PROMISES Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4 : PRIDE AND BRAVERY
She found Ron in his office. Harry and he had managed to meet with the director of the French institute, but all they had learned was Hermione asked for many documents dealing with Melusine's story.
Ron was absorbed in the book "Fairies in classic era", taking some notes or quoting some parts. Reading over his shoulder, Hermione wondered if her friends could figure out the curse before Draco succeed in removing it.
Speaking of Draco, it was time for the young woman to go to the rendezvous they had set up the day before.
This time she sat in his drawing room, waiting for him to arrive. She was impressed by the splendid ancient map of the world drawn on the marble floor. While countries and theirs capitals were indicated in French italic script, wizard lands were written in antique Latin with golden ink.
Draco came in a few minutes later, dressed in an elegant black costume. At first he seemed stupefied to see Hermione, but quickly his bored look was back on his face as Blaise Zabini appeared behind him. Hermione suspected him of wishing their meeting on Knockturn Alley had been a bad dream.
"You see, all those lower class women are bitches. I want to kill Padma, but I miss her so much at the same time."
"You can't blame her, because of you she lived in hell." Draco replied as he headed towards a bar to take a bottle of Ogden Old Firewhisky and two glasses, while Blaise sat down on a large coach.
"The bitch stole my son."
"Demeter is her son, too." He poured them glasses of firewhisky and sat opposite Blaise to avoid Hermione's look. He seized the copy of the Daily Prophet on the coffee table, and started to read it, listening vaguely to Blaise's complainants.
"I've been a dead loss for a husband," confessed the handsome man before drinking his whisky. "In the end, she even refused to let me touch her. She thinks I've got all I need at my job."
"And is it true?"
"...They're all so beautiful, Draco. How tempting! I was like a first year in Honeydukes. But to tell you the truth, I know it's not the reason she's leaving me."
"So, what is it?" Draco asked absentmindedly, his eyes not leaving the newspaper.
"Padma never loved me; she just wanted my money."
Draco looked up lazily, raising one quizzical eyebrow. The intensity in Blaise's eyes was replaced by a bitter smile.
"He's lying. I know Padma Patil. She's not that kind of girl." Hermione chimed in.
Draco, who was seriously annoyed by her presence, stayed silent and went back to reading the Daily Prophet.
"Why are you sulking?" Blaise questioned.
Draco just shrugged and continued to read.
"Merlin, I didn't know I would live long enough to see the day Draco Malfoy lost his tongue."
Draco shrugged again.
"When is he supposed to leave?" Asked Hermione in turn, getting impatient.
Draco took a sip of his firewhisky to calm his irritation.
"I mean, we had an appointment. We were supposed to go find the book and now we're losing precious time..."
"Why don't you leave?" He abruptly hissed.
"What?" Blaise and Hermione exclaimed in unison.
"Nothing, just commentating the news." Draco drawled.
Blaise frowned, and then bruskly burst out laughing. "You're an entire comic scene just by yourself. Did you see Pansy?"
"It's over with Pansy, you know that."
"So why are you in that hellish state? Either you ran into Pansy, or there's another girl."
"Malfoy?" Hermione called out.
"What is her name?" Blaise followed.
"Malfoy!" The young woman insisted.
"Granger..."
"Granger? Are you alright? Isn't she dead?"
Draco lowered the newspaper furiously. "Listen, I understand that the mess your love life is in, is getting to you, but it's not a reason to start fantasizing my own."
Hermione and Blaise sighed at the same time. Draco glared at both of them, completely puzzled. 'They'll make me lose my head,' thought the poor guy.
"Malfoy, I know you don't care much, but you're the only one who can help me..."
"You know you can talk to me if you have a problem, mate..."
Draco understood that he had no choice. If he wanted peace, he had to throw one of them out.
Finally alone with Malfoy, Hermione gave him instructions about how he would find the book.
"Take your broom, I don't think it's safe to apparate this far to a place you've never seen."
