Everything the Light Touches

Hermione found herself busy for the next couple of days, she’d promised to help Ginny organise ready for the baby. Draco was grateful for that; he needed some space to forget the feeling of her hand in his. He found himself back at the bookcase several times as he floated around the house unsure of what to do. The cat was still avoiding him, but he had tried to coax him out with treats, seems Edgar was far smarter than he’d given him credit for. Luna wasn’t around much; he’d been surprised to hear that she was dating Theodore Nott. Then again, Theo had always been fun to be around, if not easily led. He was nearing the end of the first book when Hermione arrived back home and poked her head around the living room door. He was curled up on the sofa with a tea, Luna had shown him how to use the kettle, and he was slowly making his way through their herbal tea selection.

“Hi! How are you?” She asked breathlessly as she removed her boots with a hard pull. They got the pleasantries out of the way as she put her shoes away and hauled her hair up into a bun on top of her head. Draco had noticed that no matter how hard she tried, there were always stray curls, as if it had a mind of its own. “Oh. You’re actually reading them?” She looked taken aback at the sight of her book in his hand.

“Yeah.. Sorry I thought that you’d said I could..” He looked confused as she waved her hand and sat with him.

“No, yeah, its just that I didn’t expect you to actually do it.” He raised his eyebrows at her, asking why. “Well, none of the others did. Luna and Ginny have but that’s it.”

“They’re bestsellers, why would I deprive myself of that?” He smiled at her when she blushed slightly. “Anyway, I wish I’d known about them sooner, I could have done with these when I was away. What did you fabricate in this one? Because it’s an awful lot of stuff for a first year to deal with..” She winced at him.

“I actually left some stuff out, fearing it would be too much. All of it is true.” She watched him as he shook his head in disbelief and stated that he wanted to know the rest when he was finished.

“I really was a prat wasn’t I? I’m cringing internally at my own scenes.” He chuckled, and so did she. “My father will hear about this” He squeaked as he hid his face with the book in embarrassment. Hermione let out a real laugh at that, for longer than he’d have liked.

“That is exactly what you sounded like.” She wiped the corner of one of her eyes. “That’s so fucking funny in hindsight. You have to say that to Harry one day, he’ll die laughing.”

“Crazy concept, I could kill him with a laugh but two Avada’s couldn’t take him out.” They both laughed again. “I was so worried you’d be super serious, but you’re actually quite fun to be around. Not that I have much to compare you to.”

“Well, I’m not super serious and you haven’t killed me with my own wand yet, both of us have been pleasantly surprised.”

Draco awoke on his seventh day in that house and remembered his legally required therapy session with a disgruntled sigh. For his entire seven years in Azkaban he attended weekly sessions, always with the same man. Mr Moreau was a French man, with barely an accent to show for it, that had once been the French equivalent of an auror. He decided, after ten years in the game, that he found the psychology and understanding of his subjects far more interesting than merely incarcerating them. He believed, and would tell anyone who asked, that most criminals can be reformed when given the proper coaching and understanding. Draco was certain that he knew more than a handful of them that didn’t sit neatly within that category but appreciated the sentiment all the same. Especially once he outgrew his false sense of superiority, with the help of Mr Moreau.

They’d spent many hours together over the years, deconstructing and reconstructing his world views and his sense of self. After many years of Draco insisting that this was simply who he was, he realised that it was not, in fact, who he wanted to be. And thus, Mr Moreau was right, with the proper coaching and support, he had managed to create change.

It began with discussing the differences between his mother and father. His father was easy, a pureblood man from the Malfoy line would always have his nose in the air. Wholeheartedly believing that he was superior to everyone else in the room, until it came to the Dark Lord of course. Lucius had found humility after the constant shaming and berating in public settings, he realised that his entire ego rested on the belief that other people believed him better. Once they no longer did, he crumbled under the weight of it. Draco had found this to be the most difficult thing to overcome with his father. His childhood was, for all intents and purposes, rather lonely. His father had gotten his heir on the first time and saw no reason to supply competition, so he grew up without siblings. Instead, he’d watch his father swan around with his ego barely able to fit through the door and think about the day that he’d get to step into those shoes. His ivory tower fell once his father became meek in the presence of a mere half-blood. Another thing he would later unpack in therapy.

