Chapter 7 - The Sea

When Draco woke up the next day, his whole body was buzzing - not from the Monitus spell, but from something deep within. The seaside light was pouring through his window, illuminating the room in golden tones. Draco stayed still for a few seconds, stunned at the thought that the events of the previous night had actually happened, and hadn't just been the fruit of a bizarre dream. He got up and went to the window. He caught a slight reflection of himself against the background of sea, and for once didn't hate what he was seeing. Two large blue eyes with some kind of light inside of them. The first thought that usually greeted Draco upon awakening was actually a feeling — the one he had felt when Dumbledore had fallen backwards, to his death. A mix of horror and entrapment. But perhaps it was the light, or the verbena, but the only thing he was able to feel, at the foreground of his life, was that sunlight in which everything bathed. The white sand, the reflective waves, the smell of jam and porridge coming from below, even his reflection, light blue for once. It all felt hopeful and alive. Draco touched his ribs and winced, but even then it felt comforting, as if the pain was synonymous with healing rather than with death. He felt a strange guilt at the very idea of not feeling guilty, and forced himself to think about Dumbledore. The image juxtaposed itself over the sea, and it was not self-hatred and rage this time that Draco felt, but a profound sadness that felt right. That felt as if Dumbledore's memory was merely resting in the sea, peacefully, rather than terrorising him. Malfoy Manor was located in a dark forest in Wiltshire, protected from both Muggle and wizard eyes. It was a place that always was cold and dark, trapped in its massive marble architecture. Silver and beige, with smells of alcohol and of his mother's lavender scent spell, synonymous of masks and misery. Draco didn't know that such a luminous place like Shell Cottage in the morning could exist. He breathed out and stared at the sea for a while, until a knock interrupted his daydream.

"Come in," he said, his heart leaping in his chest at the idea that it could be Hermione. He immediately cringed in disbelief that he could feel this way, but the door opened, dispersing his incoming self-disgust.

"Good morning," said Lovegood brightly. "You have left your Nargles under your pillow I see?"

He still wasn't sure what she meant by that, but nodded anyway.

"Was your nightmare last night about what your family did to us?" she asked as if asking about the weather.

"Uh… Yes. It was, actually."

She smiled.

"Good! Dad always says that dreams are the mind's digestion, and nightmares the sign of a healthy cleanse. It's a good thing."

"Right. Um. Did you have any dreams?"

"Oh, yes! I dreamed that I was back in Hogwarts with my dear friends, and all of us had too many shoes than what reason would dictate. Anyways, breakfast is ready and everyone felt too weird to knock and tell you."

"I'll be there in a second. Just need to get changed."

"All of us are in our pyjamas."

"Right. I'll get changed though."

"Suit yourself."

Luna shut the door behind her, and Draco rushed towards the old but clean clothes that Bill had left in the wardrobe next to his bed before his arrival. His blood thumped at the idea of seeing Hermione again after the events of the previous night. They hadn't kissed, but hadn't they been even closer than that? And had she noticed the physical effect she had had on him? Oh god. Had she told Weasley and Potter? Were they all going to laugh at him? His heart started beating faster and faster, and he felt himself get sweaty again. What if he saw her and she ignored him? What if she didn't ignore him? What if — she wanted more than he could offer? Draco sat down, panic rising in his chest. He glanced at the window. He couldn't Disapparate but he could still escape. He walked to the window, noticing just how high it was and how nonsensical it would be for him to jump — if he survived, where would he go anyway? He frantically combed through his hair with his fingers and put on a pair of black pants with a black t-shirt, and silently walked to the (thankfully unoccupied) bathroom to brush his teeth. What was he going to say? Should he look at her? Should he avoid looking at her? He met his own eyes in the bathroom mirror. They were red and afraid, and he splashed water on his face in the hope of looking like less of maniac — without success. His left arm was still covered in blisters filled with green ink and pus — wouldn't that put her off him forever? But then, hadn't she mended him herself? The clatter of cutlery was coming from downstairs. With a bit of luck, perhaps they would be done with their breakfast, and he could eat after them. But wasn't that rude? He ended up rushing downstairs, his manners taking over his panic.

He entered the kitchen and immediately saw her. They both looked away and his heart lift up. He muttered a general "Good morning" and sat down, trying to master the tremor in his hands. Monitus' buzzing noise was back in full force, but he didn't care anymore. He just wanted to eat his porridge and pretend that no-one else was there. As much as he wanted to be polite and engaging, he simply couldn't do it. The idea of looking at her was unbearable. As he ate a first few mouthfuls, someone loudly cleared their throat next to him. He looked towards the source of the noise, and realised that he had sat right next to Dean Thomas, who was less than thrilled about it.

