital for three nights now with no change.
Though she and Draco had been there all day long for all three days, still, Draco had stayed outside, supporting his mother as best he could, but not willing to cross over into actually visiting Lucius himself just yet. Despite Healer Ammons's continued assurance that their biggest concern was allowing him to rest and healing his more pressing health concerns—double pneumonia and a shattered pelvis—the tension in the room with both Draco and Narcissa was palpable.
Narcissa seemed to always be standing on the precipice between fear of what may come and confidence of his quick recovery. He'd never said it to his mother, but Draco was still convinced that Lucius wasn't going to live. The all-consuming anger and guilt that came with that was constant, never allowing him to stray far from the waiting room. Narcissa would leave Lucius's room every few hours to come check-in, always giving Draco some arbitrary proof that he was recovering—"I really think he can hear me."; "I felt his fingers move!"—before she'd retreat back to his room.
Hermione hadn't gone inside. Before she'd left the hospital, she went just to the door to ask Narcissa if she wanted lunch, and just that one glimpse inside had been enough. Narcissa's hands were wrapped around his fingers, and the pallor of their skin made them almost the same color as the white linens beneath him. There was no trace of the man she'd seen before, curling his nose up at her in Flourish and Blotts, looking down at her bleeding in the middle of his drawing room; now, he was a shell of that man.
His hair was cut shorter, sitting just at his shoulders, and no longer the stark white it had been before but more of an ashen grey. It was immediately obvious what Healer Ammons had meant about severe weight loss. His cheek bones stood out sharply on either side of his face, framing the greens and purples of mottled bruising across his skin.
Hermione had swallowed, refusing to show any pity as she looked past the bed and the hollowness of the man lying on top of it to meet Narcissa's eyes. There, she saw it again for only a split second when Narcissa had been caught off guard, the terror of unanswered questions that she'd hidden so well from her son for the last three days.
It took a few moments of walking after she'd left The Leaky to reach the only coffee shop on Diagon Alley—The Jumping Bean. Narcissa had barely eaten anything that Hermione had seen since they'd arrived at the hospital. They'd spent their nights at the Manor, Draco unwilling to let his mother stay alone under the circumstances and Hermione unwilling to leave him, but Narcissa had only barely touched the breakfast Winny prepared for them each morning. And today was the first day Hermione had convinced her to eat anything when she went out to get lunch, and even then, the woman had only agreed to a scone.
Hermione had found herself slipping into the role of caretaker, trying to fill in in whatever way she could, and at the moment that presented itself as the person trying to make sure that they were both at least attempting to eat and drink…even if it was only coffee and pastries.
She stepped inside and into line just behind a tall couple holding a half a dozen shopping bags, when someone beside her tapped her elbow. So lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed anyone even approaching her, she jumped and almost pulled her wand out of sheer instinct when she noticed a familiar freckled face staring down at her.
Ron's hand held onto her elbow, presumably to keep her from falling at this point, but it took her less than a second to shake him off when she remembered that she was angry with him.
The hopeful smile he'd been wearing fell from his face like lead as she yanked her arm out of his hand.
It could've been the current situation, the intense stress that you could practically see in the room around them all while they waited for some sort of news, the nightmares that Draco had woken from for the past three night, likely due to sleeping in the same home filled with memories of the war, whatever the reason, just the sight of him—with the audacious smile on his face like she'd be happy to see him—had her simmering.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a scene in the middle of the coffee shop where passersby had already stopped to stare at them thanks to her yelp of surprise when he'd touched her to begin with.
The blush on his face as he looked around, catching the curious looks from all the other patrons, indicated he certainly knew this wasn't something that was going to just blow over.
He shuffled his feet, glancing down at his feet before asking, "Can we talk?" When she just continued to glare at him, he added, "Please."
She followed him to a table in the corner, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers of customers and sat down across from him. He looked so much like the little boy he'd been at thirteen—his hair a bit longer once again and his characteristic look of awkward contrition—that the anger she'd felt before slowly began to fade. It was still there, the same disappointment and hurt that she'd felt when he'd been hurling hurtful words at someone she loved—but it no longer mattered. His approval wasn't something she felt like she should have to beg him for any longer.
More than anything, she just felt tired.
