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The storm was roaring around the manor. The shutters were banging against the windows of his room. The rain and lightning were making a hell of a racket.
Under his blankets, Draco Malfoy was shaking. His muscles were still twitching from the torture he had just endured. He was paler than ever. He was agonising, terrified by the events of the last few weeks.
He felt as if death was watching him every time he dared to close his eyes.
Suddenly the door to his room opened and created a beam of light towards his bed. He closed his eyes under the covers, shaking even more. He felt as if his heart could burst from his chest at any moment.
"He is here, my Lord. He's yours, as promised."
"Perfect, Bella. You may go."
Footsteps slowly approached as Draco tried to pretend he was dead. Perhaps this would give him peace. Perhaps death was a better fate than the one that awaited him.
His arm was torn from under the sheets and he cried out in pain.
"De domino ad servum, viperaqui cranium sclapantur."
His screams echoed throughout the estate, as his arm seemed to be plunged into a bucket of lava. The shutters slammed.
oOo
Draco woke with a start, his breath coming in gasps and his heart racing. He felt dizzy and nauseous, as if he were standing on a broomstick out of control, his whole world was turned upside down and his head was heavy. He was terribly hot but couldn't help shivering in a mixture of fear and anxiety.
What had just happened? He hadn't had a nightmare for weeks. It had been so real. He felt as if he was reliving one of the worst days of his life. He could still remember it vividly.
He didn't understand. The nightmares hadn't happened in so long. Not since he found Hermione's stash of Dreamless Sleep potion all those weeks ago. He was doing his best to make sure they stayed away by religiously taking the potion every night and–
He swore to himself. As he caught his breath, he realised that he had fallen asleep in the library. It wasn't the first time, only that night his nightmares had come back to haunt him.
He paused to catch his breath and ran a hand over his face. He was drenched in sweat.
He hadn't missed these sensations. It was as if he had just taken a leap into the void, but had never reached the ground.
After several minutes, he got up and sat on the edge of the sofa and a heavy book fell from his lap. Glancing at it, he remembered how he had spent the previous evening. This was enough to replace the memories of his nightmare with a pleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was a Muggle recipe book. Something he had never seen before. He had never cared how his food got on his plate. At the manor, the Malfoy elves took care of that. At Hogwarts, the food appeared without him even questioning it.
He had thought himself a fool. Ignorant. Arrogant even.
So he'd plunged into reading the book he'd discovered, and then looked for others on the library shelves. He had found several of them. Some were even handwritten in the form of notebooks. He had been amazed.
He'd leafed through them all and discovered some of the strangest Muggle food he'd ever heard of. After all, he had been brought up by English parents, with wizarding customs. He was not likely to know that maces weren't some spiked weapons but a spice.
He picked up the book and opened it. It was a dessert book, apparently about pies. Looking at the first recipe, an apple pie, he noticed—as he had the day before—how similar the steps were to those of any potion.
Cutting the ingredients, crushing them, mixing them, baking them...
But for food? It all seemed so unrealistic not to use magic. It seemed so… tedious!
His heartbeat quickened slightly as memories of his Hogwarts Potions classes came flooding back. He could remember Professor Snape dictating the exact recipe for a Forgetfulness potion.
He had fond memories of that. Snape had always been his favourite as he was the only professor who liked him. Draco had excelled in his subject and had prided himself many times over on being the best–well, second best to Granger, of course–to make his professor proud. It was the only subject in which he could really boast of being talented.
So, reading this recipe in detail made him realise that he would probably be just as good at making that famous apple pie as he was at any potion. Maybe even other meals!
He began to tap his foot impatiently as the realisation dawned on him, along with an idea. What if he could make all of this? What if this was the thing to make his heart beat? What if this became his new goal?
Granger had to have a kitchen in this house, didn't she? Besides, since he'd visited the entire upstairs, it was bound to be on the ground floor, which would give him another reason to go there. He would have an even better chance of making it down the damn stairs with his new found inspiration.
With this new idea in mind, he tucked the heavy recipe book under his arm and jumped to his legs, determined to conquer the stairs that would lead him to the kitchen.
Without losing his nerve, he carefully opened the library door, checked that the hallway was empty and went out towards his bedroom.
He retrieved the laundry basket left by Granger and entered the room. He noticed that she had left his breakfast on the bedside table and froze.
She had gone into his bedroom. His heart fluttered. He took a deep breath to prevent any panic from overtaking him. After taking a moment to think about it, he decided that it was not a problem. She was in her house after all.
Did that mean she knew where he was all this time? That she knew he had visited the entire floor and spent so much time in the library? He doubted she wouldn't be looking for him. He was supposed to be her responsibility after all.
The very thought made him wince. He didn't really like the idea of being the responsibility of someone he barely knew. He didn't like the idea of being under the responsibility of someone...at all. The more the days went by, the more he felt like a weak, wounded animal in the eyes of others. He had nothing particular against Granger, but he knew nothing about her, nothing about her intentions towards him, nothing about her life, nothing about— anything.
