Chapter 5 — Shell Cottage

As the glass shard sound of the crashing waves combined with the fishy smell carried by the wind, Draco remembered it clearly. They had first Apparated there straight from his manor, before leaving for the forest when he had warned them that the Dark Mark worked as a Trace. Around him, the beach seemed to stretch out into infinity. He made eye contact with Granger, who kept her wand pointed at him. They all walked to a small cottage, white with soft angles that blended in perfectly with the pale sand.

When they entered the house, the first thing that surprised Draco was how warm it was inside, and how much light the windows let in. An older Weasley and a girl that he recognised at one of the Triwizard Hogwarts champions came to them, and embraced the trio. Granger got hugged particularly hard, and it was then that Draco realised that unlike Potter and Weasley, she hadn't gone back to the cottage at all. She had remained in the tent the whole time. The older Weasley in particular held her shoulders tight, and kept enquiring about her wounds, her health, and overall well-being. Draco stood at the entrance, feeling exceptionally out of place. Dirty, smelly, dishevelled, from the wrong side of the war, a former bully of the trio, he felt like less than a garden gnome. Life was certainly easier when he could enter a room with a smug look on his face, commanding attention by his family's power, his good looks, and his group of Slytherin friends. But alone, Draco didn't fare well. But this feeling of loneliness, to his greatest surprise, didn't last as the older Weasley walked towards him, grabbed his hand and gave him a manly shoulder-grab.

"I've been told you deserted You-Know-Who's side to join us. Heard the process was pretty painful," the Weasley said, nodding towards his arm and ribs. "I can respect that. I'm Bill, Bill Weasley. This is my wife Fleur. Welcome to our cottage."

The whole time, Bill's hand didn't leave his shoulder. Fleur nodded towards Draco with tense lips. Draco was taken aback by Bill's friendliness, and it took him a second before introducing himself in return.

"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. I'm in the same year as Potter- as Harry, Hermione and Ron."

"We know who you are. I have only heard bad things about you. Now's your time to convince me otherwise. Come sit," gestured Bill to everyone. "Food's on the table."

As starving as Draco was, with the delicious smell of roasted chicken tickling his nostrils, he could smell his own self and felt deeply embarrassed about it.

"Can I shower first?" he asked.

The rest of the people cast worried glances at each other.

"I promise I'm not going to try anything. I just need a shower."

Bill looked at Potter.

"You have his wand, right?" he asked, to which Harry nodded.

"Okay," said Bill. "Let me just cast the Monitus spell we talked about."

Draco felt like making a snarky comment about how they already had his wand, but refrained. Bill stood in front of him, waved his wand from Draco's toes to his head, and shouted "Monitus!". A loud buzzing noise was suddenly emitted by Draco's skin, as if he had a bees' nest inside his chest. He jolted.

"Take a step back," commanded Bill. Draco followed his order, and the buzzing noise decreased ever-so-slightly. "Again," asked Bill. Draco did so, and then took another one. At every step away from them, his skin buzzed less and less.

"The sound will stay low as long as you don't get too close to us. Alright, now stay where you are, and we'll go outside."

The sound got lower and lower as they went away, but after a certain distance, got even louder than at the beginning. It was an infuriating system. They came back after a few seconds.

"Perfect," said Bill. "I could hear you when you started being too far from us."

Draco sighed. He just sought the peace of a warm shower. He wasn't planning to escape anytime soon, nor to murder them in their sleep. Why wouldn't they believe him?

"Anyone want to come shower with me? Maybe soap me up while you're at it?" asked an increasingly annoyed Draco.

"Hermione?" asked Potter.

She gave him a satisfying kick in the shin.

"There should be someone on the top floor, though, next to the shower room. It should be a man," said Hermione. "Ron?"

"No way! I've already seen him naked, I'm traumatised enough as it is!"

"Did you see me naked?" blurted out a panicked Draco to Hermione. She blushed furiously.

"No of course not! Ron just take care of this, please. This is a silly topic."

"Fine! But I want to eat first. I'm starving."

Draco gave up, and followed them to the living room where a beautiful roast with a side of mashed potatoes was awaiting them.

"Whate a loude buzz," said the Triwizard girl. "Bill can'te iou make it less, euh… annoying?"

"Nope," replied Bill. "Sorry love."

It was agreed that Draco would sit slightly further away at the end of the table, so that he wouldn't buzz too loudly. Ollivander, Lovegood and Thomas, all of whom had been prisoners in his family's manor, came down the stairs laughing together. His heart leapt in relief. They froze when they made eye contact with him. Thomas made a movement towards his wand but didn't cast a spell, and Draco assumed that they had been warned about his arrival. They all went to hug Potter, Weasley and Granger, exchanging words of sympathy. Lovegood went around the table to hug each person in turn. To Malfoy's surprise, she went towards him and embraced him too. He awkwardly hugged her back. It had been a year since he had hugged someone, namely Pansy during the fleeting time when they had been dating. Lovegood's clothes smelled of fresh radish and patchouli. Thomas and Ollivander stared at her as she sat right next to him, his buzzing noise intensifying louder than it had so far.