"Look," he said, sliding the two coffee cups he'd been carrying to the side of the table, "I know I screwed up. Both with telling Pansy about Theo and with showing my ass that way. It was over the line. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I don't… I don't like it. I don't like him." Ron's eyes dropped to the copy of The Prophet Hermione had brought with her, now lying on the table face-up, showing Draco and Hermione as they walked hand-in-hand in the hospital lobby. Ron lifted his eyebrows at the accompanying title: "The Golden Girl, Hermione Granger: Looking for Love, Lusting for Loot, or Just Lost Her Mind?"
Ron shook his head slightly, as if to say, I told you so, before dropping the pointed look and becoming serious again. "I do stand by everything that I said to him, even if I didn't exactly handle it the right way."
"That's an understatement," she replied, bristling at his flippant attitude.
Ron sat up straighter, lifting his hands placatingly. "But Harry's right. It isn't our place to decide any of that for you." He stopped speaking and looked at her. He looked genuine, and honestly, she hadn't even been expecting that much from him. But he also looked expectant, like he was entitled to her forgiveness.
Remembering her conversation with Harry, she pushed aside the anger she felt at the hopeful expression on his face and the way he'd so quickly dismissed all the things he'd said to Draco. Harry was right, to some degree. She hadn't ever considered what Harry and Ron had gone through during her torture. It still stung, the fact that he'd let slip to Pansy the one thing that she regretted more than any other, the one verifiable proof to the rest of the world that the pedestal they'd put her on was a complete sham, as if it wasn't even a big deal to him at all, and hearing firsthand the vile things he was capable of saying to Draco was illuminating to say the least. But, because she'd given Harry her word that she'd try, she nodded tightly at Ron.
"I appreciate that. But I'm not the only one that you owe an apology to." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was ready for all of this to be over, but she wasn't about to let him get away without apologizing to those who deserved it just as much as she did.
"I know. That's actually what the coffee's for," he said, offering her a sideways smile. "I've been trying, but…" He drifted off with a shrug that left Hermione even more confused.
"Wait, what?" Hermione glanced down at the two coffee cups Ron had sat in front of him.
"For Pansy." Ron's forehead crinkled in confusion. "What did you mean?"
There it was again. The idea that she and Draco, the two he'd actually been belligerent to, were somehow further down the list than Pansy. It was completely asinine, and Hermione's scoff was completely involuntary. "I meant Draco," she said shaking her head in disbelief, before amending with, "Well, everyone really. You just strolled in without a thought to what your outburst would do to everyone else, but Draco deserves one more than anyone. Ron," she said, leaning toward him, "you said he should have died!" Hermione cut her eyes when she realized she'd raised her voice; the other customers had once again started staring at them.
Ron opened his mouth to speak, a dubious expression on his face, as if she was somehow the unreasonable one, and she could see it all over him. She knew what he was going to say before he even spoke.
"I'm not going to apologize to—"
"No," she said, lifting a hand to stop him. "I'm not done, you've said plenty already. If you think you're just going to skate by with some half-assed apology to me then you have another thing coming, Ronald Weasley! We aren't fourteen anymore, and I'm not the same little girl who thought I didn't deserve better. Now, I know I do! And so does he."
Ron sat back straighter in his seat, his eyes wide as he blinked at her, but he at least didn't try to interrupt again.
"First off, Draco is the reason any of us made it out of the Manor to begin with. He's the one who called for Dobby." Ron's eyebrows lowered as he took this information in, looking to at least be considering what she was saying. He looked down briefly, as if he were trying to determine whether this could possibly be true.
"And even if that didn't happen," she continued, "even if he had just stood there, as you so eloquently put it when you were screaming at him in front of everyone, you don't get to hold him to some arbitrary standard that you've created. We weren't even friends, Ron. And he was fighting for his life too. You have no idea what he's gone through, no idea of all that he had to see in his own home, and no idea what kind of impossible situation he was in. Any decision he made, any errant thought that didn't align with their beliefs, and he was tortured, his mother was tortured, his father was tortured."
"I—I didn't know that," he stammered, his face getting redder by the second.
"Of course, you didn't. But I shouldn't have to explain it to you! You should trust me enough to know that I can make these decisions about my life without your permission," she said, her chest rising harshly as she glared at him.
