jess_lovecat04 (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} jess_lovecat04) wrote,@ 2006-03-24 12:46:00 |
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(Repost) FIC: Taming the Lion, D/Hr, 1/1
Hermione looked up suddenly from the book in her lap. She gazed through the partially open parlor door, curious.
No noise had disturbed her; it was dead silent throughout the house.
She sat back in the cushy chair and shut her book.
Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone? There is no one… No one but my aloof husband… Why is he my husband? Why did he pick me? He used to hate me… We had that bitch of an argument our seventh year and next thing I knew, we were snogging on the floor… He took me to his room and we made love all night…
As we did again on our wedding night… …And we haven’t since… Good Merlin, that was three years ago… Does he hate me still? How did I get to this point without ever realizing what was happening? I haven’t spoken to anyone but him and his associates in years! …A spell…
It must have been! There’s no other way to explain it! Three years of my life are gone and I just slept through them! I feel like I’ve just opened my eyes! Damn that wizard! Everything I could have done… Everything I could have been… It’s all gone…
“Draco!” Hermione wandered through Malfoy Mansion yelling for her ‘husband’ at the top of her lungs.
“Draco! Where are you?”
It appeared he was not at home. What had he used on her? The Imperius Curse? A potion? Hermione was furious. When she couldn’t find her husband, she ran up to her room (which was separate from Draco’s) and began slinging clothes into a trunk.
* * *
“I had to do it,” Draco said, slumping into a chair.
Blaise critically eyed his friend, “You worked hard to get her the way you wanted her… I remember… It took a year just for you to work up the nerve to attempt it!”
Draco looked up with hollow eyes at the dark-haired wizard, “It doesn’t matter… I was wrong… She isn’t the same woman I fell in love with… And I don’t love her like this…”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I have no idea…” Draco muttered, running a hand over his face. She was free of the enchantment by now… Probably burning down the mansion – good riddance, Draco thought.
“What do you suppose she’ll do?”
“If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll just maim me a bit… Well, I best head home and face the fireworks… Good night, Blaise.”
“Night, Draco. Just duck when you Apparate,” he joked as Draco Disapparated.
* * *
As soon as Draco felt floor beneath his feet, he spun in a circle, looking for his, most likely, raging wife.
But, the mansion was still standing and it appeared just as he had left it.
Quietly, Draco began walking from room to room in a cautious search for Hermione. He wouldn’t blame her for casting the Avada on him at first sight; he’d stolen her life from her… In his attempt to make the proud witch his own, he’d destroyed everything he’d loved about her…
Upon reaching her room, Draco realized she was gone. Robes were strewn everywhere; their wedding picture lay under cracked glass on the floor.
It hadn’t occurred to Draco that she would leave without facing him. For some misplaced reason, he had assumed they would have a fight and make up. Consumed by guilt, Draco felt empty with unfinished business and unspoken words. That Hermione had disappeared without a single word made him understand just how furious she was.
Draco wandered down to the library that Hermione had loved so much and poured himself a drink. She was gone from his life, probably forever. But then, she’d been gone for the past three years…
Arrogant, ignorant bastard that he was, Draco had used a Confundus Charm on Hermione; he hadn’t realized exactly what it would do to the lovely girl he’d fallen in love with. After three years of being married to a witch that constantly relied on him to remind her when to eat, sleep and speak, Draco’d had enough. His head-strong, intelligent fellow-student was gone.
At first, Draco didn’t see exactly how changed Hermione was; he was caught-up in the politics his father had left behind. Draco’s focus was on restoring good-faith in his name; marrying Hermione had gone a ways in helping. When he returned home in the evenings, his wife was constantly at his side to see to his needs. It had satisfied him in a twisted way to have the willful Muggle-born witch at his feet.
But he’d awoken that day feeling hollow; he met his wife in the dining room and seen that she was as blank as new parchment. There were no witty arguments and no stimulating conversation; it hit him like a blow. Hermione Malfoy wasn’t Hermione Granger.
Draco sat, hating himself, in the library and drank himself to sleep.
* * *
Hermione didn’t know where to go. Draco had successfully separated her from the loyal friends she’d had in Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. The night of graduation, he’d cast his spell and they’d been married the following week. She suspected her friends had attempted to contact her and been rebuffed or ignored. How confused and hurt they must have been!
And now, Hermione had no idea where anyone was or how to contact them…
She took the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron and found a tiny room in Diagon Alley to rent. Draco had been generous monetarily and Hermione had saved her money as if unconsciously preparing for this day. She had enough to start anew with her life, though she had no idea what to do with herself.
It took Hermione two days to decide not to owl Harry or Ron; she had to settle matters with Draco on her own. And she sincerely hoped her old friends would understand.
