Chapter 5
You may not get to live a long life, but I hope that I can at least give you a full one.
November 2006
Soon after, she had departed the island, telling him that he appeared stable enough with the potion that she wouldn’t need to check on him for another month again. That if he had any urgent worries, he should owl her, but she wondered for a long time after, with what owl he would do it. If he were to do it, how would he write? How was his hand?
She found, increasingly, her thoughts preoccupied by Malfoy and his strange curse of a disease. That was, of course, down to her extensive research on the subject: her dedication of so much of her time spent outside of the hospital looking into his decline. Her attempts at brewing the perfect potion to counter his symptoms and slow down the progression of his disease.
But of course, Hermione being Hermione, she couldn’t help her mind wandering. She thought back to that first day. He wasn’t surprised to see her there. He had to have known and approved her care of him. It just struck her as odd. Why? Why had he not yet treated her with the usual disdain, the learned hatred, that she had grown so used to during school? He had been cold at times, certainly, but never necessarily unkind. She was curious as to where the shadow of the boy he once was, was now cast by the man he had become. What had happened to Draco Malfoy? And was it foolish, naïve of her even, to wonder if he had changed?
Her mind went briefly then to his mother. How odd her portrait had been, almost as if Narcissa had been expecting her. Wanting her to come and treat with her son. That certainly hadn’t aligned with the Malfoy values that she knew. Always Pure echoed around somewhere in the recesses of Hermione’s mind. Strange indeed.
She definitely had to say that as the year was wearing on, she was enjoying those walks less and less. Fiachra had even asked that day if she was sure she didn’t want to take the horse. She had almost said yes.
Autumn was a peaceful time, of course. Something about autumn had always made her reminiscent of her time in school - up in the cold hills of Scotland, nearly the whole year had felt autumnal. But the cold, despite her warming charms, was beginning to feel biting. Each of her steps now was marked by the passage of time, by the crunch underfoot of the muted palette of dead leaves. There was something subtle clinging to the landscape, those fading colours memories of days gone by. The cold breeze reminded her of the inevitable passage of time.
At some point along the path, something scampered underfoot, something that Hermione had to halt and dodge around for fear of trampling. Stopped, and inspecting it now closely, the darkened dead leaf continued to be pulled along in its dance by the wind. She had thought, in her haste to avoid it, that it was something living. It struck her painfully later, that it once had been.
Malfoy had stagnated that visit in terms of his body’s reactions to the first set of potions. It had worked for what it was worth, and she was now prepared with something closer to perfect - tailored specifically for the man before her. She had decided before arriving that this visit would have to be at least 3 days, so she could properly measure and record how he would respond to her new concoction.
She had left him early on her first day there, a simple check up and the new potion stash for him to begin effective immediately. In terms of his mental well-being, she had also made the suggestion, as she had on previous visits, that he should leave the house more often. She had even joked that she would buy him a drink at the pub later if he made it into the town.
Her time had then been dedicated to research and attempts to theorise why he stagnated with the previous potion. The ingredients had been largely similar to what she had then used to create the tailored potion for him. Of course, the ingredients had been fresher, and the brewing process more specific to him in general the second go around. But still, it struck her as odd that his body had not reacted as well as it had previously after only a month. It had led her honestly to one conclusion, one that she was trying to avoid and to dance around and explain away and look into other avenues first. The theory being that his disease was far more aggressive than he was letting on.
She slammed her tome closed now, eyes bleary and back cracking from being hunched over the desk in her rented room above the inn. Glancing at her watch, she knew that if she swept down the stairs now, she would just have time to catch some of Fiachra’s lovely dinner. Hermione even thought she would treat herself to one of the drinks that she still had behind the bar.
A gasp genuinely, then, almost made its way past her lips when she had reached the foot of the stairs and had turned to see Malfoy standing, leaning over the bar, nursing a drink. He was entirely difficult to miss, with his lovely blonde hair against the backdrop of the dark brown murkiness of the pub. The regal way he held himself seemed in direct contrast to the homely decor.
He had seemed to have noticed her straight away also. His eyes were like beacons, two silver moons, calling out to her in the dark. Intense, and immediately locked onto hers.
A gentle pause passed between them then. This was… different. This was a meeting in an uncontrolled environment. There was no precursor to this soon to be interaction, no how-to guide on how they should act with one another now that they were not filling the roles of healer and patient, childhood adversaries, or soldiers. It made her nervous - nervous but excited. It was hard to place.
He tipped his glass to her - firewhiskey - it seemed to break the mirage. She approached him then.
“Malfoy. Nice to see you getting out of the house.” She managed then to catch Fiachra’s eye, ordering herself a drink also.
“Never could have imagined you drinking.” Malfoy glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a wry smirk playing on his lips as he sipped the liquid gold.
“Poor imagination, I’d say.” She quipped back. Her drink had arrived, and with it, a chance for something new. A peace treaty. Arm outstretched, she waited with bated breath to see if he would take the bait. “Cheers, Malfoy.”
He met her with a clink of his own glass. “Sláinte, Granger.”
“You know, as your healer, I should really recommend that you do not have another drink.” Was it very foolish of her to be four wines deep with her patient? Probably. The conversation had actually opened up wonderfully, however. She supposed that after this, there would and could be no more room for any awkwardness, or coldness, between the pair. Sometimes all that was needed was a good drink with someone.
The two of them, with no outside pressures, and no script to follow here in this small, lively pub in the middle of Ireland, actually got on surprisingly well. Malfoy was intelligent, well read, and they had shared a lot of similar interests. It briefly, for a moment before she shook it off, made her sad to think that in another life, they could have been friends. If circumstances had been different, how would they have known each other?
“Yes, but as your current drinking partner, I know you would like me to continue.” He replied easily to her, and she could tell that the warmth of the alcohol had also stripped him bare. His words were soft, lilting, and flowing freely.
“Ah, and you know what I want so well, is it?” The alcohol did not allow room for regrets, but she felt that even that might have been a little bold.
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, “Perhaps.” He was lit up like pure mischief.
A change in tone was needed. Hermione could feel that she was beginning to blush and to her horror, didn’t think she could stop the conversation if it were to continue to regress into debauchery.
“Don’t you ever get bored living out here? Somewhere so remote?”
“No.” He was quick to reply, too quick, as his mind caught up with his mouth seconds later. “Well, yes. But I don’t mind a little bit of boredom.”
Hermione realised then that she and Malfoy had not just experienced the war differently, but healed from it differently too. Every step of the way, she knew that what she was doing was dangerous, but inherently right. She would have been happy to die doing the right thing.
During her healing journey, she was surrounded by loved ones, found family and friends. They all shared a mutual grief together, and one look from anyone could be read by another and understood. I see you, and I know. In a sense, that was healing in and of itself. There were bad days, of course. Awful days. But there would always be someone there for her, ready to pick up the pieces.
Malfoy, however, had been utterly alone.