Suddenly, an idea came to her, one that she hadn't even considered before, but the memory swirled through her mind, as vivid as the day it happened, and she couldn't hold back the scoff that poured out of her mouth in its wake.
"You didn't want to help him either," Hermione said, her back hitting the seatback behind her as she reclined, shaking her head in disbelief. She was shocked that she hadn't remembered it until now, but the memory blazed through her mind like the fire they'd been running from, Ron looking back at her in confusion.
Flying through the air in the Room of Requirement, the air was hot with swirling flames, thick black smoke, and the overpowering burning in her lungs as she tried to breathe through it all. She was clutching Ron's waist, her head buried in his jumper and her eyes clenched shut, as much from the fiery beast beneath them as the flying itself, when a thin, piteous scream cut through the roar of the flames.
Craning her neck around, her eyes opened almost involuntarily to see Goyle and Draco atop a pile of discarded items they were using to escape the inferno. It took her only a second to realize that Draco was clutching a table leg in one hand and the other was grasping at Crabbe's outstretched arm as the latter's legs dangled off the ledge. She caught a brief glimpse of Harry's blue shirt streaking through the air toward them as she yelled in Ron's ear, "We can't leave them!"
Ron looked back, his eyes widening. "They'd leave us!" he screamed, his voice in her ear yet still hard to hear over the rumble of the blaze, the hissing and cracking of the beast devouring everything in its path.
When Ron didn't turn around, she grabbed onto his shirt sleeve, risking falling off the broom herself when she let go of his waist. "Turn around, Ron!" she screamed, just as Crabbe lost his grip on Draco's hand and fell into the raging flames beneath him. She gasped just as Harry flew up beside them.
"We have to help them!"
"No, Harry!" Ron screamed. "We're going to die trying to—" But Harry was gone, flying off to save them without a backwards glance at Ron and Hermione. She grabbed his arm again, yelling at him to turn around, and he finally gave in with a frustrated growl directed at Harry's back. "If we die for them, I'm going to kill Harry!"
"You can't hold him to a standard that even you failed to meet," she said after reminding him of their time in the Room of Requirement.
Ron sat flabbergasted for a moment. "Well, I did go back, didn't I? Dragged Goyle's sorry arse through the door without so much as a thank you."
"Ron, I love you. You're one of my best friends." Her voice had lost its acidic quality; now the exhaustion she felt from having to justify this relationship with him paired with all that was going on at the moment seeped through instead. "But you're going to end up sad and alone if you can't learn to control your anger, let go of the past, and learn to swallow your pride."
She stood up, ignoring the way he reached for her arm when she did. She looked down at him from the edge of the table. "I don't care whether you like it or not, or if you like him or not. I don't owe you an explanation. He doesn't owe you an explanation. The only person in this equation who owes anyone anything is you. Until you're ready for that, just leave me alone."
Without another word or a backwards glance, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone and baffled as she left the coffee shop.
By the time she made it back to the hospital, three coffees in a brown cardboard container in one hand and a bag full of various lunch items in the other, she'd spent a good hour or more trying to calm her nerves from her encounter with Ron.
It wasn't even so much that she was anxious about it, or even that angry anymore—which was surprising to her to say the least; she'd changed quite a bit in the last year, but she'd always been quite the hot-head. More than anything, though, she was just sad, not even for herself, but for him. She thought he'd matured since the war, discarding some of his more juvenile behavior—his pride and inability to admit fault, mainly—but he really hadn't. And it hurt to think that they were all clearly moving on…and he was being left behind.
With her hands full, she'd had to levitate the newspaper in front of her face when she walked through the lobby this time, much to the disappointment of the reporters. She was pleased to see, however, as she glanced through the closing lift doors, that the crowd had dwindled considerably; there were now only a handful of reporters and photographers, where three days ago, half the room had been filled with them.
She bypassed the same witch who'd been at the information desk every day on her way to the same waiting room; she'd still never even acknowledged any of them as they passed, and Hermione had wondered on multiple occasions whether it was due towho they were or simply her horrible work ethic.