His mother was more difficult to unwrap. Yes, she was a pureblood Black family member who had married into even higher status, but she didn’t wear it like armour as his father had. Sure, she was just as refined and well-mannered as the other women in her station but, she had been the only mother that hadn’t expected her child to be seen and not heard. He was far closer to her than any of his peers were to their parents. He was actually more convinced that she would have come to his rescue than his father, but his fathers name held more conviction. She was a woman after all, and in their small section of the wizarding world, she didn’t hold much weight. She hadn’t been able to make her own choices, likely hadn’t chosen her marriage, and definitely didn’t get to choose anything beyond how to decorate the manor. She never joined the Dark Lord’s crusade against the muggleborns and refused to entertain his fathers’ ramblings about it too. She’d once told Draco that anything she endured was worth it, to have him in the end, but she’d never divulged the details of her suffering. Only that he’d been worth it.

He'd asked Mr Moreau if he had any idea what she could have suffered, and yet still been a wonderful mother to him. Mr Moreau merely responded that generational trauma is not uncommon in high society, and that it is passed down until someone is ready to feel it. Draco realised that his mother had absorbed the pain and suffering of the great and noble house of Black and spared him of the experience. He’d glimpsed it within his Aunt Bellatrix though and wondered how she had fallen through the cracks so badly. Unpacking that during his therapy sessions had been the turning point, when he’d realised that his life could have been a lot worse than she’d allowed it to be.

Talks had then turned to his burning desire to please his father, after all he did already have his mother’s approval. That’s why he took the Dark Mark, why he’d embarked on the suicide mission that was impressing the Dark Lord. The man was a sadist, he’d use fear and threat of violence – and actual violence – to control his loyal servants. Draco wished he’d gone with his mother to Italy that summer and left his father simmering with rage at the abandonment. Instead, he’d received his first order; kill Albus Dumbledore. It was all downhill from there. And now here he was, in Hermione Granger’s house, willing himself to get out of bed.

Hermione had taken Draco by car to his appointment, it took half an hour to arrive at the office Mr Moreau had sequestered for their meeting. During that drive he had decided that cars were rather scary, the way they flew past each other on the big roads. He also learned that Hermione had a terrible singing voice but wouldn’t allow it to stop her from singing along anyway. The music had actually been far better than he was expecting and couldn’t blame her for it in the end.

His meeting passed without incident as they spoke of the situation he’d found himself in, the new books he’d began reading and the great and terrible muggle war he’d learned about. Hermione met him outside in the car, with two of those fancy drinks she’d had the first day they’d met again. She insisted that he’d like it, he clearly had a sweet tooth, and once again, she was right. Insufferable know-it-all indeed.

By this point Draco had already finished the second book, concerning the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. He’d sat down to dinner with Luna and Hermione and apologised for his behaviour that year. He discussed the Polyjuice potion plot, finding it particularly hilarious that she’d managed to brew it in second year, in a bathroom, alone! He also told them something they didn’t know. Dobby had been his elf before Harry had set up his freedom, that the reason that Dobby had been so enthralled by Harry was because of him. He’d grown up telling Dobby that he wanted to befriend him once they started Hogwarts together and had his own arrogance to thank for it not happening. Seeing his behaviour through a different lens was eye opening. So now, with twenty minutes left of their drive, he asked her more questions.

“Did you really figure out that Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” He wasn’t shocked when she explained that context clues were usually simple to assess if you’re looking for them. “I guess the rest of us just didn’t know what context to pay attention to.”

“Or you didn’t care to. Why would you? Lupin was merely a teacher for you, but for us he was the first link Harry truly had to his parents.” She mused that it was unfortunate they all passed away before they could tell their story as she had.

“It’s strange to read about all the things you were experiencing at the same time as me, but I never knew.” He looked over at her and she took a glimpse at him.

“Well, I don’t know what you were doing either.” She offered.

He considered the idea of giving her the manuscript he’d written about his life before the arrest. It had been stowed away in the bottom of his drawers. He discarded the thought, who would want to read that anyway? “I bet you can’t guess my favourite scene so far..” She lifted an eyebrow at him in response. “My jaw still remembers that mean right hook you have.” She barked out a laugh at that.

“I suppose it’s my turn to apologise..” She offered him an apology and he swiftly rejected it.

“I deserved it. Even without your side of the story I knew I’d earned it by that point.” He looked over at her again. “You know, you’re the only person that ever truly stood up to me like that. I thought about it a lot afterwards. Obviously I was angry at first but.. I don’t know, I guess somewhere down the line I began to respect you for it.” She smiled at him before he continued. “It was only when I met my own bully that I realised the guts it must have taken to do that.”

They were quiet after that.