What should she do? Seek a divorce, first. Draco must have had reasons for what he had done to her and separating him from whatever benefits he received from their marriage should hurt him, at least, to some extent. Hermione knew she could turn him over to the authorities and he’d earn a stay in Azkaban; but that wasn’t the punishment she would wish on Draco. It didn’t fit, somehow.
* * *
“Where is she?”
“My client does not need to be present, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco dropped into the chair opposite the paunchy wizard and nodded to his lawyer. The ache in his chest throbbed and he felt even more miserable. He’d had a ridiculous hope that in agreeing to this meeting, he’d at least get to feast on the sight of Hermione… Maybe even convince her to talk things out…
Hermione was too smart for that and her anger, too deep. Draco should have known better; how could anyone forgive someone for stealing three years of their life?
“Ms. Granger wants nothing. All you must do is sign, Mr. Malfoy,” said the round wizard, pushing some paperwork to Draco’s lawyer.
The slick-looking wizard Draco had hired flipped through the parchment, “It appears to be in order… Mr. Malfoy?”
“Malfoys don’t get divorced,” Draco muttered. Suddenly furious, Draco stood and pointed towards the door. “I’ll never agree to a divorce! Get out of here!”
‘Ms. Granger’ was ringing in Draco’s ears, causing his temper to escalate.
Stunned, Hermione’s attorney looked at Draco wide-eyed for a moment before snatching back his paperwork and making a hasty retreat.
Draco turned to his lawyer, “Know anyone good at finding people that don’t want to be found?”
* * *
“Just a moment,” Hermione called to whom ever was knocking on her door. The knocking sounded louder and she looked suspiciously at the door.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
The only answer she received was more knocking.
Drawing her wand, Hermione touched the knob. ‘Don’t be him, don’t be him, don’t be him…’ she silently wished.
Draco, it was. As soon as Hermione spied that tell-tale blonde hair of his, she tried to slam the door shut in his face, but he threw his shoulder against it and wedged his foot in the way.
“Let me in, Hermione,” he growled, pushing against the wood barricade.
“Get out of my sight,” Hermione hissed, using all of her weight to keep him from getting the door open enough to get through. Seeing him here made her rage return full-force. She wanted to cause him physical harm for what he’d done to her.
“You’re angry – good! Yell at me, Hermione! Scream at me! Do something – but don’t hide!” Draco said. He gave a final shove on the door that sent Hermione backwards into her room.
Hermione was so angry, she could taste it; she stood in the middle of her tiny room with her fists clenching and unclenching. (She’d lost her wand somewhere around the door.) She was so angry, she couldn’t speak. All the vehement speeches she had prepared in case she ever saw the vile man again were gone from her memory.
Draco was angry, too; about what, she had no idea. But it didn’t matter. She was the one that had been wronged. Let him speak first, she thought; then, perhaps, her ability to speak would return.
Hermione waited, eyes fixed warily on the wizard as he took a deep breath and smoothed his robes.
“I- I made a mistake,” Draco began.
Hermione instantly bristled with fresh anger but he held up a staying hand.
“What I did was wrong – I know that now. I didn’t know then. If I could change the past, I would –“
“Get out,” said Hermione, controlling her voice to remain steady.
“Will you listen to me!?” Draco demanded.
“You are the most evil, most vile, most foul thing in the world. Get out of my sight,” said Hermione.
Draco took a step towards her; his irritation was returning. Immediately, Hermione took a step back and pointed at the door.
Those silver eyes bore into Hermione and she shivered; Draco blinked and his fury was gone. She watched him deflate before her.
“I just want you to listen –“
“What you want is asking too much,” Hermione said, cutting him off.
“Damn you, Hermione! Just – I’m trying to apologize!”
Disgusted, Hermione shook her head, “If you think apologizing will give me my life back, you’re dead wrong, Draco.”
“Can we talk calmly about this? Like civilized wizards?”
“Civilized?” Hermione snorted. “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary!”
“You stubborn witch! Just sit down and shut it! LISTEN TO ME, DAMN IT!” Draco ordered, pink coloring his cheeks in annoyance.
“Fine. Speak your piece and get out,” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and began impatiently tapping her foot. If it would get the loathed bastard away from her quicker, she’d let him talk.
“I don’t want a divorce,” Draco began.
Hermione lifted a brow.
“I won’t agree to a divorce. I want you home. I want you in my life forever, Hermione…”
Simple words, simple meaning; Hermione found herself at a complete loss. She stumbled backwards to the bed and sat before her knees could give.
“You don’t cast spells on someone you care about… Why did you do it?” she asked.
“Would you have given me a chance to do things properly..? No. Could I have done them properly? Probably not…”
“And now we’ll never know…” Hermione said bitterly, mind in a tumult as she tried to wrap it around the idea of doing something so evil to someone she cared about.