As she opened the door and walked in, Draco looked up from the magazine in his lap, and when he noticed it was her, closed it and placed it on the table beside him. She noted the heavy dark circles beneath his eyes and was determined to try and convince him yet again to go back to The Willows for the night, just to see if he could get some sleep. She'd sent Alys a Patronus every night, and they hadn't seemed bothered at all that neither she nor Draco had returned, but she knew he needed the rest. She'd even bought a Dreamless Sleep Potion while she was out, but she wasn't sure whether or not he'd take it.
He flicked his wand, and the end table beside them expanded and shot up a few inches, making it look much more like a small bistro table, offering them at least room to not have to sit their tiny Styrofoam containers in their lap.
"I thought you were going to that place on Diagon Alley," Draco said, as she started unloading the food, his voice strained.
She'd forgotten to order coffee or food in her rush to get away from Ron, so instead, she'd left through the main entrance of The Leaky Cauldron and strolled through Muggle London for a bit trying to clear her head before she settled on a small brunch place a few blocks from the pub. She hadn't, however, considered her response when he'd obviously notice the difference.
"Umm," she stalled, unsure of whether or not now was the time to have this conversation; she didn't intend on keeping it from him, but he had enough on his mind at the moment. But his eyes flicked toward her mouth, where she sat worrying her lip between her teeth, and then back up to meet hers, and she knew she'd been caught.
"What happened?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
Well, now she'd have to tell him.
She continued pulling the rest of the boxes from the bag, as if the news she was sharing was of no concern. "I ran into Ron at the coffee shop, and we had a bit of a row. Well,"—she sat down across from him and tilted her head to the side, contemplating the truth in those words—"actually, he sat and listened while I yelled at him. But then I had a pretty great one-liner there at the end, and I couldn't very well sit around and order coffee. Had to make a grand exit of it, you know."
The tension in his eyes flattened, and his lips twitched up, but only briefly. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine. He apologized, actually." She dropped the tomatoes from her salad onto his, and added, "I was shocked."
"Then why were you yelling at him?"
"He seemed to think that I was the only one who deserved an apology from him…oh, and Pansy for whatever reason," she said, and Draco's brow furrowed.
As he shook his head, he said, "That's not necessary. I'd rather just not speak to him at all actually, if it's all the same to you."
"No, it isn't all the same to me. He needs to learn that there are consequences to his actions, and I told him until he's ready to apologize to you and to everyone else for his tantrum, then he can stay away from me."
Draco stared at her for a moment, but she wasn't backing down. She expected another retort. Truthfully, she knew that would be an uncomfortable conversation for Draco as much as it would be for Ron, but Ron needed to learn to apologize as much as Draco needed to accept when someone owed him one. She wasn't sure if that was entirely fair, but she was working on three days of little to no sleep and an inordinate amount of stress, so she was just going to go with it for the time being.
"Okay," Draco said, surprising her with his lack of contention on the matter.
After they finished their food, Hermione put Narcissa's scone under a stasis charm, and was just about to stand to take it to her, when she noticed the magazine Draco had been reading earlier. It actually wasn't a magazine at all, but a tabloid, yet another with their image on the cover.
"Are you reading this rubbish?" she asked incredulously as she picked it up and spun it around on the table in front of her so that the picture was now right side up.
"Malfoy Heir and Golden Girl?" At least the title of this one wasn't nearly as salacious as the Daily Prophet's. The picture on the cover showed the moment when she'd stepped forward and took his hand in hers, capturing the way the stress on his face had immediately dropped in that moment, the silent question she knew he'd been asking then to himself as much as her being answered by her seemingly innocuous gesture.
"There isn't much else to choose from," he replied, gesturing toward the stack of medical pamphlets sitting on all the tables. "These were sitting beside the front desk. She never even looked up when I asked if I could take them, just waved a hand at me."
"Anything interesting?" Hermione asked, picking up the others from the seat where he'd been sitting when she walked in. They all showed variations of the same photo; as ridiculous as it was that they all deemed it necessary to print the same photograph, Hermione did feel a sense of satisfaction at knowing that she'd successfully maneuvered it so that the reporters hadn't been able to obtain a second one.
"Not really. They're all the same. You're after my money, I'm after your good reputation, I've Imperiused you." He said the last with a pointed look at her, and she rolled her eyes. People were just absolutely insane. "None of them even mention my father at all outside of a brief sentence at the bottom in one or two. Oh, unless you count the mentions of his shame at his sole heir dating a Muggle-born. One of them actually said he was here from having a heart attack after the shock of it. This one, however,"—he pulled the first one she'd found, the one he'd been reading before, from the bottom of the stack and thumbed through it—"this one had people write in with their theories and opinions."
