Interhouse Fest 2016: Where Home Is (3 of 5)

[interhouse_mod]

Chapter 3

“Something happened, I'm at the - Hospital, Hermione”

That note seriously shocked Draco when he saw it hanging on her front door as he arrived a few days after their dinner for their usual door step talk. His day had been difficult enough with his father questioning him once more about his nightly whereabouts. Anxious, but hoping for the best, he went to the mentioned hospital-he seriously hoped that she was okay, that she wasn't hurt or worse. He didn't want to lose her now, not after she had given him something he never thought she'd be able to give-she had forgiven him his sins. So, no, he really didn't want to lose her now!

With that thought stuck in his mind, Draco arrived at the hospital-it was a Muggle hospital, and that fact didn't really calm him; no, it made him even more anxious because none of her friends would be delivered here, they would all end up in St. Mungo's for treatment, but Hermione had somewhat returned to the Muggle world, and she might be delivered to such a place... When he entered the building, he was surprised how similar it looked to St. Mungo's-medical staff walking through the hallways checking boards and its reception in the entrance hall-but yet so different-looking all so antiseptic and straight, even smelled like this. At least the reception desk was easily recognisable as such.

“I'm looking for Granger, I was told to come here.”

“You're a friend of the family?” the nurse asked, eyeing him closely.

“Their daughter, yes.” As much as he wanted to yell at her for being such a fuss, he tried to keep his impatience in check-he might have acted differently if he had been in St. Mungo's, but this was a Muggle hospital. So, for Hermione's sake, he better behaved in this moment.

“Name?”

He winced slightly. “Malfoy. ”

The nurse looked at him curiously, then checked her files; Draco knew that his last name was very uncommon in the Muggle world, but at least the nurse wasn't looking at him in disdain as a Healer in St. Mungo's might have done. “Yes, I have a note from their daughter to let a blond young man with that name through should he ask.”

“Is she okay?”
“Yes, she is okay. Don't worry about her. Her mother had an accident, and is currently in surgery. Just through that door there, some of her other friends are still here.”

She was okay. Draco never thought he would ever be glad to hear those words in relation to Hermione. In his relief, he shot the nurse a relieved smile. “Thanks.” She was okay. Those words were stuck in his head when he went for the door the nurse had indicated, and he couldn't repeat them often enough in his relief. Of course, he was hoping-again for Hermione's sake-that her mother was going to make it through as well. Peeking through the door, he immediately recognised the red hair of her Weasley friends, surrounding a group of visitor chairs like bodyguards. And Potter was there as well, the git who thought him to be a liar. To his dismay, he couldn't see Hermione, only an elder man he didn't recognise. He slipped quietly, and stayed next to the door, waiting for Hermione to return, while watching her friends-an unsurprisingly righteous bunch of people, thinking they got the right to judge others just because they were now on the good side.

Hermione returned from the ladies' restroom, looking all worn and anxious; her friends looked at her with concern, and tried to offer some solace, but she just pulled up her legs, placing her chin on her knees. She only let the older man wrap his arm around her shoulders-her father apparently-and nodded in response to something he said to her.

Draco was torn between staying where he was to avoid causing a scene with her friends and just walk up to her and make sure she was okay. But he figured there were better moments for a confrontation, and right now wasn't one of them. So he stayed put where he was, trying to get her attention as discreetly as he could, hoping she would eventually look to the door to check for him-there was no other reason why she would leave him a note other than wanting him to come as well.

A few minutes later, Hermione finally did turn her head towards the door, biting her bottom lip. Her face immediately lit up when she discovered him. Giving the others an excuse, she uncurled her legs and quietly walked over to him, a tired smile on her lips.

“Hey...”

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered in response.

“Your note had me worried, you know? I wanted to know if you were okay. You're not.”

She shook her head. “Mum's still in surgery, they said something about complications.” She hugged herself, mostly to have something to hold on to.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” He opened his arms in a small inviting gesture without realising the full extent; however, the invitation was enough for Hermione to let her guard drop and no longer care about any safely kept distance between them.

“Thanks,” she murmured, and wrapped her arms around his waist to hold tightly onto him.