“I want you back, Hermione – that’s why I stopped the spell…” Draco said.
“How can I ever trust you, Draco?” Hermione asked.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said, helplessly holding out his hands.
Hermione examined the tired-looking man before her; she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Draco defeated or lost. Unsettled but unwilling to give him anything, she finally looked away.
“You’ve spoken your piece – now leave.”
“Hermione..?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I need some space. Leave peaceably, Draco.”
* * *
A week went by after Draco’s visit. Every day, Hermione returned from walking the streets of Diagon Alley to find some thoughtful, little gift awaiting her.
Saturday afternoon, Hermione found an owl at her window bearing an envelope; it was the first letter she had received from him.
Hermione-
I don’t know what to say. I miss you. I want you to come home. What can I do to bring you home?
I love you,
Draco
The three years Hermione had spent under Draco’s befuddling charm were a blur to her; yet she didn’t remember ever once hearing those words from him. They didn’t mean much to her, written…
The six days that had gone by brought her no closer to a decision about what to do with herself… She considered moving away but she didn’t want to… She liked being where she knew people, even if they addressed her as Mrs. Malfoy. Besides, one couldn’t live with a person without caring about them just a little…
Hermione admitted that she did care about Draco; she was touched, however unwillingly, by his persistence. She didn’t reply to his note and the coming days brought nothing more from him. Perhaps he was giving up on her…
The long walks Hermione took were filled with thought; she would dwell on how to make Draco pay for what he had done until her head ached.
During one of her strolls, she spotted Draco’s face on the front of a newspaper and had to purchase it to find out what the article was about.
“Where is Draco Malfoy?” read the headline.
A shiver of icy fear went through Hermione’s veins; she hadn’t heard from him in a few days and apparently, neither had anyone else… The article mentioned that Hermione had left him and that she’d attempted to seek a divorce. The reporter went on to wonder how anyone could want to divorce such a benevolent wizard as Draco Malfoy. There were speculations about Draco’s reactions and where he’d disappeared to.
Hermione felt a pain in her chest as she read the article. She had never realized the lengths Draco had gone to clear his hated name and bring honor to it. Perhaps she should go check on him, see that he was healthy and fine…
“The stubborn arse,” Hermione muttered, scanning the article and hurrying back to her rented rooms.
Surely nothing has happened to him… Surely he is too proud to bring himself to harm… Merlin… He wouldn’t, would he..?
Abandoning the idea of just owling him, Hermione simply pulled out her wand and Disapparated from the streets, Apparating to Malfoy Manor.
Once she was standing before the massive home, Hermione felt foolish. Of course he was fine. He was simply sulking… Hiding from the press… Ashamed that his wife had left him… That was all… But as long as she was there, she might as well check on him just to be sure…
Hermione lifted the brass knocker and knocked several times. She waited and knocked again without response. She stepped back to look at the windows for movement but there wasn’t any.
Justifying her actions with concern, Hermione tapped her wand on the door handle. The tall, thick door swung open. It had been her home, after all…
Silently, Hermione shut the door behind her and looked around. There were no ominous signs of neglect but no signs of life, either… She walked quietly down the hall and began peeking into the rooms. The dining room, the kitchen beyond it… The parlor she used to spend hours reading in… The library overflowing with the books Draco kept in constant supply for her…
The memories came a little at a time… She would wait for Draco’s return everyday, reading or walking the grounds… When he returned, she would be happy and listen to him vent about his daily struggle to convince people he wasn’t his father… They were pleasant memories she realized… She had been happy after a fashion… Mindless of her own desires, thoughts and requirements, but happy… A bit neglected but Draco had been the crux of her existence and they had shared quiet evenings together before the fireplace or she would read while he sat at his desk scribbling letters or researching something…
He’d depended on her to be there for him… Draco would spill his concerns and frustrations on her… But then he’d look disappointed when she had no reply but comforting looks… She remembered him asking for advice and getting irritated when she complacently replied with empty words…
Hermione found herself hesitating to climb the stairs. There were guestrooms, her bedroom and Draco’s bedroom up there. Hand on the railing, she had decided she wasn’t going to bother checking them when a sound broke the still of the house.
A wretched coughing fit came from the upstairs corridor followed by a miserable groan.
So, Draco had gone and got himself sick. That was it. That was why no one had seen him in days. Hermione almost laughed but another harsh bout of coughing persuaded her up the steps.
She stood hesitantly at the top of the stairs, still unsure. What would the man assume if she walked into his room? Probably the truth; that she’d come to check on him. Well, she had… She might as well look-in…
“Draco?” she asked uncertainly, pushing open the door to his room.
“Who’s there?” he demanded in a raspy voice.
“It’s me, Draco…” Hermione said, moving towards the bed.