"And?" She leaned down, now much more curious than she'd been before. She knew all too well that she shouldn't read any of it. It was a tabloid—absolute trash; nothing good could possibly come from it—but it was as if her eyes were drawn to the page.
Draco slid the magazine across the table so she could read it better, and when she picked it up, he returned the table to its original size. "Most are the same drivel, some worse than others, but there were actually a few that surprised me."
As he spoke she flipped through the few pages that seemed to feature letters from readers. Words jumped out at her as she skimmed. Murderer. Death Eater. Harlot. Gold-digger. Scum. Shame. But there were others as well, that just as Draco said, were surprising. Happiness. Beautiful. Forgiveness.
"One in particular," Draco continued, "that said they suspected we'd been together since First Year. They seemed surprisingly supportive of it. And one person actually said—"
Hermione dropped down into the seat behind her, her hand involuntarily rising to her mouth to cover her small gasp. She knew without even being able to see herself that all the color must've drained from her face because Draco looked up, his eyes searching her face. "What?"
Hermione swallowed hard before looking down at the article again and rereading it. She felt Draco sit down beside her and knew he was doing the same, so she pointed at the one line that had gotten her attention.
She's actually taken a sabbatical at work to go to a mental health clinic because of everything she went through during the war.
Hermione had only been skimming, but the word mental had stood out, so much so that she hadn't even read the rest of the article. Despite the way her mouth immediately went dry at the realization that everyone would now know about her struggles—Would anyone trust her again if they thought she was crazy? Would she even have a job after The Willows?—she forced herself to focus and read the rest of the letter.
I think it's great. They look happy together, and if anyone deserves to be happy, it's Hermione Granger. I don't know a lot about Draco Malfoy, but I know that she's brilliant, so if they're together, then I'm sure she sees something in him that says he's changed. She's been through a lot. She's actually taken a sabbatical at work to go to a mental health clinic because of everything she went through during the war. Clearly, she's learned far more than most of the Wizarding World about forgiveness and understanding, based on the nasty things that I've seen written in the last couple days. She was regarded as a hero last week, and now, everyone is questioning her motives, her judgment, or even her morality from a single photograph. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Leave her alone and let her be happy.
- L
L? Hermione thought. She had no earthly idea who it could be, but it was certainly someone who knew she was at The Willows. She felt hot all over, and her hand dropped like lead into her lap, still clutching the magazine.
"No one is going to believe that." Draco's voice cut through the spiral of doom that was still coursing through her mind, despite the letter's obvious support of her and Draco both. He scoffed and added, "Just two pages prior there's someone saying that I have the real you hidden away somewhere, and the woman in the picture is someone I've Polyjuiced as you. No one believes this rubbish."
She took a deep breath, her chest heaving deeply as she forced herself to stop overreacting. Everyone was bound to find out anyway; she'd already agreed to try and help secure funding through St. Mungo's with Alys and Susan following the end of the program. There's no way that the board members would keep her treatment a secret.
"I suppose it would get out at some point anyway," she said, her voice coming out much more even than she'd been expecting. "I guess I just wanted it to be on my terms."
She looked up at him, realizing that, out of everything that was being printed about her at the moment, it was incredibly silly that she was only bothered by the one true thing. On his face, she saw only concern; she'd been worried he was going to try to apologize again.
"At least they were being nice; whoever they are, they don't seem to have been doing it maliciously," she said, dropping the magazine down onto the table beside her.
The door opened, and both of them looked up to see Narcissa enter the room and Pansy coming in right behind her. Both she and Blaise had been to visit twice already, but they hadn't been expecting her today, Hermione especially, since, according to Ron, they'd been meeting this morning.
When they took a seat, Pansy glanced at the small stack of magazines on the table beside them. "You two have made for quite the scandal," she said, crossing her legs and tilting her head at Hermione.
Hermione wasn't sure, but it seemed from the look on her face that Pansy was trying to gauge whether or not Hermione was ready to run yet. Pansy's red lips pursed slightly as she looked Hermione over.
