Chapter 4

Narcissa opened her eyes again the next morning, and was awake for a longer period of time. She still couldn't speak, but Draco was delighted to see it, and did his best at reassuring his worried mother that he was well before she fell asleep again.

He felt curiously more comfortable with Granger after the pathetic spilling of his guts the previous day. Normally he would be disgusted with himself for such weakness, but Granger's response to his confession had left him with no feelings of shame or embarrassment. Rather, she had seemed to understand, strange for a muggleborn in this world, and accepted him, faults and all. He had known she was like that in school – he remembered her crusade for the house elves – BURP or GULP or something like that; but for her to turn her compassion towards him was staggering after the way he had treated her for so many years. He knew she had accepted his apology, but he had assumed she was just being gracious since they had to live in a house together for the next week and she wanted to make things easier for both of them. Now it was clear to him that she really didn't hold anything against him.

He couldn't understand it.

Maybe it was the Slytherin in him, but he would have expected some ulterior motive or material for revenge. That's what he would do himself, after all. This Gryffindor mentality made no sense to him.

He was grateful for it, but it made no sense.

Granger continued to impress him as the day passed. She was tireless in her care of his mother, kind to the house elves, and friendly with him. In her spare moments, he noticed her reading a large tome on healing, furthering her education, he supposed. He wasn't surprised to see it. More and more he wondered what she saw in those morons Potter and Weasley, to dedicate her life to them. Those idiots were so inferior to Granger in every way that it was laughable she would waste even one moment of her time on them, let alone go on the run with them for a year. Although he did admit that he hadn't seen much about Granger and Weasley in the Daily Prophet since their highly-publicized break-up two years ago. Privately, Draco commended Granger for dumping the ginger, though why she had agreed to go out with him in the first place was a mystery.

He was attracted to her, he admitted to himself. A few years ago he would have been horrified at the realization that he wanted a muggleborn, but more and more he found his gaze lingering on her curly brown hair, the curves of her breasts, the flare of her hips, her long creamy legs. While they were talking he would have to remind himself not to let his gaze linger on her pink lips, plump and moist, the lower one slightly fuller than the upper.

It was just lust, he told himself. He'd been abstinent too long. He was starved for female attention. A beautiful woman being kind to him would of course stir his senses.

But that didn't stop him from staring at her whenever she wasn't looking in his direction.

That evening they were sitting in his mother's room again, eating dinner, and he was reminding himself not to stare as she laughed. It was the first time she had ever laughed with him, and he counted it an achievement. She was far too serious. He'd been telling her about some of the hijinks he and Blaise had gotten up to as children, and had been rewarded with her genuine amusement.

When her laughter had faded, she looked at him thoughtfully. "You're so different than you were at school," she said.

He shrugged, acknowledging this. "So are you."

"I am?" She looked curious. "How so?"

"You're more confident," he said. "In school you were always so desperate to prove yourself, to show everyone that you were just as good as they were." He shrugged again. "Now you simply – own your intelligence. You don't need to prove it or anything to anyone. You know who you are and have no need for anyone's approval."

He looked at her to find she appeared thoughtful. "I suppose that's true," she said. "With Harry and Ron – well, it always felt as if I were trying to prove myself to them, as if my intelligence wasn't enough. I wanted to be their friend without the need for proofs."

"You're too good for those two idiots," Draco sneered. "I don't know why you ever wasted time trying to prove anything to those morons."

Granger stiffened and frowned. "They're good men, and they were good boys. Maybe a little immature at school, but you're hardly one to talk about that."

"Oof. Ouch, Granger!" he laughed, putting a hand over his heart. "You've speared me straight to the core."

He could see her lips quirk in a reluctant smile.

"Seriously, though," he continued. "I like the improvement. You should own that intelligent brain of yours, Granger. There's hardly another one like it."

This time she did smile. She opened her mouth to speak when a chime went off, notifying him that there was someone at the door.

Draco frowned. Who could possibly be visiting? No one came to see him except Blaise, and he would just come straight through the fireplace. Besides, Blaise was holidaying in Switzerland with his mother for the next month. "I'll be right back," he told Granger. She nodded, and he walked quickly down the hallways and stairs to the entryway. He swung open the door and froze to see who stood there.

Harry fucking Potter.

Harry came home from the Ministry that afternoon worried about Hermione.

When he entered Grimmauld Place he had hoped she would be there, but only Kreacher greeted him.

It had been three days since he'd seen her. He'd come home to find a hastily written note, stating that she was going to take care of the ill Narcissa Malfoy and would be gone several days.