Hermione froze in surprise when she caught sight of his flushed face.
“Draco, where are all the servants?” she reprimanded; he obviously couldn’t take care of himself. He was wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Tissues littered the floor and bed.
“I wanted to be alone,” he said sulkily, eyeing her with suspicion.
Hermione made a face at him and glanced around the room. There was a cauldron set up on the lowboy, bottles of ingredients uselessly surrounding it. With a final irritated glance at Draco, Hermione went to investigate what he’d been trying to brew.
She Vanished the unidentifiable concoction in the cauldron and took stock of the bottles. Ah, at least he was smart enough to prepare the right ingredients… She had everything she needed for a Pepper-Up Potion.
Hermione pulled out her wand and went to work on the simple remedy. She ignored Draco’s half-hearted groaning.
In about twenty minutes, Hermione had a vial of hot liquid ready for Draco. She brought it to his bedside and told him to sit up.
“How do I know it isn’t poisoned?” he asked sourly, glancing at the vial in mistrust.
Disgusted, Hermione snorted, “If I wanted to kill you, Draco, I’d have done it by now. Just sit up and drink.”
Hermione made sure he drank the whole thing before she began cleaning up his room. She didn’t bother trying not to chuckle at his red-face and steaming ears. He lay silent in his bed with his arms crossed grumpily over his chest.
“You need a bath, Draco. You stink… How long have you been in bed?”
He glared at her and shrugged.
“Have you eaten anything?” Hermione asked, smirking at his rotten expression.
He pointedly glanced at a package of crackers at the foot of the bed.
“Right. Well, get in the bath and I’ll get you something better,” Hermione said.
He frowned at her and tried to say something but fell into a wracking coughing fit. Hermione’s heart melted. She put her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Come on, I’ll help you.”
Fevered and miserable as he obviously was, Draco met her eyes and she could see nothing but appreciation and affection there. She looked away and helped him wiggle to the edge of the bed, still wrapped in his blanket. Draco leaned on her as she walked him slowly to the bathroom.
Hermione set the hot water to running and ordered Draco to shed the blanket. She felt her cheeks burn seeing that he wore nothing but the quilt. They had been married for three years, but only intimate two times…
The first time, they had been arguing at the tops of their lungs, involved in a heated discussion. Hermione had moved dangerously close to him, poking her finger in his chest while she made her point. She clearly remembered that he’d suddenly grinned and pulled her into a kiss. He’d swept her off her feet after the silencing kiss and carried her into his room… They hadn’t argued again…
Their wedding night was a blur, like the following three years…
Hermione shoved the hazy memories aside and ignored Draco’s bent, naked body to help him get into the tub. Satisfied that he was settled, Hermione left him and went down to the kitchen.
The wisps of memory trailed through Hermione’s brain; she wasn’t ignorant of the fact that she was playing the loving wife.
Torn and confused, Hermione began mixing up a batch of chicken soup. She had always preferred to cook in Muggle fashion… Simmering the chicken stock, she slowly stirred the water, lost in thought. She chopped up some scallions and added them to the pot.
It could be a pleasant life… It could be simple… It could be loving… If she came back, it would be on her terms… No spells, no persuasion, no lies… If…
“What are you making?”
Hermione jumped at the intrusion of Draco’s damaged voice. She glanced at him while she ladled soup into a bowl. He looked better already. At least he’d put on a robe instead of the blanket.
“Chicken broth. Sit down. It’ll feel good on your throat…” she said softly, placing the bowl and a spoon on the small table in the corner.
Obediently, Draco sat and began sipping at the spoon. He stopped, his gaze fixed on Hermione, “Hermione..?”
“Yes, Draco?”
“Thank you,” he said.
Hermione was touched despite her anger at the man. Perhaps it was the simple domesticity of taking care of someone who was sick, but she just didn’t feel as angry as she had… Without replying, Hermione set to cleaning up her mess.
There was a sharp clatter as Draco dropped his spoon into the ceramic bowl; Hermione spun to find him leaning over the table with his head in his hands.
“You should leave if you’re not planning to stay permanently… It’s like torture having you here when I know you’re leaving any second…” he said in his low, abused voice.
“Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione calmly said. “You were never purposefully unkind to me…”
Hermione found herself the subject of Draco’s curious gaze. He stood so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor. Hermione frowned, what was he doing? Draco moved towards her and she was effectively fixed between him and the counter.
“Stay, Hermione,” he said, lifting a hand and running his thumb down her jaw. He leaned closer to her and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve missed you…”
“Missed your mindless wife?” she asked with a lift of her brow.
“No. I’ve missed you.”
Draco closed the small space between them and captured her mouth with his. He tasted like the chicken soup she’d made… He tasted like home…
Hermione looked up suddenly from the book in her lap. She gazed through the partially open parlor door, curious.
