Chapter 2
You may not get to live a long life, but I hope that I can at least give you a full one.
She awoke early, with the morning light. She lounged for a long few minutes in her bed, languishing in the definitely, positively, coziest room of them all. Fiachra had been kind enough to set her up with a small cauldron at the desk in her room and she had charmed it to go all night. She went to check on it and noted that it wasn’t fully perfect for him, but would have to do until she got back to the mainland and got to brewing something that was tailored.
As she readied herself for the day, she took her time, allowing herself the little bit of relaxation she had not been afforded the day before. She realised nearly as soon as she had left Malfoy’s house last night that she hadn’t asked what time would be good for him. She had no idea if he was an early riser or not and did not want to be privy to finding out by him standing in his pyjamas.
Fiachra was as jolly as he was the day before when he greeted her. “Young Miss Granger, sleep well, I take it?” And she had, she told him as much and he lit up with glee. “Before you set off for the day with the young master, you must have some breakfast to fill yourself.” She took a seat at one of the many tables. When she had come back the night before, the pub had been lively and jovial, with song and dance and lots of drink. The residents certainly had put ‘one behind the bar for her’ except it was not one, it was seven drinks. That would last her for a while, certainly at least whilst she was on the job.
She relished breakfast, enjoying the thrill of being catered to and not having to cook for herself, not to mention the fact that Fiachra cooked very well. When she finally managed to catch his attention, he plopped himself down opposite her, puffing his smoking pipe.
“I meant to ask yesterday but didn’t get the chance. How is Mr Malfoy, generally?” She finished her tea, waiting for his response.
“Oh, young Master Malfoy caused quite the stir when he moved here those years ago.” Hermione's eyebrows shot up at this.
“How so?”
“Well, given how handsome and rich the fella is, he had all the ladies in the town willing to drop their knickers for him, if you’d pardon my French!” He’d desperately amused himself with that one, squawking out laughs until he continued to pull on his pipe. She laughed along uneasily. Awkward. Although, she supposed that he was indeed rich and reluctantly she had been always able to admit that he was handsome. Dropping her knickers was entirely out of the question, however.
“And how often does he journey to town?” She had asked once he was calmed.
“Oh, you know, once a week or so, maybe more for his groceries. Comes down for a drink every now and again. Oh, top shelf is what he drinks. That imported firewhiskey, he has a taste for.” She nodded at him, thanking him for breakfast and for the information, but she must now be on her way.
By the time she had packed herself and was ready to leave, it was nearing 9 o’clock and she swore that if Malfoy was not awake after her arrival at nearly 10 then she would be the unluckiest witch alive.
The journey there that day was uneventful, she found herself less drawn to the fae path than yesterday. The only wonderful thing that managed to happen was that in the morning she had been tricked. She had woken up to wonderful blue sky, the sun splitting through, reflecting off of the greenery and turning it healthy and dewy and lovely. When the rain started it really seemed to have poured out of the heavens, and by the time she riffled in her bag then got stressed and accio’d her raincoat, she was drowned like a wet dog and oh so afraid to see the state of herself or her hair.
And that is how she arrived at Malfoy's doorstep. He took one look at her and actually laughed, and she felt her lips cracking upwards. He had hung her coat up once more and had gone to fetch her a towel once she explained that drying charms just did not work with her hair. He hadn’t even made a joke about it, which she had fully prepared for. And that was how she found herself nearly naked in the bathroom, casting drying charms on her clothes whilst they laid flat, lest they end up more creased, with her hair sopping wet dripping down her back.
Malfoy had then knocked once and turned the handle, which Hermione would later think on and come to the conclusion that it defeated the whole purpose of knocking. However, it did allow her time to whip around with lightning speed and slam the door shut on him.
“Sorry, I’m just.. Ah… drying off. Could you pass it through the door?” Malfoy did not respond as Hermione eased the door open slightly, he did not say anything as they then touched hands and the towel exchange took place, nor did he say anything when the door was gently closed again. After a few moments, she did hear him walk off, however. She was stock still until he did so. Embarrassment wouldn’t colour it, she decided. However, after catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided conversely that, in fact, it would.
She emerged from the bathroom a good fifteen minutes later, finding him not in the hallway. She entered the room they worked in yesterday, and he wasn’t there either. She set herself up regardless, and not five minutes later, he entered the room, the tray for their tea floating behind him. She had wondered briefly yesterday if he had any home help - she had imagined that he had a house elf squirreled away somewhere, probably because she found it hard to imagine him cooking for himself. However, him with his own tray as well as the conversation with Fiachra that morning would have her believe that he was well and truly alone up in the big house on the hill.
He sat and prepared the tea, both cups this time, with hers how she liked it. He cleared his throat and broke the silence, “You seem to have managed the crow’s nest.” She looked up from the cup she had taken from him after thanking him, ready to go on the defensive, but noticed that he had a smile playing on his lips. It didn’t seem like he was being unkind, at least. After clearing his throat again and straightening his posture, he added on, seemingly unsure, “You’ve done a good job. It looks nice.”
If Hermione was ever shocked it had to have been then. However, the shock quickly turned to disbelief. She gasped out a chuckle.
“What?” He questioned when she had only responded with her mirthless laugh.
“Well, I seem to remember my hair being a bit of a nasty fixation of yours during school.” She tried not to say it in a nasty way herself now, tried to say it flippantly, but there was still a little venom to her words, a little burn.
“I’m sorry,” he waited a moment before replying. Then, what seemed like a separate point. “Fixation might be the right word. I actually always liked it.” He shrugged his shoulders then, seeming as though he too was trying to inject an air of nonchalance into a highly charged conversation.