"I'm not sitting next to him," said Thomas.

Draco looked around the table, avoiding Hermione's eyes. Potter and Weasley were sitting on both sides of her, Bill and Fleur were sitting next to Potter, Thomas next to Fleur, then himself next to Lovegood and Dobby. There was no more space around the table.

"Dean it's not even 9AM yet, come on," muttered Weasley between two mouthfuls of sausage rolls. "Give it a break."

"His arm freaks me out."

"Well, don't look then," replied Draco coldly.

"Just sit somewhere else!"

Draco considered leaving the table for the second time in 24 hours, but he was far too hungry to do so. Besides, he didn't want to dampen the mood so fast.

"Switch places with me Draco," said Lovegood. "I don't mind your arm. Mum used to read me the Tales of Beedle the Bard every night in bed, and it was also written in green ink."

"Thanks Loveg- uh Luna", said Draco. "Appreciate it."

He quickly glanced at Hermione, who looked down at her porridge, her cheeks slightly blushing. He had wondered upon awakening if the attraction he had felt towards her had been a mere product of the night, but seeing her like this, in the morning light, made her look irresistible. He caught himself smiling as he switched places with Luna.

"So", Luna brightly said. "Draco and Hermione, how was your pyjama party last night? Is Draco becoming a better person?"

Weasley choked on his food while Potter simply raised his eyebrows, glancing at Hermione's deepening blush.

"Excuse me?" asked Weasley between two coughing fits.

"No - Luna this was not -" Hermione went, trying to find her words. "Let's not be silly, there was no pyjama party. We had a quick cup of tea."

Bill looked alarmed.

"I am a light sleeper and didn't hear anything. Didn't Monitus work?"

"I - for god's sake I didn't want to wake everyone up in the house, so I briefly removed it," said Hermione, whose skin was getting so red that it started spreading to her clavicle area.

Bill shook his head.

"Hermione, surely you know better than that. Are you trying to get us killed?"

"I had my wand!" she said.

"Draco is taller and stronger than you. As gifted as you are, you can't guarantee that he wouldn't be able to take your wand from you in a moment of inattention."

As Draco was about to defend himself, Potter, to his surprise, spoke up.

"Bill, I understand your concerns but Hermione knows what she's doing. Besides, we made the decision to trust Malfoy. I told you that our conversation under Veritaserum went well enough to trust him."

"Harry this is my house, where I live with my wife and act as Secret Keeper. No offence to you or your choices, but I don't want any of us to be put in danger."

"Bill," quickly interrupted Draco before anyone else could get involved. "I'm sorry about last night. I just had a nightmare. Hermione didn't do anything wrong. She was just concerned about me."

Bill sighed.

"Right. But please Hermione, this is a war. You can't trust anyone and especially not someone who still had the Dark Mark on their arm merely days ago."

She looked at him defiantly, and back at Draco's arm. He felt his whole core warmed up under her daring gaze. The conversation quickly resumed as it was before he came in the room. They discussed the people recently found alive according to the news on the radio, as well as the health of Weasley family members — omitting any of their whereabouts in front of Draco. Draco was content with listening, as he ate his porridge. He didn't feel legitimate to add anything to the conversation. He observed the way they acted towards one another, surprised by the amount of warmth and respect they all mutually displayed. They were all thinner and warier than they used to be, at least those that he used to know at Hogwarts. But they listened to each other and welcomed each other's suggestions with an attention that made Draco almost uncomfortable. When people were too kind to one another, it always felt forced and fake to him. It felt strangely cringey, like adults baby-talking to each other in public. But he also understood that this way of being was what he now had to aim for. He didn't know where to start. Bill and Fleur got up and headed to the kitchen, cleaning their plates and exchanging a quick but tender hug away from the group. Dobby went to assist them. Draco remembered how with Malfoy Manor turning over time into Death Eater Headquarters, strange people would roam around his house from morning to night, all of them evil bastards. Being a pest at school had been an easy, childish form of evil. The kind that only hurt people's feelings. But the people that Draco had crossed paths with in the past two years were truly evil. Murderers, torturers, extortionists. And all of them had made his home their home. His home. There had been moments when he had felt loved over the years, but they had been so few. Strangely enough, that love was never felt inside the Manor, but outdoors. Shopping with his mother in Diagon Alley, going to the Quidditch World Cup with his father. Love wasn't manifested as care nor tenderness, but more as a sense of pride. Walking tall and proud next to them, and knowing the fear they sparked in people's hearts. Knowing that he was safe next to either of them. His mother was so fierce and beautiful. Everyone knew who she was. But in recent times, there had been no pride and no respect, only fear as the Dark Lord's pressure increased upon his family. Narcissa. More broken than perfect. More unpredictable than kind. But still his mum. Was she safe now? Had Voldemort killed her after Draco escaped? To his embarrassment, Draco felt tears well up at this thought, and fought them back by refocusing on the conversation. It still felt strange, to this day, how badly his nerves had been wrecked by the events of the past year. He never used to cry so easily. Nowadays, anything made him lose it. He looked at Hermione but she was laughing at one of Weasley's jokes, which increased Draco's feeling of loneliness and misery. There it was, back again. That funny feeling, that had briefly disappeared in the morning light. Taking over his chest. Something nudged him in the ribs. He turned to his side, meeting Luna's eyes. He quickly blinked.