It could've been the lack of sleep or perhaps the way she'd been the center of the public eye for three full days. It could have even been some misplaced anger toward Pansy for the fact that Ron wanted to apologize to her over the more deserving people, but whatever the case, the look on Pansy's face made Hermione's blood boil. She knew it wasn't the time or the place, but Pansy's perfect face was infuriating enough without the self-righteous smirk on it.
"I've read worse," Hermione said. "It certainly isn't the first time my name's been dragged through the dirt simply because people can't mind their own business. I'm sure you remember." The condescending smile she gave Pansy was completely unnecessary. Literally nothing fazed this woman.
Pansy lifted her coffee cup to her lips with a smirk, and said, "Touché."
When Hermione's gaze dropped to the paper cup in her hand, noticing it was from the same coffee shop where Hermione had met Ron earlier, Pansy lifted one eyebrow.
"I guess you accepted his apology, then?" Hermione asked, and Narcissa looked up from her blueberry scone, her eyes cutting from Hermione to Pansy.
For some reason, knowing that Pansy had forgiven Ron so easily was irritating. Watching the way that Pansy had stood up for Draco on multiple occasions, seeing her stand behind him during his first altercation with Ron, had given Hermione a bit of respect for the other woman, not that she'd ever admit that out loud to anyone, of course. But now, thinking that she'd so readily thrown that aside, that small shred of respect she'd had for her went up in smoke.
"Actually," Pansy said, sitting her cup down, and folding her hands in her lap, "no, I didn't. I got my own after throwing the one he was using as a peace offering back in his face." She examined her nails dramatically, and added, "Luckily for him, after you'd spent twenty minutes yelling at him, it was regretfully tepid."
Hermione was impressed, and it must've been written across her face because Pansy's smile dropped its shark-like quality and became much more genuine. "He didn't seem to understand that I'm not the person he should be apologizing to."
Hermione immediately shot her gaze at Draco who was deliberately looking anywhere except at either of them.
"Hmm," Hermione said, her eyes never leaving his face. "That's exactly what I said."
"I feel as if I'm missing a key part of this conversation," Narcissa said, looking between the other three.
Before Hermione or Pansy could speak up, Draco spoke over them. "The most important part is that Pansy," he said, with a sarcastic grin, "is dating a Weasley."
If Hermione thought Pansy had looked at her with animosity before, it was nothing compared to the look she was now giving Draco. "Was," she said, replacing her look of vitriol with one of mild indifference. "Was dating a Weasley. He has quite a bit of groveling to do before that returns to the present tense."
Draco looked at his mother expectantly, and Hermione too expected her to react in some way. With as much as the Malfoys despised the Weasleys and vice versa, Hermione thought Narcissa would have gasped and clutched at her pearls, had she been wearing any, but instead, she looked thoughtful for a second, and asked, "Which one?"
"The youngest," Pansy said, and when Narcissa lifted her brows in surprise, she added quickly, "the youngest man. Ron."
"Oh." Narcissa sipped the tea Hermione had brought for her, and said, "Pity. That Percy seems to be quite the catch."
Hermione almost spit her coffee across the room, and Draco's sputtering cough said he'd been caught off guard by his mother's comments as well.
Pansy contemplated this for a moment, her finger perched on her lips, before humming and saying, "Maybe I'll look him up."
"That'll definitely give Ron incentive to fix things," Hermione found herself saying, unable to hold back her laughter at Draco's disgusted look.
"Can we talk about anything but this?" Draco said, and all at once it seemed to hit all of them where they were, his words inadvertently serving as a reminder for the situation.
There was an awkward silence, in which Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Hermione witnessed a brief but candid look of concern on Pansy's face, a look Hermione had certainly never expected nor seen grace her features before.
Narcissa looked at Draco and said, "Healer Ammons seems to think he'll wake up within the next few days."
Draco's brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced down, nodding without a word. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.
"I'm going to stay here tonight, actually. They've—"
Draco jerked his head back up to meet Narcissa's gaze. When he opened his mouth to object, she said sternly, "They've added a small sleeping area for me. I can't sleep at the Manor anyway." She folded her hands in her lap, and Hermione noticed they were still shaking, though not nearly as visibly as they'd been on their first day here. "Especially knowing that he may wake up without me here."