"Oh I can hear the Nargles nesting in your head… You must be very confused right now."

He nodded. He was more confused than ever.

"That's okay. They have that effect on people. Their buzzing is not a bad sign, you know. I've heard you are joining us in the war. Did the fairies take you or was it your decision?"

"Huh…" said Malfoy while Weasley stifled a laugh and Granger smiled. "It was my decision."

"Lovely," she said. "Surprising and lovely." She turned towards the rest of the table. "Is Griphook not eating with us tonight?"

Fleur shook her head.

"Still too weak."

"So wait," said Draco. "You all really managed to escape?"

"Yes," Lovegood said brightly. "Dobby Disapparated with us before helping Ron and Harry escape your dungeon. It was really awful in there, you could have at least added a couch!"

"Not my choice," said Draco. Fleeting memories of being locked up in the dungeon for hours at a time as a punishment, when he was a kid, came back to him. He repressed a shiver.

"Well, you didn't try to help us at all, did you?" said Thomas harshly. "Didn't mind watching us while auntie Bellatrix tortured us one after the other to extract information, did you?"

Draco's stomach twisted.

"You have no idea what I mind, and what I don't mind. What did you want me to do, intervene so I could get killed on the spot? You think I wasn't a prisoner of the situation too?"

"Don't make me laugh," snarled Thomas. "You, a prisoner? A prisoner of mummy and daddy and your cosy little bed, in your big warm manor?"

"Dean," muttered Granger. "Stop. You don't know what he said under Veritaserum. We allowed him to come here with us for a reason."

"And now everything is forgiven, is that what you're saying? I'm supposed to tolerate him under this roof?"

"This is not your house Dean," she coldly said. "We are all guests here."

"Hermione, come on. Little Draco had a slither of good conscience even though all the hard work was done by you guys, and now we're supposed to welcome him and expect him not to kill us or betray us in our sleep? That's hilarious. I started getting pneumonia in that manor, the only reason I got better and didn't end up dying was thanks to Fleur. Draco did nothing for us. Always avoiding eye contact with us during Bellatrix' interrogations. It was pathetic. He didn't escape because of his good heart, it was because he knew You-Know-Who would have ended up killing him in the end. Cheers to murdering Dumbledore by the way, Draco. I'm sure mummy was very proud of you."

Draco reached for his wand by reflex, before remembering that Harry had it. He slammed his hands on the table, and got up on his feet in rage.

"I don't - owe you - an explanation. It's obvious that I'm not welcome at this table, so I will go straight to bed where I won't be considered a threat."

On those words, Draco left the table and headed for the corridor. Granger followed him, and closed the living room door behind them. He closed his eyes and breathed, resisting the temptation to spill out any kind of hatred towards her, no matter how frustrated he felt.

"Draco…" she said.

"One moment."

He breathed in and out, flashes of violence under his eyelids. Thomas' words were so close to his own inner monologue that it made him feel murderous. Everything he said hit home. But there was nowhere to go. He was trapped in this cottage, with this stupid buzzing sound around him.

"Draco, listen. Of course Dean is all worked up. He did get really sick, you know. But everybody knows there wasn't much you could have done."

Draco opened his eyes.

"I could have helped. When they were trapped. I just - I just didn't. Wormtail was… I -"

Draco's words left him. As tranquil these days in the forest had been, he became aware of how dire and miserable his condition was. He had abandoned his parents and friends, was haunted by the cruel acts he had committed, and was stuck in a house where everyone hated and despised him. Had Voldemort already killed his mother? Or was simply torturing her? The thought of death gently nudged him, as if to say I'm still here, you know. In case you need me.

"Draco," gently said Granger. "You decided to leave when we left, didn't you?"

Draco nodded.

"So let's leave it at that. Anything you did or didn't do before that decision can't be held against you too much. Come on. I'll show you the spare room. I assume that's where you'll be sleeping."

"I won't be able to sleep."

"That's okay. Clear your head instead. I'll lend you my books."

Draco followed her up the white staircase, the buzzing sound flowing in intensity as they walked up the steps. She guided him through a hallway, showing him the bathroom on the way. His room was at the end of the corridor. Two fresh towels and a few spare pieces of clothing were waiting for him on the bed, and he felt embarrassed about his outburst at the table. Both his arm and side hurt terribly. He wanted to cry. He wanted Granger to leave. As much as he resented that side of himself, Draco was a crier, and didn't want anyone to see it. He still cringed about the time Potter had seen him weep in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom in the past year.

"You wanted to shower, didn't you?" asked Granger.

"That's all I want right now. Are you going to send someone to watch me?"