Had she seen him in the library? In a moment as vulnerable as sleeping? Without waking him? What if she'd cast a spell on him while he was asleep?
He clenched his fists. All these thoughts were silly. If she had wanted to do anything to him, she could have done it long ago. After all, he had no way to defend himself and she had her wand. She could do whatever she wanted with him, but she hadn't. Draco's heart lightened at the thought.
After a few moments, he dropped his gaze to the bag Blaise had brought back from Azkaban, which was still wedged in the corner of the room, untouched. Draco knew exactly what was in it. His wand, some clothes, his key to Gringotts and a pair of shoes. Nothing more. Nothing less.
There, just a few dozen centimetres from him, was his former identity, his former life. Whatever was left of it, at least. In front of him, his only means of defence was hidden and taunting him as if daring him to grab it. His wand burned with magic that had been locked away and unused for so long. If Draco concentrated, he could feel its power.
And yet, he dared not go near it, as if he was risking something by doing so. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to control his magic, that he would go mad. That bag was a harbinger of bad things.
He looked away and decided to swallow his breakfast quickly and start his usual routine.
An hour later he was facing the stairs. The infamous stairs. Draco had been trying for a week to convince himself that he wouldn't run into any intruders on his way down them. Theodore's presence at the bottom of them had disturbed him so much that he had imagined a whole new set of catastrophic scenarios.
However, this time his motivation was quite different. Something was waiting for him down there. Something that could facilitate the healing he so desperately craved.
The more he stepped back, the more pitiful he felt, pathetic for not succeeding in this simple task.
He put one foot on the first step, took a deep breath and started the descent. He could do it, he didn't have to think, just act.
Two, three, four, five.
He stopped to catch his breath and closed his eyes to stay focused on his goal. To visit. To cook. To discover. To change. To change.
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.
Only two more to go. He tightened his fingers around the railing and clenched his jaws. He couldn't give up, not now.
He even dared to lift his head from his feet to look down at what was waiting for him. He saw an armchair, some paintings hanging on the walls, but nothing more. He would have to step forward if he wanted to see the much anticipated kitchen.
Twelve.
There was no one else in the house, he was certain. No one was going to jump out. He could do it.
He stepped onto the last step and his heartbeat suddenly quickened. He realised what this step would mean. He would have access to a whole lot of new things, he would discover a new space, he would have more possibilities...
But it was all frightening. Scary and exciting at the same time. A world was opening up to him with all its pros and cons.
A wider area to be monitored. Many things to discover and inspect. New rooms where intruders could be hidden. Activities to try.
There would be many things to try. The list would be long. He wondered if it would be worth it, if it would really do anything for him.
And as he looked up to observe the part of the house he could see from the stairs, he knew he couldn't deny himself such a breakthrough. If he didn't make the effort now, he never would.
With this in mind, he stepped onto the ground floor. He was returning for the first time since the day he arrived in France.
Then, as if his mind had decided to lean definitively towards the positive and forget his anxieties, Draco entered the living room and discovered the room in every detail.
Two large bay windows opening onto the outside, the same façade of the house as the upstairs bathroom. An extinguished fireplace, made of dark red bricks. Sofas that looked very comfortable, decorative plants, still paintings, a rectangular blue carpet, a coffee table, a dining table and chairs... The room was well filled.
He merely stared at it from a corner, not daring to approach it yet. At his back, two windows looked out onto a side of the house he had never been able to see.
Draco noticed how warm the décor was. It contrasted with his room and the bathroom which were devoid of any embellishments. Only the library walls were ornate, filled with shelves full of books.
He turned to the windows, which offered a view of the entrance to the house. There he saw a wooden porch, from which hung an extinguished lantern. Planters filled with flowers climbed up to the windows. Draco recognised gerberas and dahlias, in shades of red to orange.
He must have learned the different kinds of flowers in his youth. After all, every self-respecting gentleman should know the language of flowers.
The gerberas spoke of wonder, while the dahlias spoke of abundance and generosity.
Beyond the low wall that surrounded Granger's house, Draco could see a long, tall-grass meadow that stretched for several acres as far as the eye could see. Even when he squinted, he could see nothing but miles of green and mountains barely visible in the distance.
He approached one of the windows and put his hand on its frame. His breath created a circle of mist on the glass, which confirmed that the temperature outside was beginning to cool. He realised that soon he would not be able to spend his days airing out his bedroom.
He was startled when the clock in the living room struck noon. He took one last look around the large room and headed for the stairs, deciding that he had had enough for the day. His heart pounding, he promised himself he would come back the next day and the next to explore the entire new floor.
He was proud of his accomplishment, proud that he was regaining some of the humanity he had lost. Yes, he was proud.
oOo
Pansy opened the kitchen bay window and went out to join Hermione, who was busy hanging out some washing. The weekend had arrived which meant that the two women could see each other and talk.
