Marcel was a man in his sixties. He was passionate about his profession and incomparably kind. Even the neighbouring villages spoke of his tender soul.
For over thirty years, he'd run the butcher shop previously owned by his father. He bought his supply from local producers in the various hamlets around his village. He took pride in his job, knowing he was indispensable in helping the village run smoothly. He was the perfect shopkeeper, he knew all his customers and was willing to make discounts when necessary.
Sometimes he hired young people from the village to make home deliveries, allowing them to receive a small salary during the summer. Yvonne, his wife, was in charge of the cash register and all tasks related to the commercial part of the shop such as bookkeeping and handling the telephone orders. The two of them formed a fine team. They energised the tight-knit village and made their customers smile.
However, that Monday morning Yvonne was bedridden with the flu leaving Marcel alone in the shop, travelling between the cold room and cash register. With the exception of Tuesday when the market was held, most of the villagers worked in town or on their farms during the week so he didn't have many customers that day.
When the clock struck noon, Marcel wiped his hands on his apron, took it off and went to the front door to turn the sign to "closed". Just as he was about to do so, a young woman he knew well rushed to the handle, looking breathless and distressed.
"Hermione?" he worried as he stepped back to let her through. "Is everything all right?"
The young woman hadn't lived in the area long, but Marcel quickly became attached to her. Marie Laroche, one of his closest friends, had formed a kinship with the Granger-Landry granddaughter. After Marie's death, he promised himself he would keep an eye on her and take her under his wing.
Hermione wasn't very talkative. She didn't visit him often and he had never set foot in her house, but that didn't stop him from watching over her, albeit from afar.
Periodically, he purchased books from her shop to support her, even though he was sure he would never read any of them. He always sold her the best cuts of meat for lower prices–without telling her, knowing she would refuse–so that she could eat properly. He recommended a plumber he knew when her kitchen tap stopped working. He would even lend her his car when she needed to go to the nearest vet which was not easily accessible by foot or public transport.
He aided in the little details in her life, without imposing himself on her. When he realised she would not let him close, he did what he could from a distance and that was enough for him. He had the impression that he was helping her and she didn't seem to mind these little affections. She sometimes reminded him of his own daughter who, although a few years older, was just as clever as Hermione seemed to be.
So, to discover her in such a state immediately worried him. It was rare for her to show any weakness, or even to call for help.
"It's Albert," she exclaimed breathlessly.
Well, she did have an Achilles' heel...
"I woke up with a bad feeling and I knew right away when I saw him that something was wrong," she explained, holding onto the doorframe to catch her breath. "He looks like he's in pain and he didn't even move when I came to see him."
Marcel frowned. It was obvious that something was wrong, although he was unable to gauge the seriousness of it.
"Do you want me to go and check him out?" he tried, moving aside to let her into the shop.
"No, no," she refused immediately, running a hand over her forehead.
He expected that kind of response. Over the countless times he offered to help her, she always declined his proposals.
Marcel sighed and scratched the back of his head.
"Do you think he'll be able to get up?" he asked.
Hermione looked away and he scowled.
"You can always ask the vet to come, you know."
He'd told her so many times that he was already expecting a refusal.
"I–"
"If you don't want to risk something bad happening to your dog, I think that's the best solution, Hermione."
Marcel felt bad about pushing her, but knowing how much this point would affect her, he wanted to motivate her to act. He couldn't understand her reluctance all this time. What could she be so afraid of?
He didn't understand. It seemed so absurd.
He saw her eyes widen and simply offered her an encouraging smile.
He could see by the look on her face that her neurons were firing, that she was thinking about the possibility for the first time. She was considering it, something she had never done before; allowing someone to help her.
"Would you lend me your phone?"
How could he refuse?
oOo
The journey home seemed so long. Too long. Had she taken the wrong road? Maybe she was walking slowly. Maybe her thoughts, looped around her dog, were keeping her from moving forward. Maybe she should have stayed at work. Maybe...
Hermione couldn't help but brood.
Well, the house wasn't so far away. Hermione could already see the roof. She stopped for a moment and closed her eyes to enjoy the wind on her face and calm herself down.
Marcel was right to send her home. Calling the vet took too much of her energy for her to be able to return to work. She wasn't in the right state of mind to be there anyway.
She couldn't get Albert's face out of her mind. The tired look he gave her that morning haunted her. She was imagining the worst scenarios concerning him and the fact that the vet couldn't come until the next day didn't help matters.
Hermione always refused the idea of anyone other than her closest friends entering her home. It was her cocoon, her comfort zone, the only place where she felt safe.