No noise had disturbed her; it was dead silent throughout the house.
She sat back in the cushy chair and shut her book.
Why is it so quiet? Where is everyone? There is no one… No one but my aloof husband… Why is he my husband? Why did he pick me? He used to hate me… We had that bitch of an argument our seventh year and next thing I knew, we were snogging on the floor… He took me to his room and we made love all night…
As we did again on our wedding night… …And we haven’t since… Good Merlin, that was three years ago… Does he hate me still? How did I get to this point without ever realizing what was happening? I haven’t spoken to anyone but him and his associates in years! …A spell…
It must have been! There’s no other way to explain it! Three years of my life are gone and I just slept through them! I feel like I’ve just opened my eyes! Damn that wizard! Everything I could have done… Everything I could have been… It’s all gone…
“Draco!” Hermione wandered through Malfoy Mansion yelling for her ‘husband’ at the top of her lungs.
“Draco! Where are you?”
It appeared he was not at home. What had he used on her? The Imperius Curse? A potion? Hermione was furious. When she couldn’t find her husband, she ran up to her room (which was separate from Draco’s) and began slinging clothes into a trunk.
* * *
“I had to do it,” Draco said, slumping into a chair.
Blaise critically eyed his friend, “You worked hard to get her the way you wanted her… I remember… It took a year just for you to work up the nerve to attempt it!”
Draco looked up with hollow eyes at the dark-haired wizard, “It doesn’t matter… I was wrong… She isn’t the same woman I fell in love with… And I don’t love her like this…”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I have no idea…” Draco muttered, running a hand over his face. She was free of the enchantment by now… Probably burning down the mansion – good riddance, Draco thought.
“What do you suppose she’ll do?”
“If I’m lucky, maybe she’ll just maim me a bit… Well, I best head home and face the fireworks… Good night, Blaise.”
“Night, Draco. Just duck when you Apparate,” he joked as Draco Disapparated.
* * *
As soon as Draco felt floor beneath his feet, he spun in a circle, looking for his, most likely, raging wife.
But, the mansion was still standing and it appeared just as he had left it.
Quietly, Draco began walking from room to room in a cautious search for Hermione. He wouldn’t blame her for casting the Avada on him at first sight; he’d stolen her life from her… In his attempt to make the proud witch his own, he’d destroyed everything he’d loved about her…
Upon reaching her room, Draco realized she was gone. Robes were strewn everywhere; their wedding picture lay under cracked glass on the floor.
It hadn’t occurred to Draco that she would leave without facing him. For some misplaced reason, he had assumed they would have a fight and make up. Consumed by guilt, Draco felt empty with unfinished business and unspoken words. That Hermione had disappeared without a single word made him understand just how furious she was.
Draco wandered down to the library that Hermione had loved so much and poured himself a drink. She was gone from his life, probably forever. But then, she’d been gone for the past three years…
Arrogant, ignorant bastard that he was, Draco had used a Confundus Charm on Hermione; he hadn’t realized exactly what it would do to the lovely girl he’d fallen in love with. After three years of being married to a witch that constantly relied on him to remind her when to eat, sleep and speak, Draco’d had enough. His head-strong, intelligent fellow-student was gone.
At first, Draco didn’t see exactly how changed Hermione was; he was caught-up in the politics his father had left behind. Draco’s focus was on restoring good-faith in his name; marrying Hermione had gone a ways in helping. When he returned home in the evenings, his wife was constantly at his side to see to his needs. It had satisfied him in a twisted way to have the willful Muggle-born witch at his feet.
But he’d awoken that day feeling hollow; he met his wife in the dining room and seen that she was as blank as new parchment. There were no witty arguments and no stimulating conversation; it hit him like a blow. Hermione Malfoy wasn’t Hermione Granger.
Draco sat, hating himself, in the library and drank himself to sleep.
* * *
Hermione didn’t know where to go. Draco had successfully separated her from the loyal friends she’d had in Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. The night of graduation, he’d cast his spell and they’d been married the following week. She suspected her friends had attempted to contact her and been rebuffed or ignored. How confused and hurt they must have been!
And now, Hermione had no idea where anyone was or how to contact them…
She took the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron and found a tiny room in Diagon Alley to rent. Draco had been generous monetarily and Hermione had saved her money as if unconsciously preparing for this day. She had enough to start anew with her life, though she had no idea what to do with herself.
It took Hermione two days to decide not to owl Harry or Ron; she had to settle matters with Draco on her own. And she sincerely hoped her old friends would understand.
What should she do? Seek a divorce, first. Draco must have had reasons for what he had done to her and separating him from whatever benefits he received from their marriage should hurt him, at least, to some extent. Hermione knew she could turn him over to the authorities and he’d earn a stay in Azkaban; but that wasn’t the punishment she would wish on Draco. It didn’t fit, somehow.