Draco found himself feeling intimately connected to Hermione as he read the books, she hadn’t written them in an overtly emotional way but due to their shared history, they drew those emotions out anyway. He particularly enjoyed the Triwizard Tournament, they’d missed most of it by watching from the stands, the challenges were not exactly viewer friendly. Which he found he was grateful for when he read the return of the Dark Lord in the graveyard. He had a newfound respect for Harry, the things he’d endured in a world that had all but abandoned him as a baby. He’d stepped up time and time again to fight for a world that he’d barely been a part of.  When he thought about this story, his own paled in comparison. He found himself glad that he hadn’t decided to share it with her.

She’d invited him out to the pub down the road a couple more times, he declined every time. He felt connected through the books, but it had been seven years, he wouldn’t know what else to talk to them about. Some of them were married, he’d found out that Ginny and Harry were expecting their first child. He’d barely begun experiencing life before he was confined to that room in Azkaban, they had nothing in common. And they never had.

A week after his first trip to the therapist he visited again, Hermione drove him like last time, conversation was easier, it had been for the last few days. He’d left the most recent book he was devouring at warp speed at the house, fearing his emotional state in such close quarters. But he discussed what he had read so far with Mr Moreau, who had asked him how it felt to know the full story of the Dark Lord’s return. Draco admitted that he’d dreamed about it several time since and found himself wondering how Harry had kept fighting after everything he’d endured, even by this age. He speculated that having friends that he could truly trust and rely on probably helped, not that Draco would understand that. Which led to Mr Moreau discussing Draco’s budding friendship with Harry’s right-hand woman, and whether he felt he could trust or rely upon her. He didn’t know the answer yet. When they arrived home after the appointment, Hermione left to see to something or other, leaving Draco to read all afternoon.

She returned to find him on the sofa, face shining with tears as he read the chapters covering the Department of Mysteries and Harry’s return to Dumbledore’s office. She didn’t react, only stated that she’d put the kettle on. He’d barely looked up at her as he finished the last chapter, she was already sat beside him when he did.

“That.. That’s just fucking horrible to read.” He mumbled as he wiped his face. “I knew it had happened, but I guess I hadn’t realised how awful it must have been for him to lose…” He set his jaw and was quiet for a minute as he regained his composure, she waited patiently as always. “Aside from the Dark Lord himself, Bellatrix was the worst person I’d ever met. I think I hated her more simply because we were related, I couldn’t understand how she had come from the same house as my mother. She was a vile excuse of a witch, one day I’d like to shake the hand of whoever killed her that day.”

“Molly Weasley.” He looked over, confused. “Molly Weasley killed Bellatrix Lestrange, after Bellatrix attacked her daughter.” He turned his full body to face her, inviting in more information. “Molly was a Prewett before she married Arthur, Bellatrix had been one of the Death Eaters that had eradicated her entire family in the first wizarding war. She would never have been allowed to walk away from that confrontation without one of them being dead. Molly is a soft woman, but she would have flattened the entire castle to save her children.” She felt Draco’s extreme sorrow subside through the ring as she spoke. She watched as he placed the book on the table and sat quietly, processing.

“You always seem to know when I’m upset and need someone…” He observed her, she twiddled something on her finger absentmindedly. He could see the blurring of an obvious glamour, he looked at his own ring and it suddenly made sense. “Show me it.” She feigned ignorance so he took her hand in his, he could feel what he could not see. “You’ve been spying on me.” She looked panicked.

“No, Malfoy, it isn’t like that. I have to wear it for your safety. I have to!” She insisted. “Everyone has to on this program.” She watched him remove his ring and warned him against it. He was visibly frustrated and asked how much she felt through it. “Barely anything, extreme emotions and really high heartrates.” He tutted and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not even allowed to have emotions now without it potentially being a crime.” He stood up and made his way to the door, leaving his ring on the coffee table. “I’m fucking sick of feeling like I don’t belong in this world anymore.” He felt overwhelmed and uncomfortable at the idea that she’d felt what he’d felt when he looked at the photo of her on the beach – which he had revisited several times since then.

“Please, Malfoy, lets just talk about this.” She looked so flustered, and slightly scared, which pissed him off even more.

“Oh fuck off Hermione. Just be grateful that you don’t have to feel what I’m feeling right now!” He stormed out of the house and left her staring at the empty doorway. She was glad that she couldn’t feel what he felt on top of her own emotions, she felt lightheaded, and she tried to breathe through the terror of seeing him shouting at her. The panic inside of her rose like the bile in her throat. She knew that this was just a reaction to old trauma, it wasn’t even him that had lost his temper and hurt her. She sat for half an hour, trying to slow her mind and her heart, but she couldn’t slow the tidal wave that overcame her as she turned his ring over in her hand.