To let an intruder in was too difficult. She couldn't do it. The anxiety it induced would be too much.
Yet, as she walked back to the gate of her house, she realised she greatly underestimated herself. She'd already done it.
For almost five months, she had been living with a stranger. And she was alive. Someone was living with her in her safe space and she was coping. She'd overcome much of her initial discomfort about Malfoy being there. He slipped into her daily life without being noticed.
Hermione struggled for some time against this sudden intrusion, refusing to see it as anything more than house-sharing. She didn't want to admit to herself that Draco Malfoy, the human being–for he did eventually become one again, despite arriving half dead–who lived in her house, didn't bother her. He didn't pollute her environment, he didn't behave strangely, he didn't touch her things, he...wasn't doing anything.
He simply existed and the idea had bothered her for such a long time.
She realised for the first time in weeks, months, even years, that she didn't need the solitude she imposed on herself–and on others–since her arrival in France. The illusions surrounding her need for seclusion faded with this revelation. Perhaps they were once real–a necessity for her survival. But the time for their existence had passed. In that time, she'd matured, aged, reflected and taken a step back.
Maybe she wasn't as lonely as she thought. Maybe she could accept the presence of someone else in her daily life. She could handle having her personal space invaded by someone she didn't know.
But two people? Was she capable of that? Was she ready for that? Despite Hermione's best efforts, she was certain she wasn't. It would be too much. She couldn't handle it. The anxiety she was experiencing because of Albert's condition would not allow her to concentrate on anything else, she would be unable to combine the two.
She paused again, tears in her eyes. The front door of her house was only a few steps away.
She felt overwhelmed. Helpless. Powerless.
How could she make any effort to get better if her only pillar was crumbling? How could she face her daily life if Albert was no longer there to accompany her?
Suddenly, all her good resolutions and achievements seemed futile. They would mean nothing to her in the wreckage of losing Albert.
She stared at the door as if it were her worst enemy. As if it only held two possibilities: her living dog or her dead dog. As if behind it, hell or heaven was waiting for her. Light. Darkness. White. Black. There was no alternative.
She had to calm down, to breathe. She had to gather her courage and step forward. She was good at that, wasn't she? Walking, moving, even running.
So she did. The door opened and she was plunged into the silence of her home. No barking, no moans of pain. Nothing but silence.
She let go of the handle and stepped into the living room. She expected to find Albert asleep by the fireplace, as he had been when she left him that morning.
The reality was quite different.
Albert was sitting in front of an armchair facing Hermione. His head was resting on the seat. No. It was resting on–
On Malfoy's lap, who was running his hand through the fur of the great white dog.
She dropped her bag to the floor with a thud. She couldn't believe it. She felt herself fainting.
Malfoy immediately looked up at her and his face filled with terror. His eyes were frightened and he stopped stroking Albert's coat. Albert turned towards his mistress and went towards her as soon as he saw her.
But Hermione couldn't take her eyes off Malfoy. How could she have thought that things could go well? He was an intruder. He didn't belong there. He was invading her space. Her past thoughts were so paltry now.
"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed as he stood up and backed away in fear. "He–He came on his own!"
Should she believe him? Could she?
Albert was rubbing her legs with a low moan, but she couldn't concentrate on anything other than Malfoy's presence here.
She was overwhelmed with too much information at once.
It was the first time she was seeing him on the ground floor. How long had he been coming down here? And behind her back?! She had no control of things going on in her own home when she wasn't there. She couldn't know what he was doing. She had no way of controlling his movements. It terrified her. It was too much, too much all at once.
He put his hands on Albert. He touched him, caressed him, as if he were his dog. But he wasn't, she repeated to herself. Albert was hers and hers alone! He had no right to approach him, did he? It wasn't right.
And then he was talking to her again. He was apologising again. He looked at her with fear, as if he expected her to hurt him.
And, in the end, that was perhaps what disturbed Hermione the most. Her torment over Albert was irrelevant compared to the fear she saw in her housemate's eyes.
She didn't know how or why, but she took a breath, calmed down and mentally took a step back from the situation.
An intruder in her house, afraid every time he saw her and who had dared to approach her dog? What was the worst part of it all? Was it really an intruder? A stranger?
As she crouched down to pet Albert, she realised that after five months of living together, she didn't know Draco Malfoy. The only thing she knew was that he was nothing like the boy he had been at Hogwarts. Gone was the arrogance and cruelty. She knew enough to know he was not the same, but she didn't know the new Draco Malfoy, nor had she tried to.
Azkaban had changed him, she was convinced, but how much? Should she really be afraid of him approaching Albert?