"My fireplace is connected to my parent's French mansion in Cannes..." Draco informed the girl.
"That's awesome! That'll bring us closer to the cave. Join me there in ten minutes."
"Granger, wait. Aren't there any other solutions?"
"If you have another plan, I'm all ears."
Draco didn't appreciate the sarcasm in Hermione's voice and reminded her that he was her only hope, and therefore, everything relied on his good will. However, he did as she told. He packed useful things in a bag and took his broom before joining her.
It was the end of the afternoon. The golden field stretched as far as the eye can see. It was a beautiful change of scene for Draco, who was used to cold green plains of Great Britain.
The warm wind of Mediterranean was singing a smooth song as it blew inside the cave, and Draco thought that one day he would live here under this soft and peaceful sun. Hermione appeared to his right, taking him out of his dreams.
The book was where she had left it, laying on the floor in the dust. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who didn't seem to want to make a move. She could feel his hesitation. "Trust me. It's safe," the young woman assured him.
He frowned. She was staring at him with a determined gaze, expectation shining through. She looked like an apparition, her hair staying flat even though the wind was blowing with all its might. Her skin, invariably white, wasn't reflecting any sunlight, nor any shade. He couldn't help remembering the first time he met her on the Hogwarts express.
She had this way of fixing people. Draco already noticed that when they were younger, she stared at people, whoever-friends, enemies, even professors-diving her eyes into her interlocutor's. It was extremely annoying, even troubling. Discomfort got him, blending into his fear.
Hermione moved closer and gently squeezed his arm to encourage him, but he moved away in repulsion. Who did she think she was?
Feeling like his pride was brought into play, he walked ahead and grabbed the book.
"Be careful! It's a precious source of knowledge." Hermione warned him.
Little did he know that Hermione was anxious, too.
He walked back, and mechanically handed her the book.
"I can't take it... remember?" The witch said with a weak smile.
Draco groaned in exasperation and buried the book in his bag.
Once outside the cave, the young man lied on the dried grass, arms and legs numb of flying all the afternoon. Hermione silently sat beside him. Both absorbed in their thoughts, half an hour might have passed before Draco decided to speak.
"How can I be sure that you correctly assessed every risk?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you can't trust me, then trust yourself."
He raised his eyebrows, thinking that he had never heard such a stupid reply.
"Sometimes you have to trust your instincts Malfoy. Sometimes you don't have enough time to ponder all your action, and it doesn't depend on being Gryffindor or Slytherin. It's life, when you don't act, life continues to pass, and you put your life in the hands of someone else, or something as unpredictable as Fate. And I refuse, Malfoy, to not have any control of my life. I refuse it."
And all of a sudden, flashes of memory came back to him, unreeling inside his head like a whirlwind : the moment he got the Dark Mark, when he had been ordered to torture a muggle man, the night he was assigned to kill Dumbledore, his mother doing all she could to protect him, the astronomy tower... He used to think that the fact that no one ever gave him any choice could excuse his past bad behavior.
Indeed, he never made a choice, unless it was the choice to wear the Dark Mark. He let others, his parents, Voldemort, Snape, choose for him, too afraid, or too confident to act himself. But he had never thought about handling his own life; he had never thought about it at all, not even when Dumbledore gave him the alternative to join his side instead of continuing to live under terror. Realizing that was like receiving a burning sword in his chest.
"You're such a selfish, mean, self-centered, egoistical..." Extremely bored, Draco cut her off with a loud yawn and walked toward his dining room.
Back in England, he had informed Hermione that he had no intention of working on the book immediately since he had to organize a poker party for tonight.
She felt awfully frustrated and angry at the same time, and all she could do was insult him. "You have no heart Malfoy!" She yelled after joining him where he had retired himself. He was sitting at a black table.
"Listen, I'm an extremely busy wizard, I have my life, and the only reason why I'm helping you is because I expect to end up glorious in the end. I know muggles don't teach respect to their offspring, but there are some rules you'll have to follow if you want me to help you: do not annoy me."