"Okay," Draco said, sitting up again.
"And I'd like for you to go back to The Willows," Narcissa said. Though it came out like a request, the look she gave him was anything but.
Draco sighed and tilted his head slightly, his lips thinning out. "Mother, you don't have to be here alone. I want to—"
"Nonsense," she said, with a dismissive wave. "I'm not alone. And the floo there is just as close as the floo at the Manor." Narcissa's voice lost its insistent quality, and her face softened. "You hate it there," she said with a tired smile. "I would feel better knowing that you aren't quite as miserable."
Hermione expected Draco to deny it, to try and acquiesce some of her guilt, though it wasn't hers to carry, but he said nothing.
"Besides," Pansy said, "you look like hell."
Draco turned his gaze on her, deadpanning, "Thanks, Pans'. Really appreciate your honesty."
She shrugged and glanced toward Hermione. "It's true, and she's too nice to tell you. Clearly, you need the rest too."
Hermione's first instinct was to be offended at the sarcastic way Pansy had said 'nice,' but then she realized that it actually was true. Not that she'd tell him he looked like hell, of course, but he did need the reprieve from it all. When Draco shifted his focus to the window beside him, Hermione noticed a look shared between Pansy and Narcissa, and Pansy's sudden appearance today made sense. She assumed Narcissa had asked her to come, knowing she'd never convince Draco to leave on her own.
Hermione woke up the next morning with her head still on Draco's chest from the night before, neither of them seeming to have moved whatsoever throughout the night. Beneath her cheek, she could feel the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest and the soft thud of his heartbeat.
Last night, when they'd made it back, Walt had taken one look at them, noticing the exhaustion on their faces, and told them to get some sleep instead of attending group that night.
Draco had given Susan all the information that they knew at the moment regarding Lucius's health and assurance that he'd be there for their one-on-one session the following morning, and then they'd immediately turned in.
Clearly, neither of them had so much as rolled over throughout the night, Draco with the help of a Dreamless Sleep Potion that he'd surprisingly taken without comment.
Draco's breathing slowed, and she felt his deep exhale in her hair. She pulled away, extricating herself from beneath his arm as he stretched, and headed to the bathroom. When she finished brushing her teeth, she found Draco fully awake, his eyes focused on the ceiling above him as she pulled the blanket back to climb in beside him.
Her hand brushed against his beneath the sheets, and he flipped it over, twisting their fingers together without a word. His thumb brushed along hers as they lay in silence.
Since coming to The Willows, they'd both been surprisingly forthcoming with one another. She couldn't speak for him, of course, but for some reason, even months ago when they barely knew one another, she'd found him much easier to talk to than any of her close friends, perhaps because they didn't know one another so well. Or perhaps because he'd been so honest with her that early on.
They hadn't spoken much about Lucius's condition or about how Draco was dealing with it at all since that first day at the hospital. The only time they'd really been alone to do so even was at night back in Draco's old bedroom, but being there had felt like they were constantly wrapped in a shroud. They'd barely spoken at all throughout those nights. The "redecorating" they'd done weeks ago had only done so much, and his room hadn't been changed at all, so it was entirely too easy for him to get overwhelmed with the memories of it all.
Now, though, she knew him well enough to know that he had something to say, but she also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't say anything until he was ready to. So, she waited, her hand in his, until he broke the silence a few moments later.
His breathing paused for an instant, his mouth open as if he wasn't sure where to start, and finally, he said, "My parents had an arranged marriage."
Hermione had assumed that, of course, as most Pure-bloods did, particularly those like the Malfoys and the Blacks who seemed to fully embrace that sort of lifestyle.
"They barely even knew one another. My father was actually betrothed to my aunt, Andromeda, so when she was disowned, the mantle fell to my mother, which, as far as I know, she did without question." Draco spoke without looking at her, his eyes still focused on the ceiling above them and his thumb never stopping the ministrations along hers.
She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but she let him speak. Besides, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious about his parents.
"They always seemed…united?" he said, as if he wasn't sure if that was the word he was looking for. "My mother has always been dutiful and supportive of him, everything a Pure-blood wife is supposed to be. And my father has always seemed devoted, though not at all what you'd consider affectionate or loving at all, to either of us, not just my mother."
