Hello, everyone!
New chapter today! I couldn't go too long without posting one ;)
This will be the only one in August though, as I'm concentrating on
writing the end of the story. I've still got 16 chapters to go, and then I'll be done with Basorexia! Because yes, the final number of chapters has been set to 80!
Once finished, the chapters will be posted more regularly, perhaps every week, depending on the time I have to translate them ;)
Until then, I wish you happy reading and a great end to the summer!
It had been raining for three days and the metal gates surrounding the Nott estate were covered in frost. The grass was coated with a thin layer of ice that gave the vague impression of snow-covered ground. Theodore dreamed of seeing snow again, of making a snowman with Harry as he had done with his mother when he was a child, of having sore fingers from the cold and of his husband's cheeks and nose turning pink.
Theo went out onto the sheltered balcony of the library and rested his elbows on the stone railing. The manor was straight out of the Renaissance and made him long for waltzes, equestrianism and reading in the park. With trembling hands—whether from cold or anxiety, he wasn't sure—Theo took out a lighter and his packet of cigarettes.
He had just overheard one of the many floo calls between his husband and Blaise, during which they discussed the priority projects to be submitted to the Wizengamot. Now that Harry was no longer working in Britain, he had no choice but to participate through Blaise.
Blaise was making the most of his new position in the wizarding assembly, especially after the mess that had been Christmas Eve. He had redoubled his efforts to pass legislation granting normal living conditions for prisoners. At least, that's what Harry told him every night.
Theodore found it hard to understand how after all of these years of fighting for their freedom, Blaise seemed so far away from them. He felt Harry was too optimistic that things would actually improve.
But Theo said nothing. He knew that saying something would crush the hopes of his husband, who had resigned from his post at the French Department of Magical Sports and Games after the New Year. Harry didn't want to go back to work straight away, but he had promised Blaise to support him in all his endeavours, to write letters to the Minister and to the members of the Wizengamot in support of his proposed legislation.
Theodore had tried to help. He explained to Harry that helping Blaise would not resolve the still-present tension between him and Granger. Several times, he calmed his husband's anger when the Wizengamot continued to respond negatively to Blaise's attempts. Several times, he gently reminded Harry that booking therapy appointments for Hermione was futile and she would continue to ignore them. Each time, Theodore had given up when things became heated between them, often the unintended punching bag.
Harry and Blaise were delusional, a fact only Theo seemed to be cognizant of. They were convinced that their attempts to make the world a better place would fix their terse relationships with Draco and Hermione, hopeful that, one day, they might even thank them. It was their way of dealing with it all, Theo sometimes told himself. But their denial proved to be productive becauseBlaise had already won a third of the votes in the Wizengamot which was needed in order to reduce the minimum sentence for branded Death Eaters by a year.
Outwardly, this change would not make much difference, but in reality it would allow a few Death Eaters to be acquitted under the conditions of the new law. In fact, it meant that some criminals now qualified for release, which in Blaise's eyes, was a significant step forward.
Theodore had decided not to meddle in the matter after realising that they would not see the real problem straight away. There was no point in forcing the issue or moving too quickly. So he contented himself with talking to Pansy, who was concentrating on the well-being of the prisoners and those released. She too wanted to approach the problem from a different angle to that of their respective husbands.
Since New Year's Eve, ten days earlier, Theodore had made it his mission to finally attempt to understand what Draco had been through, since no one seemed able to tell him. He'd been sitting on his hands for months, seeing the problem and doing nothing about it, and he blamed himself. If Pansy was harassing Hermione and Draco with letters, if Harry and Blaise were trying to change the laws and turn the Wizengamot upside down, all with a view to making amends, Theodore wanted to do something different.
Since the nightmare that was Christmas, he hadn't tried to contact Draco because he knew that he needed time. He didn't want to make the same mistake as Pansy by bombarding Draco with letters several times a week, or even a day. Thankfully, she hadn't dared to set foot in their house again, which was a singular victory.