* * *
“Where is she?”
“My client does not need to be present, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco dropped into the chair opposite the paunchy wizard and nodded to his lawyer. The ache in his chest throbbed and he felt even more miserable. He’d had a ridiculous hope that in agreeing to this meeting, he’d at least get to feast on the sight of Hermione… Maybe even convince her to talk things out…
Hermione was too smart for that and her anger, too deep. Draco should have known better; how could anyone forgive someone for stealing three years of their life?
“Ms. Granger wants nothing. All you must do is sign, Mr. Malfoy,” said the round wizard, pushing some paperwork to Draco’s lawyer.
The slick-looking wizard Draco had hired flipped through the parchment, “It appears to be in order… Mr. Malfoy?”
“Malfoys don’t get divorced,” Draco muttered. Suddenly furious, Draco stood and pointed towards the door. “I’ll never agree to a divorce! Get out of here!”
‘Ms. Granger’ was ringing in Draco’s ears, causing his temper to escalate.
Stunned, Hermione’s attorney looked at Draco wide-eyed for a moment before snatching back his paperwork and making a hasty retreat.
Draco turned to his lawyer, “Know anyone good at finding people that don’t want to be found?”
* * *
“Just a moment,” Hermione called to whom ever was knocking on her door. The knocking sounded louder and she looked suspiciously at the door.
“Who is it?” she demanded.
The only answer she received was more knocking.
Drawing her wand, Hermione touched the knob. ‘Don’t be him, don’t be him, don’t be him…’ she silently wished.
Draco, it was. As soon as Hermione spied that tell-tale blonde hair of his, she tried to slam the door shut in his face, but he threw his shoulder against it and wedged his foot in the way.
“Let me in, Hermione,” he growled, pushing against the wood barricade.
“Get out of my sight,” Hermione hissed, using all of her weight to keep him from getting the door open enough to get through. Seeing him here made her rage return full-force. She wanted to cause him physical harm for what he’d done to her.
“You’re angry – good! Yell at me, Hermione! Scream at me! Do something – but don’t hide!” Draco said. He gave a final shove on the door that sent Hermione backwards into her room.
Hermione was so angry, she could taste it; she stood in the middle of her tiny room with her fists clenching and unclenching. (She’d lost her wand somewhere around the door.) She was so angry, she couldn’t speak. All the vehement speeches she had prepared in case she ever saw the vile man again were gone from her memory.
Draco was angry, too; about what, she had no idea. But it didn’t matter. She was the one that had been wronged. Let him speak first, she thought; then, perhaps, her ability to speak would return.
Hermione waited, eyes fixed warily on the wizard as he took a deep breath and smoothed his robes.
“I- I made a mistake,” Draco began.
Hermione instantly bristled with fresh anger but he held up a staying hand.
“What I did was wrong – I know that now. I didn’t know then. If I could change the past, I would –“
“Get out,” said Hermione, controlling her voice to remain steady.
“Will you listen to me!?” Draco demanded.
“You are the most evil, most vile, most foul thing in the world. Get out of my sight,” said Hermione.
Draco took a step towards her; his irritation was returning. Immediately, Hermione took a step back and pointed at the door.
Those silver eyes bore into Hermione and she shivered; Draco blinked and his fury was gone. She watched him deflate before her.
“I just want you to listen –“
“What you want is asking too much,” Hermione said, cutting him off.
“Damn you, Hermione! Just – I’m trying to apologize!”
Disgusted, Hermione shook her head, “If you think apologizing will give me my life back, you’re dead wrong, Draco.”
“Can we talk calmly about this? Like civilized wizards?”
“Civilized?” Hermione snorted. “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary!”
“You stubborn witch! Just sit down and shut it! LISTEN TO ME, DAMN IT!” Draco ordered, pink coloring his cheeks in annoyance.
“Fine. Speak your piece and get out,” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and began impatiently tapping her foot. If it would get the loathed bastard away from her quicker, she’d let him talk.
“I don’t want a divorce,” Draco began.
Hermione lifted a brow.
“I won’t agree to a divorce. I want you home. I want you in my life forever, Hermione…”
Simple words, simple meaning; Hermione found herself at a complete loss. She stumbled backwards to the bed and sat before her knees could give.
“You don’t cast spells on someone you care about… Why did you do it?” she asked.
“Would you have given me a chance to do things properly..? No. Could I have done them properly? Probably not…”
“And now we’ll never know…” Hermione said bitterly, mind in a tumult as she tried to wrap it around the idea of doing something so evil to someone she cared about.
“I want you back, Hermione – that’s why I stopped the spell…” Draco said.
