A/N- I haven't published a story on here in awhile, but I had this idea and I had to put it into action. I hope you enjoy. :)
Hermione was standing in her kitchen, hands full of soapy water and a slightly war-torn scrub. She was attempting to release the last of a lasagna-dinner for one from the corners of her baking pan. She has gotten a little to carried away in the book she was reading while waiting for the cheese to brown, and accidentally left it until the noddles had seared themselves to the corners of the dish. Still, the middle had made a good meal.
Hermione dropped her sponge in frustration and wiped her brow. She supposed she would just need to let it soak until the next day. She flinched; she noted leaving dirty dishes overnight in the sink. She supposed she could just clean it by magic and was about to go for her wand when she heard a knock on the front door.
She froze. Harry should be home with Ginny and Ron never came over this late; those were her three friends, so who was at her door?
A moment of fear froze her before she shook it off; the year had been years ago, and she did live in a muggle neighborhood. Perhaps it was a neighborhood child selling cookies or out-of-season carolers.
Laughing at the thought a bit, Hermione quickly filled the pan with some water and put it out of her mind; she would clean it the muggle way tomorrow.
As she made her way into the living room, the knock rang out again. There was a sharp determination in it that made her feel perhaps it wasn't a child after all. The flatness of the hour had her hesitate with her hand on the handle.
She peered through the sight-hole at the top of the door and gasp. What was he doing here?!
She took a deep breath and examined her options; perhaps she could pretend to not be home and he would go away.
No, that wasn't the adult thing to do. After all, she was an adult; whatever he wanted, she could handle like the mature, adult adult she was.
Hermione steeled herself and opened the door.
"Hello Mr. Malfoy."
The pale man blinked a moment at being addressed in such a way. Or perhaps he hadn't really expected her to open the door. Either way, he did not respond, nor did he lower his hand; it was still posed to knock again.
"Can I help you?"
A slight wind rustled the trees outside as Malfoy cleared his mouth. Hermione was debating the rudeness of stepping outside and continuing this conversation with her door firmly shut when Malfoy finally found his voice.
"Ms. Granger- I had something for you- some help to offer. If I may, may I come inside?"
Hermione winced; it was as if he had been reading her thoughts. She wanted dearly to say no and tell him to get on with it, but she remembered that she herself had spoken in his defense during his trail. She was part of the reason he wasn't in Azkaban rotting with his dear father, and perhaps she could extend that faith to letting him converse with her inside her home.
"Of course."
She stepped aside and let him enter her house.
Draco stooped his head a moment to enter, despite the height of her door not requiring it, and straightened up into a very strange sight.
It seemed to be a common room with a mix of muggle and wizard items. He saw floor powder and moving photos on the wall, but a good deal of the photos were curiously still, as if frozen, and in the corner was a large black portrait that his friend Blaise had informed him was a TV- some sort of live action wizard radio.
Hermione smiled nervously and shut the door behind him, leading him into her kitchen.
Draco took a seat at the dinning room table, but Hermione did not. She stood nervously, shifting her weight.
"Would you like some tea?" Asked Hermione.
He really didn't; he'd prefer to do this as quickly as possible and leave her sight, but he couldn't find a polite way to say that.
"Yes, please."
Hermione nodded and put a curious contraption on the stove and turned some button that made a flame shoot up.
Draco tried to hide his surprise but was unable to; he still jumped a moment at the sight of it. Hermione caught him and smiled to herself a bit. At least he was uncomfortable too.
She set a tray of fixings on the table and took a seat.
"It will be ready in a moment.
Draco nodded; he reached into his robes and pulled out a small bottle, and quickly tapped it with his wand. The bottle grew to it's full size; a still relative small pot, a cream of sort.
Hermione was suddenly filled with a vision of Draco Malfoy trying to sell her on some new face cream, and had to bite the inside of her lips to keep from laughing out-loud at the thought.
He cleared his throat, and Hermione watched him curiously, waiting for him to continue.
"I had something, I wanted to give you…um, if you want I mean…."
He shook himself and straiten his back; he was a Malfoy gosh dang it, and he was going to act with the elegant confidence he has always been raised with.
"This here is a cream; I have been working for quite awhile on a cream for removing seemingly permanent scars. This concoction has proven quite successful on some naturally-placed scars, and I was wondering if you'd want it for…" Here he faltered again. "For…the mark my aunt left."
Hermione's hands flew instantly to her bicep; where the cruel words carved into her upper arm were hidden by her sweater.
"Um, that's a nice thought Malfoy….are you sure it's safe?"
"I have used it on myself and my mother with great success. I have experimented with non-natural scars and it does not work on them, but it also causes no harm. I think it could help."
"What do you mean non-natural scars?"
"I suppose non-magical would be a better term; scars caused by knives, whips, or any other non-magical weapon respond well."