He spoke with an air of reminiscence, his voice soft and almost emotionless. "But, seeing them during the war, the way they were with one another, and now, with her reaction at his injury, it's obvious that she loves him, right?"
"Of course," Hermione, rolling over to face him. "She told me as much."
Draco rolled his face toward her then, his brows furrowed slightly. "She told you she loved him?"
Hermione thought back to the short conversation she'd had with Narcissa on Sunday. No, she hadn't exactly said those words, but Hermione had—"You love him. It doesn't matter who he is to me."—and Narcissa's tears had been enough of an answer.
"Well, no, not exactly, but it was implied."
He seemed to contemplate this for a moment as he turned his face away from her again with an absent-minded nod.
"When you were gone yesterday, she told me that he'd apologized to her countless times in their letters and the few times she'd been allowed to visit him. Apparently, they're much closer now. According to her anyway."
"That's…good," Hermione said. She still didn't understand why he was telling her this. "She clearly cares for him. It's good that they have that now, even if it—"
"I told my mother that I loved her yesterday, and she was…shocked," he said, seeming to be speaking to himself as much if not more than to her. "She appreciated it, but she was more taken aback than anything. She…she said no one had ever said that to her before, which seems ridiculous given that she's been married for over twenty years."
Though Hermione was shocked to hear that Narcissa had never heard that before, she supposed she shouldn't be. Draco himself hadn't, so it stands to reason that neither had his mother or likely his father either for that matter, and Hermione couldn't help but consider if that was a Black/Malfoy thing or yet another horrible Pure-blood custom.
"When I said that to her, she said it didn't matter if he hadn't ever actually said it or not, because she knew he did now." He rolled to face her, his grey eyes serious as he looked back and forth between her own. "Now. Now she knows it. She didn't before. Just like in the memory you showed me from the battle. He's never once acted as if he cared about me or my interests whatsoever unless it would somehow benefit our name."
His eyes were piercing, his brows turned down on either side as he met her gaze. "It took him thinking we were all going to die in the war or that he was going to die in prison for him to want to make it right."
Hermione reached out her hand, lying it across his cheek, his stubble scratching against her skin as she touched him. He'd stopped speaking now, his eyes searching her face, and the open expression he wore made her think he was looking for some sort of answer. "I think sometimes it takes that to realize that you're wrong. Or that you've taken someone for granted." Scooting closer toward him, she started to lean into his chest, but his hand on her chin, gently pulling her face back toward his stopped her.
"I don't want that," he said, his lips barely moving as his hand moved from her chin to brush her hair behind her ear, his fingertips giving her chills as they ran down her neck. She brought her hand up to his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded fiercely beneath her palm. She licked her lips, unsure of his meaning, but knowing based on his expression that he had more to say.
When he spoke again, it wasn't at all what she'd been expecting.
"I think I've loved you since I was fourteen, not that I would have ever admitted that to anyone, including myself."
Hermione's face went slack. Her pulse quickened, and she knew he had to be able to feel the way her heart was pounding fiercely with his hand on her neck. It'd only happened a few times in her life, but Hermione was completely speechless, unable to speak even if she had the words due to her heart being in her throat.
"You showed up in my life, and you were brilliant and—and beautiful and in complete opposition to everything I'd ever believed. You not only made me question all the bullshit I'd been force fed my whole life, but you refused to be cowed. Nothing I ever said or did seemed to affect you, and it was the only way I knew how to get your attention. I know that's stupid and cowardly, but it's the truth. Eventually, I had to admit to myself that I didn't believe any of it anymore, and that all started with you, waltzing in and being completely contrary to everything I thought I knew."
The vulnerability on his face paired with this open admission stole her breath entirely, making her feel both weightless and somehow sinking further into the bed beneath them. His fingers wrapped around hers, bringing her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Even though I'm entirely certain that I'll never be worthy of you, you make me feel like I'm worthy of happiness. You're the best part of my life," he said. "At my worst, you saw something in me that even I didn't, and just being close to you makes me want to be a better man."
She blinked, fighting back the tears she knew were evident, not wanting to cry but being powerless to it.
"I love you, and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you that before now," he said, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "I don't ever want you to question how I feel for you."
He claimed her lips with his, her heart filled with a warmth as consuming as the dawn breaking around them.