For his part, Theo wanted to find a way of opening the eyes of the wizarding public, a way of bearing witness to the reality of life post Azkaban. A book, perhaps, or articles in the most popular newspapers. He hadn't come to a conclusion on which, and for now it didn't matter because for the moment he just wanted to try to understand. To understand why his best friend had come out of Azkaban even more destroyed than after Voldemort's torture. He blamed himself for not having done anything sooner.
The bay window of the library opened behind him causing him to turn around. He had expected to see Harry, but was surprised to discover Ginny, dressed to go out in the January cold. She froze when she saw him.
"Sorry, I didn't know you were here," she stammered as she turned back.
He sighed and took the cigarette from between his lips.
"You can stay," he informed her before he could even think about what he was saying.
He had promised Harry he would make an effort, after all. Now was the time for give and take, for all of them. He'd just ignored her since the altercation. It was time to give by taking a step toward peace.
If Ginny seemed surprised, she said nothing and simply joined him on the edge of the railing on the balcony with the best view in the whole residence. Theodore pulled out his packet of cigarettes a second time and handed her one.
She stared at it with divided eyes, then inhaled sharply.
"No, thanks. I'm trying to stop."
He thought she was brave to go without at such a time in their lives, in her life. But he made no comment.
"When did you start?" he asked after a nod.
"When I met Astoria."
"Still no news of her?"
Harry had told him everything. He'd held back from letting them see how much his old housemate had used Ginny. Harry was too angry to understand and do the right thing for his friend. And she was still far too infatuated with Astoria to open her eyes to the truth.
"No."
"Maybe it's for the best," he suggested, raising his cigarette to his lips.
"I miss her."
"It'll pass."
oOo
Hermione had run all the way home to avoid the downpour earlier in the day. With her shopping trolley dragged behind her and her hood pulled up over her long hair, she had nearly fallen over two or three times.
Albert's coat had turned grey from the rain and the mud in which his hair had been dragging along the ground as they ran. She made a mental note to wash him from head to toe as soon as they got home.
When her house finally came into view in the distance, Hermione quickened her pace. She couldn't help laughing as she felt the raindrops on her face and heard her best friend's happy barking. She loved running like that, as if nothing mattered more than avoiding the driving January rain.
She hoped that Draco had prepared something to eat, as he had done for the last few days when she came home from work. The day before, he'd made waffles and a chocolate sauce from scratch. They were exquisite. She ate two, then, seeing Draco so delighted that she liked it, ate another.
She was also dreaming of a cup of hot tea. Remembering her housemate had pointed out that she often left her cups lying around the house, she smiled privately and promised herself she would drink the full cup this time..
She walked the last few metres to the house and rushed to the garage door, which she opened to let Albert in.
"Stay there," she ordered. "I'll get something to wash you."
Hermione had no desire to clean up the muddy paw prints he might leave on the carpet. It would waste her time and she hadn't been relying on her wand to save any for a long time.
She took off her coat, and her shoes too, and left her trolley in the corridor leading to the living room. She went to the laundry room, where she retrieved the gigantic basin she used to wash Albert, as well as several towels. She preferred to do it now, so she'd have time to do her daily chores right afterwards.
Half an hour later, Albert's coat was once again snow-white and puffy from the towels she had rubbed against him. Hermione was covered in soap and water, but happy to have finished at last. She released him so that he could curl up by the fireplace and sighed, thinking that she would have liked to do the same.
But she opted for her chores and went back to the laundry room, where she took out the clothing she had started prior to work from the dryer. She took the opportunity to quickly put on some dry clothes and to put those soaked by the rain and Albert's shower in the wash. As she did every day, she folded them and separated them into two separate piles, which she divided into her basket and Draco's.
As she smoothed out the folds of a black shirt as best she could, she realised that she had seen it every day for some time now. She then glanced at the pink basket at her feet and noticed that it was not very full. It contained just a pair of trousers, a T-shirt, a suit jacket, a pair of socks and some underwear. She frowned.