Draco was rather surprised-or rather overwhelmed-about her move, about her willingness to seek solace in him instead of her friends, whom she had kept at a distance while waiting for news about her mother. When he felt her starting to even sob into his chest, he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her, stroking her shoulders carefully; he figured that she was only now allowing herself to have some sort of breakdown. Gods, what was he supposed to do now? Just hold her? Wait until she finished sobbing? He had never before experienced a girl or a woman let herself go in such a manner in front of him-even his mother usually kept her guard up; he only heard her sob once behind the doors to her rooms in the Manor. Once. And now Hermione was crying into his chest, another first in their list. Maybe he should try to distract her, with a jab at her friends? But above his insecurity how to handle a crying Hermione, Draco still saw the irony-she had preferred to run to him, the pariah of society, over letting the bunch of her probably well-meaning, but utterly blind-sighted friends comfort her. Oh no, he definitely couldn't deny the satisfaction from that! With that thought, he held her a bit tighter, even starting to enjoy the closeness between them. “Better?” he asked when he finally heard her sigh, a sign that she was calming down again. “Though I got the impression that you preferred to cry into an expensive shirt than a cheap Weasley jumper-”

“Malfoy, please!" she let out in an exasperated tone, muffled by the shirt, but couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping. "But yes, a tiny bit better...”

“Another first to tick of our list, then,” he said, trying to keep a gentle teasing tone. “And you're definitely not like any other woman I've met.”

She nodded, and tried to suppress a sob, turning it into a hiccough. “Remember that you asked about how cars work?” she then asked, and sniffed.

“Yes, during our dinner on Saturday. Something about motors and stuff.” With another nod, she turned her head to the side. “My mum had an accident with her car. Some idiot was driving in the wrong lane, and she crashed into him frontally... She had already lost a lot of blood when she was delivered here half an eternity ago. I don't want to lose her, she's my mother.”

“She's going to be okay-”

“You think?” she asked quietly, and sniffed."She's your mother, so she's probably as thick-headed and relentless as you are, not giving up so easily.”

“You think I'm thick-headed?” she replied sceptically, looking up.

“I should have said determined, shouldn't I?” He tried to put up an apologetic smile when he saw her reddened and slightly puffed eyes from the sobbing. “Because you are. You won't stop until you get what you want. And you must have inherited it from someone...”

“Thanks. Though you kind of fail at empathy, you know, calling me thick-headed and everything...”

“I'm a Malfoy, and we don't really do empathy. It's not in our genes-”

“Another first for you, then,” she countered, flashing a smirk.

“Probably, just don't tell anyone that I know what empathy is.”

“It's tempting.”

“My reputation is already ruined anyway. Just go on, destroy the image they all have of me.” Draco continued with his attempt of distracting her, as it was easier for him to just mock the situation a bit than trying to openly comfort her. Oh no, that would definitely be the death of his reputation!

“Nah, don't worry. Though you might hear a few not so nice words from my parents should I ever tell them about you.”

“Oh, definitely like daughter, like mother then.” With a relieved smile to see her relax, he rubbed her back and loosened his grip on her. “You know, I'll stay as long as you want me to, I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow...”

She leaned her head on his chest, laying on her cheek, and sighed deeply. “I just want to know if my mum's going to survive the surgery and if so, what her chances for recovery are. If only the surgery was over already...” He nodded, not quite sure what to say in response to that-he did understand her anxiety to know more, it was just that he never learned to react to something like that, at least in a non-sarcastic way. “I hope you don't mind me saying that, but watching you all, and based on the way you reacted when you finally saw me, I'd say that your friends are here more out of duty, not because you really needed them.”

She shook her head. “I didn't realise you were such a good observer,” she whispered, slowly opening her arms.

Draco immediately missed her arms around him but hid his disappointment behind a soft smile; at least she looked slightly less tense. “Probably sounded harsher than I meant it to be-”

“It's okay, you're kind of right after all.” Hermione brushed through her hair, trying to get a stubborn strand out of her face; her eyes were still a bit red, but she was smiling once more. “Looks like the doctor is back from the surgery.” Draco nodded into the direction of the others, and checked whether the others had noticed anything.