"And scars caused by wands…" Hermione's eyes flew to his covered wrist. Despite his long coat, he turned covered his wrist with his right hand and turned it from her view.
"I have not yet found a potion that works on them."
"But you are trying?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Malfoy looked at her curiously; he didn't know how to answer, and she blushed, realizing what a personal question she had asked him. She supposed with the way the war had gone for him, wanting to remove his dark mark was a perfectly natural and completely personal matter.
She was distracted from her embarrassment by a wrenching scream cutting through the air.
Draco jumped out of his chair and drew his wand; scanning the room. He couldn't see any threat but the scream was loud and climbing.
"What in Merlin is that?" He yelled.
Hermione, meanwhile, jumped and ran to her teapot.
"Don't worry; it's only the kettle!"
Draco watched in fascination as she removed the kettle, and the ear-splitting scream faded and stopped.
"Your kettle screams at you to alert you when the water is hot?"
"Yes, it is a muggle design." Hermione answered as she poured them tea.
Malfoy steadied his heart and took his seat again. "I am not sure if that is a better investment then the wizard versions, Granger."
Wizard kettles would simply stop heating when they were at the correct temperature, or else heat instantly so there was no wait.
Hermione pushed a cup towards him.
"So this cream…"
"Yes," said Malfoy, reentering himself. "It just needs to be applied on the effected skin and then it just takes a few moments; I would want to be here just in case anything happens I would know how to reverse it, although I want to emphasize that nothing bad has happened in all my testing."
Hermione nodded.
"If you could perhaps transfigure into shorter sleeves.." He continued, indicating her sweater.
"Oh yes, let me go get my wand."
Hermione left the room; Draco frowned; what well-respected witch didn't keep her wand on her at all times, even in her own house?
Then he scolded himself; this was the golden girl, the heroine of the free world he was talking about. Whatever she did, he wasn't one to critique her habits.
Hermione re-entered the room carrying her wand, and as she went she waved her wand and wordlessly transfigured her shirt into a short-sleeved top.
She took a seat before him and turned her warm outward; Draco winced as her scar came into focus; it was a nasty as he remembered, carved deep into her skin and bloodied despite it's age.
He quickly turned away and opened the salve.
"So you would just apply a thin layer and it should work quickly."
"Fine."
Hermione pushed her arm towards him; Draco recoiled. Surely she didn't want the Death Eater of Slytherin to touch her arm?
But then he looked at her face; her eyes were determinedly turned away from him and her arm. Suddenly, he realized; she didn't want to look at her scar. Much less touch it. She didn't want to remember the pain.
He could understand that.
He quickly dipped his finger in the cream and begin to apply it. As he touched her skin, he found himself hiding his breath. He noted that her arms were not as smooth as they looked from a distance; up close, he saw and felt much smaller scars beside the large ugly words marring her upper arm. Smaller cuts, bruises, and marks decorated her arm down to her hand. He recognized the signs of glass, rubble, and missed wand sparks; in other words, the arms of a woman who had fought in a long, hard war.
He applied the cream quickly and then cleaned his hand.
Then he waited in silence.
"It should only take a few moments," he said.
Hermione nodded; she still wouldn't look at her arm or him.
They waited a few moments in silence. Hermione didn't have a clock; but Draco could mentally hear the clicking of an internal clock beating against his skull.
The cream didn't seem to be working, but perhaps her scar would just take longer because of the cruelness with which it was carved.
"Just a few more moments," said Draco, prodding her arm again. He sounded a bit desperate now.
Finally, Hermione turned to look at her arm.
"It's not working."
"No, it will," said Draco firmly. Firmly, but uncertainty.
"No Draco, it's not."
He sat back, wiping his brow. Why was he sweating?
He didn't understand why it didn't work; it worked perfectly fine on him and his mother.
"I don't understand…"
"What is it?" Asked Hermione; her voice was suddenly cold.
"What?" Draco looked at her, confused.
"Some prank? Some trick to remind me of the scars I can't remove?" Hermione asked coldly. Instantly, She vanished the cream. Mud-blood still shone bright as ever on her arm.
"No, Granger, truly, I thought it would work."
"Whatever. Get out of my house, Malfoy."
Malfoy recoiled a moment at her tone, but he sighed. He could not have expected better. He quickly shrunk the bottle and placed it in his pocket.
"I am sorry Granger."
He left her.
Hermione watched him leave out her front door.
"What was that about?" She snapped to herself as she vanished their untouched tea.
She suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired.
Replacing her t-shirt with a long-sleeved sweater, she took herself out the kitchen, cleaning her stubborn pot with a wave of her wand on the way out.
Malfoy was weird, she decided. Cracked up perhaps from getting a free life he never expected.
With that thought she determinedly put the interaction out of her mind and collapsed into bed.