Chapter 3
Hermione was exhausted the next morning. She had woken several times during the night to administer various potions at different times. She hoped that maybe during the day she might get a nap while Mrs. Malfoy was resting. The woman seemed to be in a deep sleep rather than a coma, which was encouragingly.
Before Hermione went to find breakfast, she had Milly bring her some more broth, and fed Narcissa in the manner to which she had become accustomed. She was just finishing when Malfoy knocked on the open door.
"How's she doing this morning?" he asked.
"There's been no change, which could be either good or bad," she admitted, and he nodded, coming over to the bed to take his mother's hand gently, as he had done last night. Hermione watched the tender expression on his face with some astonishment. Despite his apology last night, she still wasn't used to this Malfoy who seemed to genuinely care for someone other than himself. Indeed, he had shown his devotion for his mother in every word and action since Hermione had arrived. His love for the woman was unmistakable. She remembered during his trial, he had stated that the only reason he'd done the things he'd done had been to protect his mother. At the time, Hermione had suspected him of disingenuousness; but now she knew that he'd been telling the truth. She could see him taking the dark mark and letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts castle in order to protect the woman lying on the bed before them.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Malfoy looked up at her. "Are you hungry? Do you want some breakfast?"
"Starving," she admitted, then her stomach rumbled and they both laughed.
"Munch is our chef here. I'm sure he's prepared a delicious breakfast. His cooking is amazing," Malfoy said, as he led her into a gorgeous dining room. The table, which sat under a magnificent chandelier, could have easily sat thirty, but there were two places set up next to each other at one of the ends.
Hermione sat down next to Malfoy, feeling uncomfortable as silver dishes appeared on the table before them, overflowing with sausages, bacon, kidneys, eggs, toast, kippers, and every kind of indulgent pastry she could imagine. Hermione served herself some tea, added sugar, and drank down her first cup so she was fully awake. She noticed that Malfoy seemed to need the tea as a stimulant as well, though he took his only with lemon. As they served themselves, Malfoy asked her about her time studying to be a healer.
"I imagine the courses are very difficult," he said. "Of course they would be no trouble for you," he added, "but what kind of classes were you required to take?"
Hermione looked at him curiously. He had seemed so blithe in his acceptance of her intelligence, as if it were natural that a muggleborn like her could be accomplished at magic. Malfoy seemed to find nothing amiss, however, piling his plate with kippers and toast, and so she replied, and they talked for the next half an hour about her classes. She shouldn't be surprised that Malfoy held such understanding of the types of information she had needed to study to become a healer. He may not have finished his studies at Hogwarts, but he had always come in at a close second behind her when they were at school. He was intelligent, she knew that; but for him to be so accepting of her intelligence, as if it were just a universally accepted fact, was baffling to her.
Still, she enjoyed the delicious food, all the while feeling uncomfortable with how it had been prepared, or rather, who had prepared it. When they had finished and Malfoy was about to stand to leave the table, Hermione said, "May I thank the cook for his delicious breakfast?"
He looked slightly surprised, then said, "Of course. Munch!"
A second later, there was a crack and a house elf wearing a dark green apron appeared. "Master Draco?" he asked, looking up at Malfoy.
Malfoy smiled at him. "We wanted to thank you for a delicious meal, Munch," he said. "This is Miss Granger. She'll be staying with us for a while to take care of Mother."
Munch turned to her, and she smiled. "The food was delicious, Munch," she said in a gentle voice. "Thank you so much."
The house elf beamed at her. "Munch is so glad that you liked it, miss! Perhaps you could tell him what kind of foods you prefer, and he could prepare them for you?"
Hermione felt uncomfortable again, but the elf looked so hopeful that she had to reply. "I like steak and kidney pie, and I love apple pudding."
"Very good, miss! Munch will prepare that for dinner tonight!"
"Thanks, Munch. You can go," said Malfoy with a smile, and Munch disappeared.
Malfoy turned to lead Hermione out of the room, but he must have seen something on her face, for he stopped to look at her. "What is it, Granger?"
She couldn't help the disapproval that tinged her voice. "I just feel very uncomfortable being served by house elves in such a fashion."
Malfoy looked briefly confused, then understanding passed over his face, and he gave that patented Malfoy smirk. "Don't worry, bleeding-heart Granger, all the house elves were freed at the end of the war. They work for wages now."
Hermione was shocked into speechlessness. At last she managed to stutter, "You – you freed them?"
"Of course."
Of course? There was no of course about this. But Malfoy was already turning and leaving the room. She hurried to follow him. "Why did you free them?" she asked.
He glanced back briefly at her. "Because it was the right thing to do."
The right thing to do? She wanted to ask him more, but they had returned to his mother's room, and she was soon engrossed in caring for the sick woman again. Her questions would have to wait.
Draco didn't talk to Granger again until lunch. He'd stopped by his mother's room several times during the morning on breaks from his work in order to see how she was doing, but had no real conversation with the healer's apprentice until he came to ask if she was hungry for lunch. His mother had still not woken again, and he was feeling disappointed, after the encouragement of having her wake last night. He hadn't been sure whether Narcissa had understood what he said or not, or whether she even knew who he was, and he was hoping she would wake again and show more progress.
"Don't be too discouraged, Malfoy," Granger said as they sat down to a meal of fish with capers and white wine sauce. They'd decided to eat in his mother's room to be near in case she woke again. "To be honest, I'm amazed that she's still alive at all. That she's still breathing and even woke once are miracles in themselves."