She turned around in expectation, and her smile widened when she saw the doctor. “Please wait here, okay? I just want to hear what the doctor has to say about Mum, and then they will probably leave anyway. It's getting late, and they do have jobs... Just stay away from Harry and Ron, okay? Not in the mood for more drama today.”

“I'll try...” Draco watched her join her father, even take his hand while listening to the doctor; he could see how anxious she was to hear how the surgery went. And then, moments later, he could see her broad smile appear on her face, everything seemed to be okay-at least in the long run anyway. Relieved, she and her father hugged each other tightly, as if nothing had ever stood between them; Draco wished for a moment that he could say the same thing about his relationship to his own parents. He watched all her friends hug her in response to the good news, and noticed that they were all somewhat relieved-he guessed they were glad that they finally could go home, and get some sleep before having to get up for work the next day. He slipped back through the door to hide in a corner when her friends made a move to leave; he only tried to move out of sight because Hermione had asked him to. Though it would have been fun confronting Potter and his gang in a place where neither of them could use a wand. So, instead he watched them walk by, flashing a devious smirk when he saw Potter shortly point in his direction, who at least let the red-headed devil on his arm know about his presence. So much for no drama.

After waiting another couple of minutes to make sure that Potter wasn't suddenly coming back, Draco returned to the visitor area where Hermione was still waiting. She was alone, sitting all curled-up in one of the visitor chairs. “Hey,” he whispered when he sat down next to her. “What did the doctor say? That's the correct word, right?”

She nodded, smiling softly at his attempt to get the expression right. “Several broken bones, ruptured spleen, and more that I don't remember right now. But they said she will fully recover over time.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting out another sigh. “Thanks for coming. Means a lot, you know?”

He nodded, resisting the urge to just place a small comforting kiss on her head. "Just let me know if you need help with something-anything.”

“For the moment, it's enough that you're here, but thanks.”

They sat in silence in that hall until her father came back, after having been able to visit his wife for a moment.

“How is she?” Hermione jerked up when she saw her father come, uncurling her legs to get up.

“She's asleep now, they given her a whole load of pain medication. They're going to keep an eye on her ruptured spleen over the night. But I think it's better if we let her sleep now, and come back tomorrow.”

“Are you okay, Dad? Want me stay at yours for the night?” she asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“Thanks for asking, sweetheart,” her father replied warmly, and hugged her shortly. “But I'm going to be fine. Won't be the first time alone in that house, your mother has been away on business trips before-”

“This isn't a business trip, Dad.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I'll need your help tomorrow, so you better get some sleep. Maybe the young man in your company will make sure of that...”

Hermione blushed rather deeply when her father mentioned him; she was clearly trying to find a suitable way to introduce him.

“Dad, he's a friend. We just talk about stuff... I mean we talk about stuff that I can't talk with someone else about.”

“Good to hear you found someone like that, you still tend to bottle things up too much, my dear. Now go home, and get some sleep.”

Draco nodded politely towards the older man when he eyed him up a bit more closely; he thought he could even see a glint of recognisance in her father's eyes. It made him wonder if he would have reacted differently had Hermione told her father his name because she surely must have complained to them about his bullying. Remembering his not so glorious behaviour back at Hogwarts, he suddenly felt a small bang of guilt. Gods, he really had been an arse, an entitled, elitist arse. It just took a War to make him realise that.

“You take care, too, Dad. And let me know if you want me to come over.” Hermione hugged her father shortly for goodbye. “Don't stay too long, Mum is in good hands here...”

Draco got up as well, and nodded once more politely towards the elder man before then finally following Hermione out.

“Are you really okay?” he asked when they reached the reception area.

She stopped in front of the reception desk, and faced him, another soft smile gracing her lips. Now that she knew about her mother's current state as well as her chance of recovery, she was now slowly relaxing. “For the moment, yes,” she then replied, nodding. “Mum's out of danger, and she's going to be okay. I'm just exhausted-”

“Will you be okay alone for the night?”

She nodded, rubbing her neck. “Yes, I think so.”

Draco accepted her answer, though he was still reluctant to leave her alone after this-it would be useless to try and convince her otherwise. “I'll come by earlier tomorrow to check on you-”

“Harry might come by too,” she informed him, stifling a yawn.