“How can I ever trust you, Draco?” Hermione asked.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said, helplessly holding out his hands.
Hermione examined the tired-looking man before her; she wasn’t accustomed to seeing Draco defeated or lost. Unsettled but unwilling to give him anything, she finally looked away.
“You’ve spoken your piece – now leave.”
“Hermione..?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I need some space. Leave peaceably, Draco.”
* * *
A week went by after Draco’s visit. Every day, Hermione returned from walking the streets of Diagon Alley to find some thoughtful, little gift awaiting her.
Saturday afternoon, Hermione found an owl at her window bearing an envelope; it was the first letter she had received from him.
Hermione-
I don’t know what to say. I miss you. I want you to come home. What can I do to bring you home?
I love you,
Draco
The three years Hermione had spent under Draco’s befuddling charm were a blur to her; yet she didn’t remember ever once hearing those words from him. They didn’t mean much to her, written…
The six days that had gone by brought her no closer to a decision about what to do with herself… She considered moving away but she didn’t want to… She liked being where she knew people, even if they addressed her as Mrs. Malfoy. Besides, one couldn’t live with a person without caring about them just a little…
Hermione admitted that she did care about Draco; she was touched, however unwillingly, by his persistence. She didn’t reply to his note and the coming days brought nothing more from him. Perhaps he was giving up on her…
The long walks Hermione took were filled with thought; she would dwell on how to make Draco pay for what he had done until her head ached.
During one of her strolls, she spotted Draco’s face on the front of a newspaper and had to purchase it to find out what the article was about.
“Where is Draco Malfoy?” read the headline.
A shiver of icy fear went through Hermione’s veins; she hadn’t heard from him in a few days and apparently, neither had anyone else… The article mentioned that Hermione had left him and that she’d attempted to seek a divorce. The reporter went on to wonder how anyone could want to divorce such a benevolent wizard as Draco Malfoy. There were speculations about Draco’s reactions and where he’d disappeared to.
Hermione felt a pain in her chest as she read the article. She had never realized the lengths Draco had gone to clear his hated name and bring honor to it. Perhaps she should go check on him, see that he was healthy and fine…
“The stubborn arse,” Hermione muttered, scanning the article and hurrying back to her rented rooms.
Surely nothing has happened to him… Surely he is too proud to bring himself to harm… Merlin… He wouldn’t, would he..?
Abandoning the idea of just owling him, Hermione simply pulled out her wand and Disapparated from the streets, Apparating to Malfoy Manor.
Once she was standing before the massive home, Hermione felt foolish. Of course he was fine. He was simply sulking… Hiding from the press… Ashamed that his wife had left him… That was all… But as long as she was there, she might as well check on him just to be sure…
Hermione lifted the brass knocker and knocked several times. She waited and knocked again without response. She stepped back to look at the windows for movement but there wasn’t any.
Justifying her actions with concern, Hermione tapped her wand on the door handle. The tall, thick door swung open. It had been her home, after all…
Silently, Hermione shut the door behind her and looked around. There were no ominous signs of neglect but no signs of life, either… She walked quietly down the hall and began peeking into the rooms. The dining room, the kitchen beyond it… The parlor she used to spend hours reading in… The library overflowing with the books Draco kept in constant supply for her…
The memories came a little at a time… She would wait for Draco’s return everyday, reading or walking the grounds… When he returned, she would be happy and listen to him vent about his daily struggle to convince people he wasn’t his father… They were pleasant memories she realized… She had been happy after a fashion… Mindless of her own desires, thoughts and requirements, but happy… A bit neglected but Draco had been the crux of her existence and they had shared quiet evenings together before the fireplace or she would read while he sat at his desk scribbling letters or researching something…
He’d depended on her to be there for him… Draco would spill his concerns and frustrations on her… But then he’d look disappointed when she had no reply but comforting looks… She remembered him asking for advice and getting irritated when she complacently replied with empty words…
Hermione found herself hesitating to climb the stairs. There were guestrooms, her bedroom and Draco’s bedroom up there. Hand on the railing, she had decided she wasn’t going to bother checking them when a sound broke the still of the house.
A wretched coughing fit came from the upstairs corridor followed by a miserable groan.
So, Draco had gone and got himself sick. That was it. That was why no one had seen him in days. Hermione almost laughed but another harsh bout of coughing persuaded her up the steps.
She stood hesitantly at the top of the stairs, still unsure. What would the man assume if she walked into his room? Probably the truth; that she’d come to check on him. Well, she had… She might as well look-in…
“Draco?” she asked uncertainly, pushing open the door to his room.
“Who’s there?” he demanded in a raspy voice.
“It’s me, Draco…” Hermione said, moving towards the bed.
Hermione froze in surprise when she caught sight of his flushed face.