"It's hard to leave the people we love, isn't it?"

He answered with a non-committal "hm" and focused hard on his breakfast. Her small hand squeezed his arm.

"We'll take good care of you."

Draco scoffed defensively.

"Come on mate," said Weasley's voice. "Luna's right, you know. You were a right git with us but you've got nothing to fear."

Another "hm" left Draco's throat as he stared at his porridge, wanting to disappear under the surface of the Earth. He wanted to tell them that he wasn't afraid of them, but was scared that his real emotions would spill out.

"Draco is not afraid," said Luna's peaceful voice. "He misses his family."

"What's there to miss?" asked Dean Thomas' annoying little voice.

"Mate," said Weasley. "They're his family."

Draco shrugged, and his throat cleared up as he found himself being a conversation topic once again against his own will.

"I don't miss them," Draco answered, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. "But with my treason to the Dark Lord, of course I can't help but think that he might have taken it out on them."

Hermione's furrowed her eyebrows. Before anyone could add anything, Dobby's voice rang out:

"Perhaps Dobby could go take a quick look inside the Manor?"

Draco looked at Dobby, briefly considered the proposition, and shook his head.

"No. They didn't realise that your magic could be a breach in their system. But now that we've all escaped, they will surely proof the house against any form of Elf magic. It's - just how it is. Just leave it. We don't need to talk about all this."

Draco found it difficult to understand why everyone made such a fuss about how he felt, or about what worried him. Dean Thomas' acerb remarks felt far more familiar and less hurtful in comparison. They didn't force him to make too much sense of himself, to question the extent of the lack of love he had experienced so far. Luna, Hermione, even Weasley… They cared far too much. It felt too heavy. Too guilt-inducing. Draco didn't cry when confronted. He was the master of confrontation. The real tear-jerker was people trying to understand and help him. It was unfamiliar. It was too warm. It made him feel helpless, suffocated. He glanced through the window. The sea was still so blue and glittery.

"Can I go for a swim?" Draco blurted out.

"Uh - sure," said Bill from the kitchen. "Knock yourself out. But you'll need someone to go with you. As far as I'm concerned, you're still a prisoner of war."

Draco instantly made eye contact with Hermione, the same thought going through both their minds. He didn't want to speak too much for a while. He wasn't used to it, and needed time to process his feelings. He wanted to enjoy the coldness of the sea on his wounds, and the freshness of Hermione's laughter, the warmth of her skin. Even if they couldn't touch, the mere idea of having her so close to him in the water was enough to light his heart up. But the trio had other plans.

"Ron, Hermione and I have urgent business to attend to," said Potter.

"I'll be taking care of Ollivander and Griphook with Luna," said Fleur.

"I'm not going with him," said Thomas.

"Erm, alright," said Potter. "Dobby. Will you be able to turn against Draco should he attempt to escape?"

Draco rolled his eyes but didn't comment. He was a prisoner of war. And they were being lenient, all things considered. But being so distrusted felt difficult. And to lose the possibility of swimming in the sea with Hermione…

"Dobby will s-stop his former master should Harry Potter ask Dobby to do so!" said Dobby triumphantly. "D-Dobby might want to punish himself afterwards, but… Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter and his friends," Dobby beamed.

"Alright. Perfect. Just keep an eye on Draco. It should be fine. Just don't let him escape if he tries to escape, and don't let him get access to a wand. If he tries to harm you, come get us straight away."

"Master Draco would never -"

"I would never harm him," said Draco. "He's like family to me." Draco realised that his words could be misinterpreted, considering his ties to Bellatrix. "Well. Closer than family."

On those words, Draco got up and went to place his plate and cutlery in the sink, where an enchanted brush took over.

"Come on Dobby," he said, too brusquely for his own comfort. He tries softening his voice. "Let's go."

Draco wasn't expecting the sea to be this cold. But after all, it was still April, and still England. But he stripped and jumped in anyway, excited for the salt, the feeling of floating, the fresh air. As he entered, his lungs tightened, and he found it hard to breathe as his skin covered itself in goosebumps. Dobby entered the sea casually, his body surrounded by the glow of a warmth-inducing spell.

