Happy Halloween, eilonwy1
Trick or Treat!
LiveJournal username: natasnape
Title: Bones of Our Fathers
Genre: Drabble, Angst
Summary: “Granger, how can you be so ignorant of your own world? It’s the house-elves all over again!”
Prompt: bones
Rating: K+
Word Count: 775
Author’s Note: Thanks to saschia for beta-reading.
“Granger, no!”
“Whoa!” Hermione reeled back from a bright shine of a strong Shield Charm. “What was that for?”
“You were about to blast their bones, weren’t you?” Draco accused her.
“Well, yes. But it’s not like they couldn’t replace them once we’re done with the interview.”
“Of course, they can’t. Are you daft?”
“Why ever not? It’s just a ghastly holiday decoration.”
“Decoration? It’s the Parkinsons, not Muggles living here!”
Hermione paused in her rile, surprised Malfoy was overreacting so much. She hoped she knew him well enough to judge, and she thought this was way over the board for him. Either he was having a very bad day, or she was missing something.
She stopped him from ringing the bell. Going to interview the Parkinsons when she could be ignorant of something that might turn relevant wasn’t professional. She needed information first.
“What are you talking about, Malfoy? I get that the pile of bones is too gross to be a decoration, but that’s not the point. Why is it here then?”
“It’s Halloween. Don’t you read a calendar?”
“I know that. Hence, the assumption of decorations.” She rolled her eyes.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
“Obviously.”
“Truly? Hallowed Eve? Commemoration of your dead? No bells?” he mocked her with disdain.
But she refused to be baited. She will understand this.
“I do get that. One goes to the cemetery, puts flowers on the graves, reminisces. Why are the bones so important?”
“These are the bones of their fathers.”
“What?! They desecrated the graves to pile skeletons on their front porch? That’s beyond barbaric!”
“You are daft, Granger. Of course, the Purebloods wouldn’t rob their own family tombs to take anything out. It’s the other way around.”
“Are you telling me that the bones of ancestors appear at the family home to force the reminiscence?”
“Remembering the roots. Yes. Finally.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that.”
Hermione stood in front of the pile, appearing smaller and more fragile. Her wand hung limply by her side and her breath puffed in small clouds of mist, irregular and ragged.
“You’re such a hypocrite, Granger. You turn to a Medusa the moment someone fails to know of the interwebs-“
“Internet,” she said meekly.
“See? That’s what I mean. Medusa. But you’re blatantly ignorant of the world you live in.”
“Yes.”
“Yes? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck, Granger, you’re allowed to say you’re sorry for not knowing something. Your whole being screams so already.”
“I’m sorry for wanting to blast the bones of the Parkinsons’ ancestors.”
“Fine! Now, that’s out of your system, get your head out of your arse and march up to that interview.”
“What if I mess up? I don’t know enough.”
“I’ve got your back,” Draco said and Hermione startled, flicking her eyes to meet his. “You can learn.”
“Why didn’t we learn all this at school? I thought they taught us everything we needed to know.”
“I don’t know. Everybody used to know. Community knowledge and all that. And when the times started changing, I guess the Board of Governors were more concerned to ascertain that wizards knew how to get by in the Muggle world.”
“Thus, we have Muggle Studies,” Hermione concluded. “That makes sense. Historically.”
She quieted, but Draco lost his patience with her gloom.
“Did you pity yourself enough? Can we move on with this now?”
“Not yet. I’ve got an idea.”
Draco groaned. “Tell me, if you must.”
“We need Wizard Studies at Hogwarts.”
“Is that your brilliant idea?”
“Yes. And I’d ask the Board at our next meeting to appoint you to teach it.”
“Granger,” he warned.
“No, listen to me. You’re ideal. Don’t you see? You’re the Pureblood prodigy, a scion who survived the general fall of Purebloods to obscurity. But you’ve proven your worth, you’ve lots to say, and people will listen.”
“No.”
“Please, Draco.”
“Must you? I’m used to hearing these words in a different context.”
“Still. Please. An evening class to start with. Elective. I’ll help you.”
“With what? You should be taking it.”
“True. We’ll make it available to everybody then. You’ll teach, I’ll do administration. Please, Draco.”
“Fine. But I’m calling it Etiquette.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. Deal with it.”
Hermione giggled. “Thank you.”
“Again. Words I prefer in a bedroom context.”
Hermione burst in a new fit of giggles, blushing this time.
Draco rolled his eyes and finally rang the bell.
As they waited, he said, “Speaking of the usual context, your begging would sound even better at the Manor late at night.”
Hermione was choking on a cough when a house-elf opened the door.