That had worried him at first. He didn't think Narcissa would hurt her – the Malfoy matron had saved Harry's life, after all, in the Forbidden Forest. No, Harry was worried about Hermione staying in a home with Draco fucking Malfoy in it.

Harry felt a huge responsibility towards Hermione. She was like the sister he never had, and he was painfully aware that he had taken her for granted when they were younger. That hung heavily on his conscience, and he had vowed never to do it again. She was the true hero, in his opinion, not the so-called Chosen One. It was only because of her quick wit, intelligence, and courage that Voldemort had been defeated.

Despite the fact that Harry had spoken on Malfoy's behalf at his trial, Harry didn't like or trust the man. Malfoy had been a spoiled and hateful bully for so long, especially to Hermione, that Harry felt a heavy sense of foreboding in his stomach when he thought of Hermione trapped in the Slytherin's home.

He had waited for Hermione to contact him, whether by owl or patronus, to tell him how she was doing, but three days had passed and he'd heard nothing. He himself had been busy with the planning for his and Ginny's wedding, which was coming up next year, so he had waited longer than he would have liked to hear from Hermione.

Now he was worried enough to go find out for himself if she was all right.

He didn't know where the Malfoys lived, whether Hermione was in London or at Malfoy Manor – he prayed it wasn't the latter, for her sake. It would be traumatizing in the extreme for her to be trapped at the scene of her torture.

He decided, therefore, to visit Hermione's supervisor at St. Mungo's, Delia Bagly, to see if Hermione had maybe contacted her about the situation, and to get the address of where she had gone.

He obtained the information easily. He was the Boy Who Lived, after all. Everyone wanted to please him. It wasn't often that he took advantage of this fact, but he had no compunction about doing so now.

Mrs. Bagly told him that Hermione had volunteered to take care of Narcissa Malfoy, and that she was at the Malfoy townhouse in London, where she was being paid overtime, courtesy of Draco's money. Hermione had come by the hospital on the first day to get more potions and medicinals for Mrs. Malfoy before she'd returned to Malfoy House.

Armed with the address, Harry apparated in front of the townhouse, and gazed with disgust at the gaudy appearance of the façade. Stepping forward, he rang the doorbell.

A couple of minutes passed before Draco Malfoy himself opened the door. He appeared surprised to see Harry, but didn't speak, merely stared at him with a faint sneer on his face. Determined to at least attempt to be polite, Harry said, "Malfoy. I'm looking for Hermione. Is she here?"

Malfoy lifted a pale aristocratic brow. "Do you often lose track of your friends, Potter? I thought you lived with her. How do you not know where she is?"

Harry gritted his teeth. So much for being polite. "I know she's here, Malfoy. She told me she was coming here, but I haven't heard from her in three days. I was worried about her."

"And you thought the nasty Death Eater would just eat her up, did you?" Malfoy sneered. "How noble of you to run to the rescue, Potter. I never would have guessed you'd do such a thing."

"Listen, you git, you had better let me speak to Hermione or you will be in serious trouble."

"Are you going to sic the big bad Ministry on me?" Malfoy mocked. "A little power sure has gone to your head, Potter."

"Let me in, Malfoy!" Harry demanded, his voice rising.

"This is my fucking house!" Malfoy hissed, losing his cool. "You don't tell me what to do, Harry bloody Potter, Chosen One or not. I had enough of that in my shitty days as a Death Eater. I have my freedom now, and no one will order me around."

"I am worried about Hermione," Harry spoke slowly, in a tone of forced patience. "I don't trust you around her. In case you've forgotten, you tormented her enough over the years."

It almost seemed that Malfoy flinched at that, but soon adopted his haughty sneer again.

"If you won't let me in, at least let her come to the door to talk to me," Harry insisted.

"She's seeing to my mother," Malfoy said with a glare. "She can't be spared at the moment."

Harry had grown impatient with Malfoy's intransigence, and with a flick of his wand sent his patronus over Malfoy's shoulder with a message for Hermione, asking if she was all right and to come down to talk to him.

Malfoy looked outraged. "Did you just send a fucking curse into my home?" he demanded. "My mother is ill upstairs!"

"It wasn't a curse, you wanker! I sent my patronus to ask Hermione to come down, since you're being a big bloody pain!"

"Granger is fine," Malfoy said through clenched teeth. "Don't worry, the big nasty Death Eater hasn't hurt her, Potter."

"Well, I'd rather see that for myself, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," Malfoy retorted. "I don't need my home invaded by Granger's imbecilic friends."