Hermione swallowed and looked down at her dog. Maybe it was time she tried to get to know the one who had been living with her for so many weeks? Maybe this cohabitation would go better? Maybe it would be more peaceful? Maybe.
oOo
Draco was so terrified, he felt on the verge of a breakdown.
The look Granger was giving him was unnerving. She looked as if she would banish him from her home forever, or tear him to pieces.
He'd apologised immediately and defensively, hoping that it would make things better but Granger hadn't moved.
She remained near the door, silent and unmoving. She was staring at him strangely, and Draco felt himself cowering under her gaze.
He felt like running away and locking himself in his room for the rest of his life.
What had become of him? he wondered.
Terrorised by a simple look, like a child caught red-handed. He felt miserable, incapable. His pride was so low, it felt buried deep underground.
He now realised that he should have stayed upstairs. He should never have ventured down. It was too dangerous, too risky. Why hadn't he listened to his ruminations and anxieties at the time? He made a terrible mistake. He ruined all his chances to live a decent life, to survive after years of hell.
He never wanted this.
The monster advanced towards him without him being able to stop it. Draco froze in his chair, like a spectator of the scene. He thought that by remaining motionless, he would be safe. Perhaps the scary creature would go away without noticing him.
He had been wrong.
Once he stood, he realised that it was a dog. A huge dog. Up close and in such a position, Draco recognised the tail, the paws and the muzzle of such an animal. It was no longer an indistinct mass of white hair, but a canine. He felt a fool for not having realised it earlier. However, this newfound knowledge did nothing to reassure him. Certainly the dog was still dangerous.
When it came close enough to rest its muzzle on his knees, Draco was so stressed, he thought his heart would eventually leave his chest. It had taken him nearly an hour to dare to touch him, to pet him. He had to calm down, reassure himself of the reality of the situation, and put things into perspective for many minutes.
But what for? He was now in a more crucial position than ever. He could already see himself being thrown out. He had dared to touch Granger's dog, something he surely had no right to do. Perhaps they would even send him back to Azkaban since he had nowhere else to go. He could see himself lying in the middle of his cell. He shuddered.
"His name is Albert."
His eyes widened and he tried hard to keep his knees from giving way under his light weight.
Had he heard correctly? Did Granger just speak to him without animosity? Had she just given him the name of her dog? Take a step towards him?
The look on his housemate's face seemed impatient but also nervous.
Draco swallowed. He didn't understand. It was surreal. It was the exact opposite of what should have happened, of what he imagined would happen.
"He's sick," she added to his surprise. "Someone will be coming to treat him tomorrow."
Without really thinking about it, Draco nodded. It was the only thing he could do at the moment. He would stay locked in his room the next day if he had to. That was the least of his worries.
Little by little, his apprehensions were leaving him. Granger didn't seem ready to jump down his throat, threaten him, or yell at him for what he had dared to do. On the contrary, she seemed just as disturbed as he was. It did something to Draco.
She didn't want to hurt him. She was nervous, too. There was nothing dangerous or even threatening about her. She was human.
She had a heart and emotions, just like him. Logically he knew it, but it was the first time he processed what that meant.
He saw it in the dark circles under her nervous eyes, her frail body and chapped lips: she, too, was destroyed. No better off than himself, she wasn't living, she was surviving. Just like him.
Just like him.
This echoed in his head.
"Aren't you working?" he asked, his heart pounding.
The first normal words he'd spoken to her. No excuses, no banality, no fear.
"I came home to look after him," she explained in a small voice.
He nodded again and looked down. He found it hard to believe that things could be like this between them.
"I'm g–going to make lunch," she stammered.
He looked up just in time to see her slip away into the next room, her dog right behind her. He thought she had already prepared their meal that morning, but didn't mention it. Maybe she would cook something for Albert.
Albert. Albert.
What a strange name, he thought. He was sure that it was a name more suited to humans. He didn't dwell on that detail, it wasn't important.
The dog hadn't attacked him, Granger hadn't attacked him, and they'd spoken to each other like two normal people. Everything was fine.
He could resume his day, as if nothing happened. He could go back upstairs and read lots of cookbooks until sleep came. He could plan his tour of the room. He could...
He could do whatever he wanted. Granger wouldn't stop him.
You will find an illustration for this chapter on my socials! Same pseudo: Nova Frogster!
And that's it! See you next Thursday! Thanks to Acciobraincells, Dressedpencil, rapunzerelli and DontStopHerNow for their amazing work and help! Don't forget to comment and follow the story to support me ;)