How could she not have realised earlier? They were the same clothes as the day before. And the day before. And the day before. And the week before.
She'd been so focused on her daily tasks that she hadn't paid any attention to what was in her machines or what Draco was wearing.
Yet he seemed to be alternating between two pairs of black trousers, two black shirts, two black T-shirts, two black jackets, two pairs of black socks and two pairs of black pants. She swallowed. How could such a thing be possible?
Hermione bit her lip, confused about the situation. Why did he suddenly only have these clothes? She remembered seeing lots of white, blue and grey shirts, turtlenecks and even jeans! She couldn't understand it. What had changed?
She picked up the two baskets and carried them to the bottom of the stairs, deep in thought. She didn't even notice the feast on the dining table and was startled by an embarrassed clearing of throat.
She turned to Draco, who was sitting in an armchair by the fire, stroking Albert's head. Albert had curled up at his feet. Three months earlier, the mere sight of this would probably have triggered a panic attack in Hermione.
Instead, she just waddled from one foot to the other under the gaze of her housemate. It was then that she discovered the stack of crepes he had prepared. A huge smile stretched her lips. He seemed to have realised that this was her favourite dessert, as he had already made them twice since Christmas morning, ten days earlier.
She pulled up a chair and sat down, her questions soon forgotten. She closed her eyes with pleasure as the taste of the first crepe she tasted grazed her taste buds. Exquisite.
Draco took the opportunity to join her at the table and sat silently across from her. He watched her eat, as he often did, waiting for her reaction.
"They're delicious," she whispered, blushing.
She was ashamed to have thrown herself on her plate without even thanking him, without even waiting for him to join her or say anything. She was already on her second plate, this time covered in fig jam, and he hadn't even opened his mouth.
What did that say about her? Didn't she have any manners?
But when she saw him smiling proudly, her worries vanished.
"I've tried a new recipe," he confided. "They should be fluffier than last time."
Hermione agreed immediately. The mixture was perfect, melting on her tongue.
"It's perfect, Draco."
He pinkened just enough for her to notice and she felt herself do the same. She redirected her thoughts to her snack and continued eating.
Albert joined them under the table and laid his head on his mistress's lap. He soon lost interest in her when he realised she was too busy with her crepes. He turned to Draco, who patted him reflexively.
"I've had a letter from Pansy," he said, much to her surprise. "Several, in fact."
It was rare for them to talk about anything other than meals. In fact, the only other words they exchanged were about the weather or banalities. They hadn't talked about anything important since Christmas.
She had suspected that he also received letters from Pansy, but didn't tell her. He never did.
"Me too," Hermione replied, putting her fork to one side.
But she didn't dare look at him. She had a feeling this was going to be a difficult discussion.
"You–"
He seemed to hesitate to continue and that made her look up at him. He was staring at her intently, as if searching her face for signs of– She didn't really know what. The fact remained that he was staring at her.
"Are you angry with her?" he asked without taking his eyes off her.
She couldn't decide whether it was a question or a statement. She shrugged, suddenly intimidated by his gaze, by his request, by his presence. He had known Pansy for years, and yet he had defended her.
"I rarely hold grudges," she told him, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.
"But you haven't answered her letters," he stated.
She lowered her head and winced. He was too perceptive for her taste. She was yet to figure out for herself if she was angry with Pansy. She didn't know where she stood on all this, just that she needed some space, some time. But she knew that for the moment, she didn't want to see them.
Yes, maybe she was angry with her.
"What about you? Are you angry with her?"
He remained silent until she looked up at him.
"I blame them for everything they've done. Even though it got me out of... Azkaban, it's changed your life completely. And mine."
Hermione's heartbeat quickened. She sighed. This was the second time they'd had this discussion, yet she wouldn't have cut it short for the world.
"I imagine they did their best," she breathed, analysing the expressions on his face.
He was frowning with concern. He seemed annoyed and she realised he must have been thinking about since Wynn—he had finally told her the name of his owl—arrived at sunrise to bring them Pansy's letters.