She decided that she could push him then, could corner him, funny way of showing it , or, she could play nice. She went with something in between. “Never would have guessed that, to be honest.” She didn’t allow him a chance to reply, even though he appeared like he wanted to say more, “Let’s get started then, shall we?”
She worked on him again for hours. She tested to see how he responded to the potions, scribbling down her findings and seeing some positive change in reaction to some of them. He finished his book, went for another in that time, and before she knew it, it was half past 1 and her stomach was rumbling.
“Thanks for your patience today. That really allowed me to see what I need to adjust with the potion I’ll brew next and learn some more about your symptoms. How do you feel?”
“Quite well, actually. Those potions seemed to have worked.”
“I’m glad. You’re right about some of them. Hopefully, I can brew something that will be perfect for you for next time.” For some reason, a thick silence lapsed over them at her words, and she was not certain why.
He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to stay for lunch.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to impose.” She shook her head, already beginning to gather her things into her beaded bag.
“By the time you reach town, you will have missed Fiachra’s lunch,” He replied quite levelly to her. It was her choice, either way.
“Oh, I see… well, in that case, I can help you prepare something?” She slowed herself to a halt.
“No, please. Continue to focus on your work.” He left without allowing her the chance to argue differently.
She did spend the time productively, and was nose deep in a huge medical tome when his knocking on the door startled her out of her trance. He didn’t enter after knocking. She cringed when she remembered that morning. Had she scarred him? Had he… seen anything? Merlin, forbid it.
“Uh, please, come in.” As he finally entered, tray floating behind him, she noticed that his hair was now slightly mussed, as if he had run his hands through it whilst cooking.
He dropped the tray off, told her he hoped it was to her liking, and left her to it. She suddenly felt immensely grateful, but terribly lonely at having to eat alone. She had realised then that she spent most meals surrounded by others, by loved ones. Whether that was one of her rushed lunches at St. Mungos, or dinner at the burrow, or breakfast this morning with Fiachra, she was always eating with company. She couldn’t imagine how lonely Malfoy must have been all the way out here, isolated from everything and everyone he ever knew.
By the time she had finished lunch and the last part of her research for that day, it was drawing close to three and the sun was shining once more. She knew not to trust it this time, however, and decided she would walk with her raincoat tied around her waist. When she left the room, she found all of the other doors in the large open hallway closed. She called out lightly for him, to no response. Once, twice, no reply. She then tried knocking on all of the doors downstairs, to no avail. She wondered if he had maybe gone to sleep, but she found it unlikely that he would feel that at ease with her being in his house to sleep.
She looked up at the large split staircase then, and for some reason, felt that she would be overstepping her boundaries by venturing up them. She thought then that she was being silly, with any other patient, she would have simply sought them out, why was Malfoy any different?
Despite this, she climbed the stairs with trepidation, slowly travelling up them, and once at the top, she again called his name, louder this time. She began knocking on the doors upstairs. Upon knocking on the third door, it suddenly seemed to open and the door creaked inwards. She called out his name again, before stepping into the room.
Her mouth was agape. All around her in this massive room - maybe the biggest of the house, were floor to ceiling books, some extremely rare.
However, it must be said that it was a rare day indeed when a library did not immediately transfix Hermione Granger, as that was not what had caught her attention. On the farthest wall, hung in the lovely afternoon light, was a portrait of Narcissa Malfoy.
She had, strangely enough, smiled when the door had opened to reveal Hermione.
She sat with her hands clasped in front of her, looking every bit the Malfoy Matriarch. She looked slightly paler, sallow, than she remembered, and Hermione deduced that this must have been painted only shortly before she died.
“Miss Granger.” Narcissa could have been said to have beamed Hermione’s name, and she was drawn in preternaturally. “I’m so glad you came.”
Hermione shook her head, at a loss for words. Had Malfoy spoken to his mother’s portrait about her? About requesting her? How would Malfoy have known that ‘the best’ was her? He’d had no contact with wizarding Britain for years now.
“I really do not like the thought of Draco being in this big house all by himself. Although, I suppose it’s better than being in the manor.” Hermione was totally at a loss, she didn’t know what she should say, could say, to the ethereal woman before her.
She wouldn’t get a chance.
Malfoy’s voice seemed to boom behind her. “Mother.”
Hermione whipped around, feeling as though she had been caught doing something she was not supposed to. She suddenly was 15 again, caught out with the DA by Malfoy and his Inquisitorial Squad. A silence lapsed, and Hermione realised that Malfoy clearly wanted her to leave this room, to leave this conversation with this mother.
She waited for him outside the room, and he followed moments later, closing the door behind him, placing a locking charm on it.
“I- I wasn’t snooping. I called out for you. I just wanted to let you know that I’m finished up for today.” When he finally glanced at her, his eyes were dark and steely, and at that point, she did not feel repentant. She had done no wrong.
“That wasn’t my fault. Besides, I don’t see why you would have to hide her portrait. All that she said to me was that she cares for you.”
She thought he would clear his throat, but instead, his jaw twitched, and he glanced down at her, clearly angry, which she met with a confused stare.
“I think you should go,” was all that he managed, in a low, gravelly voice. When had he gotten so close? Hermione felt as if he was an imposing force, his energy was that of a dying star. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be sucked in. She thought that they had finally learned somewhat of a symbiosis. Perhaps symbiosis could not be learned.
“Fine. As I said, I was just leaving.” She finally managed to pry herself out of his gravitational pull, and he seemed a lot less imposing, a lot more calm. Had she imagined it all? When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he did not follow.
“You clearly have some things to work out. I will leave your finished potions with Fiachra, as I think you need to leave this house more often. I will be back in two weeks time to see how your condition has progressed. Goodbye, Malfoy.”