Draco felt the now familiar fury and bitterness filling him at the thought of his mother's condition. "Those fucking bastards," he snarled. "How could they treat a fragile woman so horrendously?"
Granger herself also looked indignant. "It's outrageous!" she agreed. "If a muggle were treated such a way in prison, the government would be sued for billions! The wizarding world is so backward in some ways!"
Draco didn't know anything about the muggle world, but he agreed with one thing. "They should be sued!" he said. "I wish I could set my lawyer on it, but it would be a useless endeavour."
"I agree that it would be a waste of time, but even so, I'd be willing to give a testimonial, if you need it," she said, to his surprise.
"You would?" He looked at her with pale blond brows raised.
She looked briefly confused. "Of course I would. Malfoy, I know that your mother was convicted by the Wizengamot, but she's truly innocent of any wrongdoing. I know she was a victim as much as you were."
Draco couldn't help the bitterness that filled him and came through in his voice. "I wasn't a victim like she was. Would a true victim have stood by and watched as an innocent seventeen-year-old girl was tortured by his aunt right in front of him?"
Granger looked surprised by his words. "What do you mean? There was nothing you could have done, Malfoy. I'm well aware of that. I don't blame you for it."
"Well, maybe you should!" he said heatedly. All the guilt he had held for that night for the last three and a half years poured out of him. "I may have been raised to be a pretentious shit, but that doesn't excuse the fact that I stood by and watched heinous and vicious acts being performed, and even took part in some of them! I don't deserve forgiveness and you shouldn't give it!"
Granger's face softened, and she looked at him with compassion. She reached forward to place her small hand on top of his where it lay on the table. "Malfoy, if you'd tried to stop Bellatrix from torturing me, or the other Death Eaters from the things they did, both you and your mother would have been killed, and you wouldn't have been able to help anyway! Were you supposed to take on Voldemort and all his followers by yourself?"
Strangely enough, her soft touch soothed him as much as her words. He knew what she was saying was true, logically, but he still couldn't shake the guilt that plagued him daily for the things he had been forced to participate in and watch. He moved his hand out from under hers, feeling as if he didn't deserve to enjoy her gentle touch. "Typical Gryffindor," he tried to sneer, "Seeing the good in everyone, even those who don't deserve it."
She smiled, evidently seeing through him. "You do deserve it, Malfoy. I don't know you well, but I could see how much my torture at Bellatrix's hand horrified you, and I know how much you love your mother."
Draco didn't know what to say. He couldn't explain to himself why he had opened up to Granger, in a way he had never done to anyone before except his mother. He had never admitted his feelings of guilt and self-loathing over his brief time as a Death Eater. He knew his mother was aware of them, but he never spoke of it to anyone else. Strangely, Granger had broken through his walls in only twenty-four hours, with her kindness and compassion, her soft and caring eyes, and her gentle hands. "We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Granger," he said at last.
Granger sighed, but before she could speak, she glanced over at the bed and he followed her gaze. His mother had opened her eyes again and was looking around her. He jumped to his feet and raced to the side of the bed.
"Dr – Draco…" she said in a cracked voice.
"I'm right here, Mother," he said, coming to her side and taking her frail hand into his big ones. He saw her eyes focus on him. "How are you feeling?"
She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him.
"You're out of Azkaban now," he said, feeling distressed. "You'll never go back there. You're home at Malfoy House. Miss Granger here has been taking care of you, and you're going to be well very soon."
Narcissa just looked at him.
"Do you understand me?" When she made no response, he said, "Blink twice if you understand me."
There was a long pause, and then slowly Narcissa blinked her eyes twice. Joy filled Draco and he leaned over to kiss her withered cheek. "You're going to get better, Mother. There's nothing for you to worry about. Just rest."
She seemed to accept his words, for she closed her eyes and was soon fast asleep again.
For the rest of the day, as Hermione carried out her duties for the sick woman, her mind was on that woman's son and the revelation she had had about him at lunch.
She had no idea that Malfoy was filled with such self-hatred and loathing. She could understand the bitterness for having been forced into such a position at only sixteen years old, but she had no idea he felt guilty for her torture even three and a half years later. She knew very well that he could have done nothing to save her at the time. The fact that he'd looked so horrified at her torture had been strangely comforting in a twisted way during her ordeal. If he could have done anything for her, that would've been enough.
She'd been extremely touched at the reunion of mother and son that afternoon. Narcissa's first words had been for her son, and Hermione could clearly see the bond between them as Malfoy knelt by the bed and held her hand. She could easily believe now why Malfoy had been willing to do so much to keep his mother safe. She had never imagined before that he could love another person as much as he loved himself. It was clear now that he loved his mother much more than that. He could have run from Voldemort, fled to another country to escape the Death Eaters as soon as the war began. He had stayed, and had witnessed many heinous deeds, and even taken part in some of them, as he said, in order to keep her safe. She could understand now why Dumbledore had been so set on having Snape kill him. It would have destroyed Malfoy to murder someone in cold blood. Even when he had Dumbledore disarmed, helpless, and at his mercy, Malfoy had been unable to harm him. He wasn't a killer, or a torturer, or a sadist. He'd been a frightened boy who had been put into an untenable position, and forced to protect himself and his helpless mother as well as he could. She could only admire him for that.
As Malfoy joined Hermione in his mother's room for steak and kidney pie that evening, she looked at him with different eyes. Was it really possible for a person such as Draco Malfoy to be redeemed?