She assumed that, unlike her, Draco was answering his friend.
"She wants to come and apologise," he told her in a neutral tone.
It was as if he was holding back from expressing the slightest annoyance, as if he was afraid of influencing her decision.
Pansy hadn't asked her such a thing in her letters.
"But you don't want her to come," she realised as she helped herself to another crepe.
This time she spread the leftover chocolate sauce from the day before on it. Eating helped her to relax, to stop overthinking. She was afraid of giving up her will, her free will.
"I think I need some time," he announced, lowering his head onto his hands.
"Then we'll wait. You have the right to take a break, to be alone for a while," she told him in a burst of wisdom.
She silenced her conscience when it whispered to her that she should have had this thought for herself.
Draco nodded and tugged at the collar of his shirt, uncomfortable. He was no longer as confident and intimidating as when he was staring at her. Suddenly, he seemed more fragile, more... vulnerable.
His movement caught Hermione's attention and reminded her of what she had discovered when she folded the laundry. She bit her lower lip and decided to take the opportunity of this discussion to broach the subject.
"Draco?" she breathed as he rose to clear the table.
His name was so easy to pronounce now.
He looked up at her, waiting for an answer. She felt herself blush. How did she talk to him about this?
It was when she saw him holding her grandparents' old crockery that she had an idea.
"I'd like to show you something," she said. "Follow me."
She got up and rushed towards the ground floor corridor without even letting him answer. She heard him following her and sighed discreetly in relief. She wouldn't have known how to handle a refusal.
"Where are we going?" he asked in a confused tone as she opened the garage door.
"You'll see," she replied.
Excitement was building as she realised what she was about to do. She sincerely hoped he wouldn't take things the wrong way.
At the back of the garage, a small door led to the basement of the house. Hermione hadn't been down there for years. To tell the truth, she'd only sorted through a few boxes once she'd settled in, but hadn't been back since.
The room was quite large but a mess. Heaps of stuff were strewn about, from a simple tool case to boxes full of old books that didn't fit on the library shelves. Hermione had never had the strength to unpack them, no matter how passionate a reader she was. Every year, when she tidied the house from top to bottom, she put off inspecting the basement.
The only boxes she had opened when she moved in were those filled with old clothes that had belonged to her grandparents. Piled up in a corner of the cellar, Hermione had to take them out one by one to sort through her grandmother's things and retrieve what interested her. After all, she hadn't brought any of her own clothes with her when she had moved, preferring to leave everything behind.
She had even taken some of her grandfather's things, but had left most of them in the basement after casting protective spells on them to prevent them from ageing. She had thrown some of them away when she discovered that they had gone mouldy over time.
She was delighted to see that nothing had moved since then and that there was no unpleasant smell in the air. She switched on the light, which flickered a few times before clicking into place.
She entered and headed straight for the boxes of clothes she had rummaged through six years earlier. However, she froze when she heard no footsteps following her. She turned and saw that Draco had stopped in the cellar entrance, at the top of the small staircase.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, frowning.
He looked up at Hermione. The fear in his eyes made her shivered. It took her back several months, when she had looked after him on his release from Azkaban. He looked so fragile like that, as if he was about to fall apart at the slightest movement.
"This is the basement of the house," she explained, realising that he'd never been here before.
He reminded her of herself: terrified of entering a place he didn't know. When the simple act of leaving her house to go to work was stressful for her.
"My grandparents used to live here and my great-grandparents before them. All their stuff is stored here. I've–"
She cleared her throat and looked away, embarrassed.
"I noticed you didn't have a lot of clothes, so... so I thought you could go through my grandfather's stuff and see if you could find any in your size. With the weather like it is, you'll catch a cold if you wear just shirts."
He said nothing, still frozen at the top of the stairs.
When she looked up at him again, Draco's eyes were brimming with unshed tears.
And that's it! See you on the 4th of September for the next chapter! Thanks to Acciobraincells and rapunzerelli for their amazing work and help. Don't forget to comment and follow the story to support me ;)