Harry drew a deep breath, trying to call all his patience to mind, when he heard Hermione's cheerful voice from behind Malfoy.

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

Reluctanly, Malfoy stepped aside, and Hermione came to the front step, smiling at her friend, looking healthy and happy.

Harry wrapped his arms around her in a hug even as he saw Malfoy roll his eyes. "I came to see if you were okay," he said. "I haven't heard from you in three days."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Of course I'm okay, Harry. I didn't know you were expecting updates. I don't usually do that when I'm working."

"I know, but the circumstances are different," Harry insisted with a look at Malfoy.

Hermione smiled. "I'm fine."

Harry wasn't convinced. He glanced over her shoulder at the Slytherin, who was standing behind them with a sneer on his pale face. "Do you mind if we speak privately for a minute, Malfoy?"

"Yes, I do," he retorted. "I choose who will come into my house, and you are not one of them, Potter."

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Fine. We'll talk in the street, then." She laid her hand on Harry's arm, and made to leave the doorway.

Malfoy gave a long-suffering sigh. "Okay! He can come in. But I don't want him leaving the entry way."

Hermione smiled at him and pulled her friend inside the house.

Harry was shocked that Malfoy had given in, but he wasn't going to question it. He entered the foyer behind Hermione and watched Malfoy go through the doorway and close it behind him. Quickly, Harry cast a spell to see if the Slytherin was waiting behind the door to listen, but no one was there. He relaxed and turned to Hermione.

"Thank goodness he's gone. I wanted to make sure you were all right, Hermione."

"Of course I'm all right, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. "Malfoy's been perfectly cordial."

"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?" he asked in disbelief.

Hermione laughed. "I was as surprised as you are."

"To be honest, I'm amazed he didn't throw you off his property as soon as you came to the door," Harry admitted. "He wouldn't want a muggleborn to sully his precious pureblood mansion."

"I thought so too."

"I want you to come back to Grimmauld Place with me, Hermione. I don't trust you here alone with Malfoy."

She shook her head. "He won't hurt me. And I can't leave Mrs. Malfoy. She's gravely ill."

"Someone else can take care of her."

"No. Mrs. Bagly won't send a trained healer, and refused to force any of the apprentices to go. I was the only one to volunteer. There's no one else."

Harry opened and closed his mouth for a moment, trying to think of an argument. But he couldn't wish any ill on Mrs. Malfoy, who had saved his life and was innocent of the evil that had been done to her. "Has Malfoy been cruel to you?" he asked.

"Not at all," she said. "He's actually quite different than he was at school, Harry. Did you know he freed all his house elves after the war and now pays them for their work?"

Trust Hermione to focus on elf rights first. That would immediately be a ticket into her good graces. He just managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

"He bullied you for years, Hermione! Did you forget how many times he called you mudblood?"

Hermione waved that off. "He apologized for his behaviour at school, and I believe he truly means it. He hasn't been rude to me once since I've been here. In fact, he's complimented me several times! And I can tell he truly loves his mother."

Harry was bewildered. "He must be playing you. He wants to trick you for some reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, you are overreacting. I know you two hate each other, but could you at least pretend to get along as long as I'm taking care of Mrs. Malfoy? I'm not sure how much longer I'll be here, but it shouldn't be longer than a few days. I think she might actually recover."

"I can't leave you in the house with a Death Eater, Hermione!" Harry insisted.

"You don't truly believe he's a Death Eater, or you wouldn't have testified at his trial," Hermione reasoned.

Harry had to admit she had a point. It was hard to see past his hatred of Malfoy from their school days. He needed to trust Hermione. She had proven herself again and again. If she believed that Malfoy meant her no harm, he needed to believe her. He drew in a deep breath. "Okay."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Okay?"

"I believe you. I need to trust your judgment. You've always been right before."

Hermione threw her arms around him and he returned the hug. "Thanks, Harry. Everything will be okay, I promise. In fact, Malfoy and I are getting along well."

He raised a brow. "Really? You and Malfoy are friends now?"

"Well, I wouldn't say friends, but we're – friendly."

"All right," Harry said dubiously. "As long as he's not cruel to you."

"I promise it's fine, Harry," she said, appearing to get a little frustrated now.

"Okay, okay," Harry laughed, "I'll go now! Send me a patronus to let me know how Mrs. Malfoy is doing and when you'll be home."

"I will, Harry."

They said their goodbyes, and Harry disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. Kreacher had dinner laid out, and he sat down to French onion soup and fresh crusty bread with a sigh. He didn't trust Malfoy as far he could throw him, but Hermione did; and that was what mattered.