Hermione clenched her jaw in fury. She had never missed her wand so much. If only she could hex him...
"Frustrating, isn't it? But I assure you, I dislike this situation as much as you do." Draco added, before starting to eat his breakfast.
Hermione watched him, silently fuming inside... wishing she could make him swallow his fork or...
Suddenly, her world started to turn in slow motion while an idea was springing up in her mind. Draco caught a glimpse of the girl and noticed that something was wrong. He raised his head as Hermione started to walk in his direction with a determined look on her face. She stopped a few centimetres away from him, staring at the fork in his hand.
"What?" He asked, trying to hide his discomfort under a scornful look. She didn't respond, but took the fork from his hand instead.
"I can, I can take things from your hands." The young woman beamed in victory.
Draco was frowning. He slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving Hermione. Then to the latter's astonishment, he disapparated. 'Where did he go?' Wondered Hermione. She looked back at the fork, not ready to drop it.
The sound of an apparition brought the witch back to reality. Draco had come back with the book.
Her hand brushed the cover... and every part of her body shuddered...
To Hermione's disappointment, she wasn't able to read the book. It was written in Latin and Catalan, an old dialect from the south of France. Annoyance added to her disappointment when she asked Draco if he could lend her some books and dictionaries. He had refused, unless she helped him cheat during the poker game.
"No, I won't help you cheat."
"Fair's fair, Granger. I help you, you help me back."
"Can't you do things for, for... justice, for fairness? Simply for good?"
"I'm not good." He said with a smug face.
"Oh for Merlin's sake Malfoy, grow up! Stop playing the bad guy, it's outdated."
"I am how I've been made..." He retorted too seriously.
"You love your mother, right?"
"This have nothing to do with my behavior."
"You can love and be loved. You can be good. Why put so much strength into acting bad?"
"Well, I can't get rid of the idea that being good and sensitive means being vulnerable." He heard himself confess.
"Of course, by being good you're more vulnerable."
Draco stared at the witch in astonishment, not expecting her to agree.
"Your failures are exposed, and everyone can use them against you, can tease you because you're different, because you're poor, because you're not feminine enough, because you have no parents. But you don't care because you're loved, and you know that no matter how people hurt you, there's someone-a friend, a lover, your family-who'll be there and suffer with you until your pain is gone. That's one of the benefits of being good because bad people are distrustful and constantly squared up."
Draco shifted in his place, feeling annoyed...or embarrassed? Somewhere deep down in his soul, something was twitching painfully.
He was how he'd been made. It was too late when he realized that the path he had been following was wrong. He had followed in his father's footsteps, and for a long time, it had been sufficient. He remembered how he swore that one day Potter would pay for, for being loved and admired by everyone whereas he wasn't lovable and admirable at all. He used to think that Potter was a mediocre wizard and that his survival was based on luck until the night he saw him with his own eyes, coming back from death and defeated the most dangerous and powerful wizard of the world. He still felt this mix of relief and bitterness when he thought about this famous night. His family had lost their battle and reputation, and had gain freedom and peace instead.
"You're digressing from the subject Granger. I win this poker game, or you can say goodbye to a normal life."
That was how she had found herself in the middle of six of the wealthiest young wizards of Great Britain, who were sitting around a table full of money, tokens, and expensive bottles of alcohol. As weird as it seemed, Hermione was enjoying the party. She was sitting on a tiny seat that Draco had placed next to the game table. Like he did with the book, he had touched the furniture, so that Hermione would settle herself on it.
What surprised the young woman was that cheating was a rule of wizard poker. That appeased her scruples. Indeed except for marked cards, every trick was allowed as long as the player wasn't caught. Blaise was known to use confusion charms. Hermione suspected Cléron Swenenberg, heir of Scotland, to have some base of Legilimency and Divination. Count Nadir McGregor and Theodore Nott won some games by slipping Veritaserum in other players' drinks. And to finish, Alexander Blake's specialty had not been discovered yet, however it was insignificant, as he never won any game. The best technique was Draco's new one. His duet with Hermione was so perfect that it was impossible for the other players to guess how he was wining almost every game.