She thought she’d moved past this, believed herself to be healed. Instead, she’d just limited her exposure to situations that would allow her to overcome it. She hadn’t fixed her trauma; she’d just not let it be triggered. And now here she sat, crying in the same room she’d cowered in, again. She reminded herself over and over that he wasn’t Ron, and he wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t angry with her personally. He’d only done it once, but once was all it took, she could never have looked at him the same again after that. He was, and always will be, a bastard in her eyes.

She jumped slightly as she heard the door open and swiftly close, he cleared his throat before he leaned in the doorway of the living room, looking at the floor. He had his hand behind his back, and she wondered if he’d found some kind of weapon to wield against her finally. He eventually shifted his eyes to look at her, immediately taken aback by her tears he stepped into the room without hesitation and dropped his loot on the table as he knelt in front of her.

“Hermione I’m so sorry! Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to..” His eyes searched her face, feeling the guilt written all over his own. “I shouldn’t have yelled, and I didn’t mean to upset you.” He took her hands in his as he continued. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me here..”

“Am I doing enough?” She asked, finally raising her eyes to his.

“Why would you ask that?” He was completely taken aback by the question. “Of course you are.” He looked away.

“Then why do you feel unwelcome here?” She moved her hands to his face to make him look at her, the feel of him was both comfortable and unfamiliar.

“Because! You’re the only one that came for me! No one else would have. You and Luna are the only one’s who’ve bothered with me.. Even Edgar doesn’t want me here..” Hermione laughed; she couldn’t help herself.

“Edgar doesn’t want me here half the time, pay him no mind.” She continued to chuckle lightly as he shook his head with a small smile. “They ask after you, you know. Theo and Pansy. Even Harry does. They just don’t want you to feel pressured into seeing them, they’re waiting because they know how hard it is to leave the isolation of that place… When normality isn’t normal anymore..” She let go of his face and sighed as she nodded at the table. “Are they for me?”

He looked over and picked them up, presenting them properly to her. A large bouquet of flowers, incredibly beautiful ones actually. All white lilies with blush pink roses, stuffed with green foliage. “These aren’t for you actually, they’re for Edgar. I’ve been thinking there might be something between us for a while now.” She laughed again; her tears almost entirely dried up. “Here, I’m sorry.”

She took them, and they both stood quietly in the kitchen together as she arranged them in a vase. She placed them on the coffee table and sat back down again. Draco looked at the ring on the table and froze when he realised what it had been this whole time; the Malfoy signet ring. He picked it up and looked over at Hermione.

“Can you let me explain?” He nodded. “The Ministry tried to make rings for everyone that left Azkaban, for their sponsor to monitor them from afar, giving them both space from each other. The one I had with Pansy was one of the first ones to be used, and it was the worst experience for both of us. I couldn’t read her thoughts, but I felt her emotions so acutely that I could easily imagine what she was thinking, which wasn’t great when she was thinking about how much she hated me. Or, Gods, how much she fancied Neville when I introduced them. After two weeks I contacted them and refused to wear it any longer. By the time Theo came out, they’d changed to using family signet rings where possible because the magic contained in them seeks only for your best interest. Which includes your safety. Mr Moreau informed the Ministry that you might not be willing to wear the signet ring, so they disguised it. I removed it when you left, I figured it didn’t matter anymore because the worst part was our link.” She looked up at him, waiting for him to speak. He shook his head and sighed loudly.

“I feel like a child.” Hermione tried to object but he held his hand up to silence her. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old man, and I’m having secrets kept from me about my own probationary period. I’m living in the house of my former school rival and seeing all of the things that she has achieved whilst I still have nothing. No one has been to visit me, and I find myself sulking like a petulant child over it instead of considering their thoughts on the matter. And all of the people I used to know are getting married and having children, they’re living like they’re my age.” He put his outstretched hand to his chest “And I feel like a child.” He looked aggrieved for all he had missed out on.

“Getting married and having children does not an adult make, Malfoy.” She rose from the sofa to stand in front of him, less than a stretched arm away. “I won’t insult you by pretending I know what you’re going through, I don’t. But I’m no closer to getting married or having babies than you are. Hell, I’m not even sure if I want that.” His eyes met hers.

“But you’ve had the option, right? You’ve had the experiences necessary to imagine it. I’ve missed out on these social requirements, and now I’m far behind the curve that I don’t even know where to start..” He sighed and turned away. “I’m sorry I’m just.. I guess I’m just feeling like I’m never going to catch up.” She laid her hand on his arm, and he turned back to her.

“The only way to catch up is to start. Come out with me tomorrow, no pressure to have conversations, just come and feel out the situation. Come and see Theo and Pansy. Please?” She looked up at him through her lashes and he found that he couldn’t say no to her.

“Okay.”