"Would master - mister Draco like me to cast a warming spell on him?"

Draco briefly considered the idea, but shook his head. He wanted the water to stay cold, his body to stay alert.

"No Dobby, I'm fine."

"Then Dobby shall not cast the spell upon himself."

On these words, Dobby's warm glow disappeared, and he shivered in the water, swimming next to Draco.

"Dobby, don't be silly. Warm yourself up."

"Dobby could never be warm when mas - mister Draco is cold."

"I enjoy the cold. I can't give you orders anymore but… please. Just warm yourself up. It's as much as an order as I can make it."

Dobby bobbed up and down in the sea, his large eyes considering Draco. The glow came back around him.

"Mister Draco has changed," he said.

Draco didn't say anything, and did a few laps in the sea. His chest felt as tight as when he had entered, but he enjoyed how the cold bit him, numbed his extremities, his wounds and the back of his neck. Like most children, he had taken swimming lessons as a child. One of the rare activities wizards and Muggles had in common. He found himself thinking of Hermione by association, and his heart lifted again. Dobby swam next to him, like a faithful little dog.

"Master Draco's heart is all warm these days," said Dobby. "But Dobby didn't cast a warming spell, Dobby swears!"

"I know, Dobby."

They swam a bit more. Draco could stand with his head above the water, but it felt nicer to swim around. He looked back at Shell Cottage. There was no trace of civilisation anywhere around it. They were truly isolated. If under attack, the cottage wouldn't stand a chance. It dawned on him, as he observed it from afar, that despite their attitude, the inhabitants of Shell Cottage did trust him. Draco knew how his own family had welcomed war enemies into their homes. All of them were in Shell Cottage now, with scars on their skin, minds and even lungs. They had been locked up for weeks, Ollivander for over a year. It was no wonder he and Griphook had been too weak to come to the table.

"Dobby?"

"Yes mister Draco?"

"What do you mean, I have changed?"

"Ah, well, mister Draco… Dobby perhaps used the wrong words. It's not that mister Draco is a new person now. It's more like he is more like he used to be as a young boy."

"Which is?"

"Well… I recall mister Draco being a sensitive boy, who was easily vexed, easily happy, and easily emotional about small things. Mister Draco, as a boy, would always look for warmth. He had a warm heart, but a c-cold family. And he was so eager to make friends. He asked his parents to punish him instead of Dobby, which was sweet but made Dobby punish himself even more. Then mister went through a phase, for about a year; were he talked all the time about escaping the Malfoy family. Ah, how often Dobby had to punish himself during that phase… So much finger-ironing and ear-hammering for poor Dobby. But perhaps Dobby misses that phase still. Because when mister Draco came out of that phase, around ten years old, his heart grew colder. He started being c-cruel to poor Dobby and to his little friends. We lost touch two years later, when young Harry Potter gave Dobby a sock. But Dobby remembers hearing about mister Draco's c-cruelty and coldness increasing over time. But now, well… Mister Draco seems more similar to his younger self. More and more, as days go by."

Draco stayed silent. He had gone to the end of the cruelty he was capable of administering the night he killed Dumbledore. He had gone to the bottom of it, like reaching the dead-end of a long, dark tunnel. Perhaps he had been trying to find his way back since.

"So you do see a change?" asked Draco.

Dobby nodded.

"Mister Draco's heart is all warm again since we left the Manor of his family. Can he feel it?"

Draco placed his hand on his heart. Under the coldness of his skin in the numbing water, his heart was beating regularly. Inside of it unfurled a long lock of brown hair, strawberry and coconut oil-scented. He felt his heart rate increase, ad he remembered how Hermione had pressed against him the previous night.

"Dobby?" he asked, his breath even more strenuous. "Do you think that Hermione will ever forgive me for not intervening when she was held prisoner by my family?"

Dobby looked taken aback.

"But mister Draco did intervene. We all saw it."

"I intervened only when you were all escaping. It was more of an escape than an intervention if you ask me."

Dobby looked even more confused.

"Mister Draco surely knows that mistress Bellatrix' knife was going towards Dobby?"

Draco kept to himself the fact that he thought the knife had been going towards Hermione, in that moment.

"Without young mister Draco, Dobby would not be enjoying the sea and the companionship of Harry Potter and his dear friends. Miss Hermione knows this just as much as Dobby does. Miss Hermione's heart has always been warm. But recently, it has grown even warmer."

Draco dived into the water face-first to conceal his satisfaction, the sound of Monitus drowned in the song of the crashing waves.