"Your technique is incomparable Draco." Cléron complained as Draco was reaping another mass of galleons. Saying that Hermione was choked to see the amount of money they were betting in the game was an understatement.
Blaise who was getting annoyed commented that Draco should have represented England in the next Wizard World Poker Tournament. Contemptuous, the latter smiled smugly and started a new bet.
"Who is selected to represent England this year?" Nadir asked.
"Jane Birds, a Gringotts' employee," Draco replied. "She's quite endowed, clever, with an unfailing coldness, but a very ugly face. In fact she's extremely repulsing. I didn't follow the qualifying, but I guess she was selected to scare her adversaries."
Hermione couldn't help smiling as the boys burst out laugh at his comment. The next hours passed in a cheerful atmosphere. Draco was still wining with impunity; Blaise was fuming, while the other four were doing a competition of salacious jokes.
The party had not been as bad as she thought it would be; except, perhaps, the moment Draco continued to drink firewhisky while counting his winnings, after the departure of his guests. Feeling bored, Hermione told him she was going to see how her friends were doing.
"Do I look like I care?"
Hermione sighed and appeared in Ron's flat. Obviously, he would be sleeping, but she preferred to watch him sleep than attending Draco's megalomaniac crisis. She sat at the far end of the room, thinking about everything that had happened. Actually, she surprised herself as she realized she had enjoyed winning the games. A smile crossed her face when she thought about the smug face Draco showed all through the party, refusing to reveal their secret. Now, he must be asleep on the table between galleons, cards, and vomit. Yes, he might be drowning in his vomit, like those muggle celebrities...
She instantly got up and appeared back at Malfoy's home. He was asleep, on his clean table, money and cards packed properly. She came closer and tried to wake him up, but he looked totally knocked out. He seemed so peaceful and inoffensive this way that, if Hermione hadn't known him, she would have reckoned that Draco Malfoy was cute when he was sleeping. Cursing against her inability to leave people in their own messes, Hermione grabbed his arms and started to pull him outside the room. She dragged him across the floor like a heavy bag of pumpkins, trying not to think about the numerous bruises he would have the next morning. 'Merlin, didn't he own some house-elves to take care of him?' The young woman wondered.
Finally she reached a guest bedroom, which wasn't closed. She pushed the door half way open with Draco's head and entered inside with difficulty. After many attempts, she succeeded in laying his body on the large wooden bed. Manoeuvring wasn't easy since she could not let go of Draco's arms while climbing on the bed herself.
The mattress was immensely comfortable; it was like lying on a warm cloud. Exhausted, she settled down on it, dropped Draco's arms, and held his right hand instead. To her surprise, it wasn't as cold and rigid as she expected. His skin was smooth and warm. It reminded her of sunshine during springtime. She put her nose closer to smell it and discovered that Draco smelt like spring, too. She tightened her grip a little, wanting to feel the pulsation of life through his hand. "I'm not dead" She said to herself. Certainly as a reflex, the young man squeezed her hand in return. "I'm not dead." She repeated. It may be Draco Malfoy's hand, but for the first time in five months she actually felt alive. She felt good. And also, for the first time in five months, she fell asleep on a bed.
What a surprise for Draco when he woke up the following morning, totally dressed, lying on a bed with Pothead's groupie and, worse, holding her hand. He primed a howl, but quickly calmed down as a strong headache hit his brain. With a loud groan, he covered his eyes with his hands. That's when he heard movement next to him. He half-moved his hands and saw Hermione Granger's stunned face looking at him. She briskly got up, cheeks red with embarrassment.
"Out," uttered Draco in a hoarse voice.
With that, he slid under the sheets and buried his head in the pillow, wondering how he had gotten there, and why he brought Granger with him. Well, at least he had not been drunk enough to sleep with her.