Hermione didn't work on Sundays and Pansy could use her monthly portkey.
Pansy had just come back from Draco's room with whom she had been able to chat for a few minutes. The more the weeks went by, the more talkative he became, although not in a miraculous way either.
She would tell him about her day, he would ask her questions to deepen the subject and that was the end of it. He never talked about himself, he didn't even answer when she asked him how his daily life was going here. He remained silent and Pansy knew that the conversation wouldn't go any further. She didn't want to force him into anything and was happy with these short exchanges.
She would just go to the lower floor when she understood that Draco had nothing more to give her. Then she could get to know a little more of Hermione Granger, a woman she would never have thought to appreciate years earlier, a woman who was finally revealing herself to her.
"I was expecting you earlier," the witch said as Pansy approached her.
"I was having lunch with Daphne's father today," she justified as she sat down on a tree trunk that was placed next to the clothesline.
"I didn't know you'd kept in touch."
"We've never been very close, but I figured he wouldn't mind a little company. He's got no one."
"What about Astoria?" Hermione raised her eyebrows as she turned to her.
Pansy shrugged. She didn't feel like talking about her or explaining the Greengrass family situation.
"Is life together still going well?" she inquired in order to change the subject.
"Nothing more, nothing less," Hermione replied as if unaffected by the situation. She went back to turning off the laundry. "I hardly ever run into him, actually."
"And you prefer it," Pansy guessed without hiding her slight bitterness. Hermione didn't pick up on it.
"You could say that. I don't know him and I'm used to living alone, so let's just say I'm fine with it. I'd probably have a hard time with him imposing on my house more."
Pansy winced. She completely understood and she definitely couldn't force her to do more than she already had. Just the fact that Hermione was confiding in her so much, that she was so vocal, was a feat and she didn't want to tickle the dragon too much. Obviously, Potter's visit had been successful.
However, part of Pansy hoped that one day Hermione would make a move on Draco. That one day they would be able to live together as housemates and not strangers. That time seemed far away.
"So you didn't notice that he was borrowing books from you, did you?"
Hermione turned to her, her face contorted with confusion.
"See, you didn't notice it. But I did."
Pansy stood up to face her friend.
"I think he spends his days in the library actually. I saw that he had a pile of books in his room. And most importantly, there were a couple of cookbooks."
Hermione's eyes widened.
"I don't know what he's going to do with them or even if he's going to do anything with them, but whatever happens, I hope you don't stop him, Granger."
Pansy saw her swallow, then nod. She didn't speak, returning to her laundry as if nothing had happened.
If Pansy felt the urge to push her to react, she did not. She didn't want to risk breaking anything between them.
"Is the bookstore doing well?" she asked to make conversation and change the subject.
She felt silly asking such a question. The bookshop had always run, there was no reason why it should have changed since the last time. It was the first thing that came to her mind.
"Actually, I'd love to expand and sell DVDs," Hermione said.
"DVDs?" Pansy repeated with a frown.
Hermione grinned, before picking up her empty laundry basket.
"Follow me, I'll show you."
The two women walked back into the house and Hermione led Pansy over to the television she owned.
Pansy had improved in terms of Muggle objects, but she still didn't master them. She knew what a phone was, how ballpoint pens and pencils worked, but her knowledge didn't go much further. The concept of a television was still very vague to her.
Hermione knelt down in front of the large black square and opened a cupboard, from which she took out a small flat box. It was all very intriguing. Pansy had learned not to ask too many questions, she knew that she would come across all sorts of strange objects when she visited her friends in France.
"Do you know what a film is?" Hermione asked when Pansy joined her on the carpet.
"Not really, no."
"Muggle's pictures are still," she continued and Pansy nodded. "When they want the pictures to move, they use different cameras, which 'film' what they want. The difference is that there's sound and the film can go on for as long as they want."
"You mean the picture doesn't loop?"
"Exactly. If the film ends, there are no more pictures."
"And you want to sell– films to muggles?"
"That's right. But films that have a good story. For example, there are films about animals, others that are for children or even films... for adults!"
Pansy raised her eyebrows, impressed by these Muggle inventions.
"I'd like to watch a film," she said, grabbing the box Hermione was handing her.
There was a still picture of a woman holding an umbrella. 'Mary Poppins'.
"It's a musical film about a woman who has magical powers," Hermione explained. "I think you'd find it very funny."
"Can I watch it?"
"If you want to, but it's almost two hours long."
"Two hours?! But what's going on that makes it last so long?"
"You'll see when you watch it," Hermione replied with a wink.
"I want to see it the next time I come," Pansy said seriously.
Hermione giggled and nodded.
"We can, I promise."
That night, when Pansy joined her husband under the covers, she told him how happy she was to have seen Hermione laugh. She was happy to see that the woman was relaxing by her side, that she almost trusted her. Pansy felt so proud that she had managed to make a friend.
She was determined to continue on this path.