“Draco, where are all the servants?” she reprimanded; he obviously couldn’t take care of himself. He was wrapped in a blanket, shivering. Tissues littered the floor and bed.
“I wanted to be alone,” he said sulkily, eyeing her with suspicion.
Hermione made a face at him and glanced around the room. There was a cauldron set up on the lowboy, bottles of ingredients uselessly surrounding it. With a final irritated glance at Draco, Hermione went to investigate what he’d been trying to brew.
She Vanished the unidentifiable concoction in the cauldron and took stock of the bottles. Ah, at least he was smart enough to prepare the right ingredients… She had everything she needed for a Pepper-Up Potion.
Hermione pulled out her wand and went to work on the simple remedy. She ignored Draco’s half-hearted groaning.
In about twenty minutes, Hermione had a vial of hot liquid ready for Draco. She brought it to his bedside and told him to sit up.
“How do I know it isn’t poisoned?” he asked sourly, glancing at the vial in mistrust.
Disgusted, Hermione snorted, “If I wanted to kill you, Draco, I’d have done it by now. Just sit up and drink.”
Hermione made sure he drank the whole thing before she began cleaning up his room. She didn’t bother trying not to chuckle at his red-face and steaming ears. He lay silent in his bed with his arms crossed grumpily over his chest.
“You need a bath, Draco. You stink… How long have you been in bed?”
He glared at her and shrugged.
“Have you eaten anything?” Hermione asked, smirking at his rotten expression.
He pointedly glanced at a package of crackers at the foot of the bed.
“Right. Well, get in the bath and I’ll get you something better,” Hermione said.
He frowned at her and tried to say something but fell into a wracking coughing fit. Hermione’s heart melted. She put her hand gently on his shoulder.
“Come on, I’ll help you.”
Fevered and miserable as he obviously was, Draco met her eyes and she could see nothing but appreciation and affection there. She looked away and helped him wiggle to the edge of the bed, still wrapped in his blanket. Draco leaned on her as she walked him slowly to the bathroom.
Hermione set the hot water to running and ordered Draco to shed the blanket. She felt her cheeks burn seeing that he wore nothing but the quilt. They had been married for three years, but only intimate two times…
The first time, they had been arguing at the tops of their lungs, involved in a heated discussion. Hermione had moved dangerously close to him, poking her finger in his chest while she made her point. She clearly remembered that he’d suddenly grinned and pulled her into a kiss. He’d swept her off her feet after the silencing kiss and carried her into his room… They hadn’t argued again…
Their wedding night was a blur, like the following three years…
Hermione shoved the hazy memories aside and ignored Draco’s bent, naked body to help him get into the tub. Satisfied that he was settled, Hermione left him and went down to the kitchen.
The wisps of memory trailed through Hermione’s brain; she wasn’t ignorant of the fact that she was playing the loving wife.
Torn and confused, Hermione began mixing up a batch of chicken soup. She had always preferred to cook in Muggle fashion… Simmering the chicken stock, she slowly stirred the water, lost in thought. She chopped up some scallions and added them to the pot.
It could be a pleasant life… It could be simple… It could be loving… If she came back, it would be on her terms… No spells, no persuasion, no lies… If…
“What are you making?”
Hermione jumped at the intrusion of Draco’s damaged voice. She glanced at him while she ladled soup into a bowl. He looked better already. At least he’d put on a robe instead of the blanket.
“Chicken broth. Sit down. It’ll feel good on your throat…” she said softly, placing the bowl and a spoon on the small table in the corner.
Obediently, Draco sat and began sipping at the spoon. He stopped, his gaze fixed on Hermione, “Hermione..?”
“Yes, Draco?”
“Thank you,” he said.
Hermione was touched despite her anger at the man. Perhaps it was the simple domesticity of taking care of someone who was sick, but she just didn’t feel as angry as she had… Without replying, Hermione set to cleaning up her mess.
There was a sharp clatter as Draco dropped his spoon into the ceramic bowl; Hermione spun to find him leaning over the table with his head in his hands.
“You should leave if you’re not planning to stay permanently… It’s like torture having you here when I know you’re leaving any second…” he said in his low, abused voice.
“Yes, well, I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione calmly said. “You were never purposefully unkind to me…”
Hermione found herself the subject of Draco’s curious gaze. He stood so quickly that his chair crashed to the floor. Hermione frowned, what was he doing? Draco moved towards her and she was effectively fixed between him and the counter.
“Stay, Hermione,” he said, lifting a hand and running his thumb down her jaw. He leaned closer to her and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve missed you…”
“Missed your mindless wife?” she asked with a lift of her brow.
“No. I’ve missed you.”
Draco closed the small space between them and captured her mouth with his. He tasted like the chicken soup she’d made… He tasted like home…