“He saw me already on his way out.” He shrugged.

Frowning, she rubbed her brow, and even let out a groan in response. “You two, seriously-”

“Hey, I'll put up with his animosities, as long as you're okay.”

“Thanks.” She hugged him shortly. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

***

“Where do you think you are going?”

Draco was in the main hall of the Manor, about to leave the building through the main entrance-the wards in place made sure that no one could Apparate out-when his father stopped him; he slumped his shoulders, and even shook his head slowly. “For a walk,” he replied with a frown.

“Don't lie to me, son. First those books, and then your disappearance every single evening. So, where are you going-?”

“What do you want me to say?” Draco retorted, raising his hands in a defensive manner while trying to keep a reasonably straight face. He shook his head once more, briefly baring his teeth in a sneer. This was but the continuation of the fallout they had over the books Hermione had lent him. This was about to go down the same path. “What do you want me to admit?”

Lucius had meanwhile crossed the hall, coming up to Draco who was still standing in the door. “The truth. Are you still visiting that Muggle-born witch?”

Yes, it was definitely going to go down that road. “If you really want to know-yes, I still visit Granger. We talk, nothing more.” Draco took a step back, wanting to keep distance between himself and his father.

“You just talk, of course. Draco, she's a Muggle-born, you seriously think that I could allow such a connection-?”

“I don't see why I would need to ask for your consent in that matter, since you managed to halfway destroy this family... I'm an adult, and if I want to see Granger, then I bloody will.”

“So you admit having a relationship with her?”

Draco squinted his eyes, eyeing his father suspiciously. “What do you mean? And how would you even know?”

“Someone saw you show up at that Muggle hospital. A MUGGLE HOSPITAL, DRACO! Are you out of your mind?”

“I was there for her support, father, as friends do when one of their parents had an accident-”

“Her support,” Lucius sneered.

“Yes, her support,” Draco retorted through gritted teeth; he dug his fingernails into his palms to focus his mind on something else than throttling his father. “You know what? She is better than everyone else... She showed up at my hearing-”

“So did that Potter boy at your mother's-”

“Oh, Potter. He couldn't care less. He just showed up because he was supposed to as a key witness,” Draco retorted, snorting dismissively. As in every other fight they'd had before, he felt his body tensing up, and he started flexing his fingers, as if he was unconsciously preparing himself to draw his wand at his father. “But she... she has the strength to forgive me my sins of that damn war. She didn't have to, after everything she had been put through in this place, after everything we put her through-yet she did. So fuck yes, I show up when she needs support, even if that means I have to put up with her friends, and even if that means that I have to put up with you-”

“Are you sleeping with her?” Lucius cut off his son, pursing his lips as if the insinuation left a bad taste in his mouth.

“No!” Draco growled. "We talk. That is all. I can discuss things with her that you don't even want to understand, father.”

“She's just meddling with your mind, that girl-”

“Oh no, father. She makes me see more clearly, for exam-”

“She is meddling with your mind, my son. And I tell you to find someone else to give you your forgiveness,” Lucius insisted, his voice a cool hiss that demanded authority. “There are enough pure-blood witches of your age that would still take you; there's no need to go back to that Muggle-born-”

“No.” Draco clenched his jaws, close to snapping. “There is no one left. No one. So stop telling me what I'm supposed to think or do. I won't lis-”

“You're a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!”

“I BLOODY KNOW THAT!” Draco finally exploded, closing in on his father once more; his ears were pounding, and he was fingering his wand in his sleeve, close to drawing it. “You have no fucking idea how much I hate being a Malfoy right now! I'm stuck in hell because of you. You.”

“Keep your voice down. You know your mother hates it when you shou-”

“It's all your fault! You used me like a puppet you could just sacrifice to save your own fucking life. Yours.” Draco didn't care how loud he was; this just had to get out now. “You knew that I would do anything to save our family, but it was always about you! You're a selfish old man, and you fucking sacrificed me.” He took a deep breath to keep himself from just pulling his wand out and hex his father to show him the extent of his resentment. “Yes, I thought a lot about forgiveness, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you what you've done.”