She blushed, to his surprise.

"I - um. Well there is a window but I'd be surprised if you escaped from it without magic, I mean… I don't think you would escape, let's make that clear. But if you did, you'd probably break both legs."

Draco sighed.

"I just want to shower."

"Right. Well, enjoy."

Granger went down the stairs. Draco noticed that she seemed to cast a silent spell towards the bathroom, probably to keep track of whether he would actually try to escape or not. He felt so exhausted by their lack of trust, even though, deep down, he understood it perfectly. He didn't want them to see him anymore. He just wanted to disappear.

He could hear them chat and laugh together downstairs, as he stripped down in front of the small bathroom mirror. There was haunted look on his face, that had been lingering there since Dumbledore's death. Gaunt eyes with purple under-circles. His hair wasn't sleek anymore, too long, too unkept. He had stayed in the manor for months, and his body had lost all its muscle and flexibility. He used to be slim, but now was skinny. The only thing he had had going for him were his hands, but now one of them was covered in ink, pus and burn marks all the way from the back of his hand to his upper arm. Draco glanced at his ribs, surprised by how gnarly the stitches still looked, by how it still hurt so much despite Hermione care and magic. Draco looked within his own dilated pupils.

It's all uphill from there, he thought to himself. It can't get any worse.

He got in the shower, and turned on the hot water. It burned his skin, but felt good for his soul. Dark thoughts about the Astronomy tower circled around his mind, mingled with murderous thoughts towards Dean Thomas. He wondered why Granger and Lovegood had both been so kind towards him. Their kindness worsened his already haunting guilt. Tears spilled, as usual. The shower was where he cried the most. It was the most private place he could think of. And he could pretend it was just water. He rubbed soap all around his body, looking at the small magical bubbles foam in many colours, rub against his skin and hop off once they had cleaned him thoroughly enough. The bubbles rubbed against his left arm, taking with them traces of dark green ink. Draco sat down in the bathtub, letting the water soak his hair as he looked as his hands, his knees, his feet. He was alive. He had escaped. He rubbed Fleur's pink shampoo in his hair, this type emitting bubbles in the shape of small hands that scrubbed his scalp with squeaky noises. He remembered how his mother used to shampoo his hair as a kid with similar shampoos designed for kids, with educational bubbles that popped with small pieces of knowledge about runes, herbal knowledge or wizarding history. He hoped she was fine. That the Dark Lord hadn't taken his anger out on her. He thought back on his conversation with Granger a few nights ago. "Figure out what your good traits are," had she said.

"I'm funny," Draco whispered to himself. "I used to make people laugh at school."

A void space opened up in his stomach when he remembered that people only laughed when he made fun of others, most of the time jokes at the expense the trio that had now spared his life. He considered the possibility that people had only laughed because they wanted to be in his good graces, and felt even worse.

"Okay," he said. "Maybe I'm not that funny. But I'm - smart. I always got good grades."

But you could have been better, said his bitter inner voice. It drove his father crazy that Granger would beat him at every exam. A Muggle-born. The only subject you were good in was Potions. Probably nothing to do with the fact that Snape was one of dad's best friends, right?

Another blow to his stomach. Bloody Granger's emotional homework. That was why Draco hated thinking about himself too much. He still persevered.

"I…" Draco tried to think about the recent events in his life, instead of thinking of the bigger picture, which wasn't a pleasant picture to him. "I go through with what I want, for better or worse. I do what I set my mind to. I'm tenacious."

To these words, his inner voice had no caustic reply. It was true. Even though it could sometimes take more time than he wanted, Draco never backed down when he set his mind on something. This lead him to the thought that even though he was far from being in anyone's good graces at the moment, he could make it happen if he kept being persistent. He decided that this would be enough for the day. One good trait was better than none. He got up, let the water warm him up for a few more seconds, then stepped out and wrapped his towel around him. It was strange not to have his wand to dry himself in one movement. He had to actually rub the towel against his body, without forgetting any of the small spaces like between his toes, in his armpits, at the back of his neck or between his legs. He looked in the mirror again, but it was all fogged up. Better that way.

When he got back to his room, a few books had been laid on his bed, with a small note on top of them: "For your long-overdue Muggle studies. - H". Draco looked at the titles. 'Norwegian Wood' by an author named Haruki Murakami, 'Letters to a Young Poet' by Rainer Maria Rilke, and 'Ada or Ardor' by Vladimir Nabokov. Next to the small piles of books was a plate with a slice of lemon meringue pie, as well as a toothbrush, a comb, and a candle with matchsticks next to it. Draco got into bed, guilt gnawing at him again. He took 'Norwegian Wood' between his hands, and started reading in the candlelight. He brought his finger to the fire, but it didn't burn. Enchanted matchsticks. Sleep was eluding him. Laughter was coming from down below. There was nothing better to do than read.