“Draco-”

“NO!” Draco interrupted his father, he didn't want to hear what he had to say; nothing his father could say had any meaning any more. “I don't think I'll ever have the strength to forgive that you considered your life more worthy than mine,” he went on, dangerously quiet. “And I will not give up the person who is willing to give me a second chance, who can give me something you both cannot any longer-a sense of self-worth." With that, Draco started turning around, as there was nothing left to say.

“You stay here.”

Draco stopped one last time, and looked back, shooting his father a cold, lethal glare. “Make me,” was all he said before he turned around again to leave the Manor. He just had to get away from this place, and his father. No, Lucius would never understand the things he had been discussing with Granger. Never.

***

Hours later, Hermione found him in a bar not too far from the small Italian restaurant they had visited before-it had actually been Mrs Thompson, her elderly neighbour, who had pointed her in the right direction. “Finally!” she let out in relief when she saw him sit at the bar, a half full bottle of beer in front of him-at least she thought it was beer. “What happened?” she asked, placing herself next to him. He looked a right mess, drinking himself senseless, a murderous hangover waiting to happen.

He slowly turned his head towards her, supported on his arm, his eyes glazed over, while he held on to the bottle with his other hand, as if it was the only thing that offered a hold. “Hey,” he drawled, and tried to smile.

“You're his friend?” the barkeeper asked, sounding concerned, but relieved that someone had shown up to take care of him.

“Yes. How much did he have?” Hermione asked, not lifting her eyes off Draco, who now tried to straighten up.

“More than enough. And his tab is still open.”

She nodded, and tried to keep him from falling off his stool. “I'll take care of it. Did he say something?”

“Just something about a fight.”

Great. A fight. Most probably with his father. Hermione sighed, and started fumbling for her wallet; she would ask him tomorrow for a payback.

“You need a taxi back?” the barkeeper asked when she handed him the money for Draco's tab.

“No, thank you. I'll get him back home on my own, it's just around the corner.” With another sigh, she finally pulled the almost incapacitated Draco off the stool, and was surprised that he could actually stand in his inebriated state, and even more so that he could walk in a rather straight line, though still swaying quite a bit. At least he wasn't about to throw up on her, and the cool air outside might help clear his head a tad. “Why didn't you come straight to me?” she said when they were out.

“Y-You weren't home...”

“I was in the hospital after work, visiting Mum, you know?” Gods, he was surprisingly heavy, leaning on her like he was, but-thank Merlin!-there seemed to be an empty side street only a few metres away that she could use for Apparating to her place. “Hold on to me, as tight as you can...” At least he was still able to follow orders. “Malfoy!” she let out in surprise when she felt his hands on her bottom, even squeezing it gently until she finally managed to pull his hands up to her waist; concentrating on her living room, she Apparated home.

“Urgh. I hate Apparating,” he complained when they arrived, fighting to keep his balance.

“You hate it because you're drunk. And you had a shitload to drink, according to what I had to pay. Just please don't throw up on my furniture...” She guided him to the sofa, and helped him sit down. “I'll be right back, stay here.” And with that, she went straight to her kitchen-she didn't have a stock of Sobering Potion ready at hand, but being a witch had its advantages when it came to knowing what she had to throw together for an impromptu replacement potion that would at least lower the amount of alcohol in his system. He wasn't going to like the taste, but it would sober him up enough to avoid a severe hangover the next day. “Drink this,” she demanded minutes later, holding the glass up in front of his face. “And then I want to know what happened that you drank yourself halfway into oblivion.”

“I-I didn't-”

“You did. Now drink the potion.”

Reluctantly, he took the potion and sniffed. “Urgh.”

“Drink it. It'll help.” She saw him make a face at the smell and then take a deep breath before gulping the potion down.

“That tastes like shit.”

“How's the head?” She took the empty glass and put it on the sofa table; she noticed that his eyes became more focused and clearer again, though they remained a bit distant.

“Better,” he grumbled, rubbing his face. “Thanks.”

She sat down on the sofa table opposite him, pushing the glass a bit further away. “So, what happened?” she asked calmly, taking in his slumped posture as well as his absent-minded playing with his ring finger.

He groaned, and leaned forward, with less grace than usual, but that was probably due to the rest of alcohol in his system despite her impromptu Sobering Potion. Instead of holding her gaze, he stared down at his palms. “Someone told my father that I showed up at the hospital. I guess it was Potter to get back at me-”

“I don't think Harry would do that-”

“I know,” he replied with a sigh. “It's just that I don't see any other possibility...”

“So you had a fight with your father? What did he say?”

He shook his head defiantly, still staring at his hands. “No.”

She sighed, and then gently took one of his hands in hers. “Please.”

He finally looked up, straight in her eyes. “Please... He didn't use the word, but I know he still thinks you're... that you're...”

“A Mudblood?” she suggested and saw him wince at the word.

“Yes. He'd be in St. Mungo's now if he had gone any further.”

She tried to smile at the fact that he would have defended her honour and could feel how he held her hand tightly. “Don't risk it-”

“I would have. I'm not going to let my father insult the one important person in my life, okay? Plus he thinks we have a relationship, you know, like...”

“Let him think what he wants, you and I both know the truth, okay?”

He nodded, and breathed in. “Do we?”

Hermione saw his eyes darken again in a moment of confusion. Yes, what was the truth, really?

“It's just right now, everything is rather confusing. Before we started talking, I didn't know what to believe any longer, living in some personal hell, thanks to my father...” He let out a low growl. “I was barely coping with everything because the whole aftermath is so overwhelming-”

“It is,” she replied quietly, pressing his hand gently.

“And now it's you.”

“Me?”

He nodded again. “Why...” He stopped, as if he was trying to find the right words. “It's just that when my father said that this is wrong, I knew it was right. Why are you the only good thing in my life right now? Why did I feel like I didn't want to lose you when I saw your note? How can this be wrong?”

“It's not,” she whispered, herself overwhelmed with what he was telling her.

“You know what I told him?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly from the resurging anger-the same he had tried to drown earlier. “That it's all his fault. That he just used me to save his own bloody skin. Family comes first, my arse! He made my mother believe it, and he made me believe it-and it had always been about him first. I don't think I could ever... No.” He shook his head angrily, his jaws taut, his gaze fixed on her hand still holding his.

“Was that what it felt like, fighting with him?” She noticed how he held on to her hand, how he let his thumb gently run over its back in the attempt of distracting himself. It was somewhat like the simple contact kept him from losing it completely.

“Used like a pawn,” he answered quietly. “I mean h-how would you feel if someone just offers you on a plate to save his own skin?”

“I wouldn't know,” she whispered softly. She raised her free hand to his face that was so close to hers, as he had leaned even closer. She smiled gently when he closed his eyes at the touch of her fingers on his cheek; she could feel him take a deep breath, his mind focusing on the touch. That he allowed her to see him so vulnerable and upset touched her-she knew that he was raised to consider it a weakness; and even she had problems with opening up like that most of the times. She let her fingers follow the outlines of his face, gently brushing over his eyebrows, his nose, his cheeks, until she reached his lips, brushing them ever so softly. She remembered how wonderful they had felt during their first kiss, and how tenderly, yet passionate he had kissed her. Her eyes now fixed on his mouth, she leaned closer until she was only an inch or two away from him; he still had his eyes closed, but she noticed that he held his breath, waiting for what she would do now. And then... Just as softly as she had been stroking his face, she now placed her lips on his, the touch sending a shiver down her spine, giving her goose bumps.

Draco finally opened his eyes again, which were slowly changing to a darker shade. “I didn't quite know how to react after the first one,” he said, his voice just a whisper.

“Hence the dinner?” Hermione was blown away by the way he looked at her now, with those darkened grey eyes, showing everything-his confusion, his hurt, but also his care for her. Her heart made a jump when she felt his hands frame her face, getting buried in her hair.

“To some part, yes. You just feel right.” With that, he pressed his lips on hers again, putting everything-the whole range of emotions going through him right now-into the kiss.

Swept off her feet by his way of kissing, Hermione responded in kind, slowly getting lost in the fire of it. And she had to agree with him because right in this moment, this felt absolutely right. Sod tomorrow!

Continue to Part 4

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