Chapter 7
“Way to fucking go Draco,” he muttered as he thrust his fists angrily into his pockets. “Work’ll be a barrel of laughs now.”
What was it about Granger that managed to rile him up so easily? They’d had a relatively pleasant day at work – the first in the weeks they’d been partnered. Perhaps it was this that made him suggest the Leaky to Theo.
If Granger, who had more right than most to curse him, was able to hold a civil conversation with him, then perhaps enough time had passed that he might be able to venture into wizarding society once more.
How wrong he had been.
He had felt the air shift the moment he’d stepped into the pub. The way accusing eyes drifted to his left forearm, before dragging back to his face – and cutting voice spat blame at him from all sides.
“Fucking mistake.” He cursed as he kicked a stone from his path.
He never knew how to cope after facing the wrath of the wizarding public.
Everything he’d done in the war existed behind a glass. Objectively he knew what he had done. He remembered the physical act of holding his wand out toward Dumbledore, he remembered being forced to crucio those who had earned the Dark Lord’s displeasure, he remembered the wise-eyed look of gratitude Luna had given him whenever he brought her food. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember how he had felt when it happened.
His Mind Healer said this distance was his mind’s way of protecting him. Occlumency was an intentional magic – but he had used it almost instinctively. Removing himself from his actions had helped him survive, but now he couldn’t move forwards.
Whenever an insult was thrown his way it took him back to that place where his Occlumency wanted to throw walls up. He wanted to distance himself from the moment. Be an observer. But, he couldn’t go back to the dissociation of Occlumency again, and so he just got angry.
“Malfoy wait!!”
Fucking great. Of course she’d followed him out. Witch never knew when to quit. He’d taken the exit through to Muggle London – so he couldn’t even apparate away from her. He halted. Might as well get this over with.
He heard her heavy breathing as she stopped just behind him, she’d been running to catch up with him. A tentative hand touched his upper arm. When he didn’t shrug it off she applied pressure, and turned him to face her.
“What was that about Malfoy?” Instead of the shrill frustration he had expected, her voice was low in its anger. And didn’t that just raise his hackles.
“What was what, Granger?” He snarled.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She prodded his chest sharply. “Perhaps you biting my head off when I was on your side.” Her eyes were blazing and some distant, almost unheard, voice in his mind remarked that she was quite magnificent when she was angered.
A scoff escaped his throat.
“You might think that Granger, but you’re not.” He turned around and resumed walking.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” She was waking hurriedly alongside him – trying to keep pace with his long strides.
“The Malfoy you remember tormented you Granger; you cannot possibly be on my side.”
Somehow she was in front of him – palms pushing against his chest to force him to stop. The blazing look in her eyes was gone – and in it’s place was something dangerously close to understanding.
“I shouldn’t have said that, it was thoughtless. I’m sorry. I should have known it would bring up unpleasant memories”
As quickly as she’d sparked his anger, now she had doused the flames. He sighed.
“It should be me apologising to you Granger. If I’d been honest from the start then this,” he gestured vaguely at the direction they had come from, “wouldn’t have happened.” Her eyebrows raised questioningly. “Let me buy you a drink and I’ll explain.”
Rather than a pub, they found themselves in a softly lit coffee shop – blessedly open late into the night, She sat opposite him, her hands clutching a steaming mug of hot chocolate, as she looked expectantly at him. He expelled a nervous breath, and she smiled encouragingly at him, before casting a quiet Muffliato. He nodded in thanks.
“As you know, my memories are … unusual.”
She nodded; evidently recalling the argument of their first day.
He closed his eyes before continuing. Gods, he’d only told his Mind Healer, Theo and Pansy about this.
“You probably remember from my trial, but during the war I was made to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. It started with the order to kill Dumbledore. He dangled my mother’s life in front of me. If I did what I was told to, then she would live. I didn’t want to do any of it, and I was constantly terrified. The only way I could get through it was to use occlumency.” It was getting easier now he had started. He opened his eyes and found her watching him intently, taking in every word. “Occlumency is supposed to be used as a protection against an attack on your mind. I was using it to separate myself from the fear. The only way I could do what the Dark Lord wanted was if I didn’t feel anything at all – so used Occlumency almost permanently from sixth year onwards.” She was nodding softly, following his words. “My overuse of Occlumency means that I have no emotional memory of the war. It’s like I watched it all happen from behind a veil. I know I did awful things – but when I remember it, it’s like it was someone else. The memories where I occluded so completely that I have no emotional connection to the events are black. Those are mostly from after Dumbledore died.”
Her hand reached across the table and touched his wrist. He looked up and saw warmth in her dark eyes.
“So,” she spoke gently, as if he were injured, “when people say those things to you…”
“It’s like it pushes me straight back to the place where my occlumency would take over. But, I can’t occlude anymore, it’s too damaging, so I just get angry. It’s easier to just stay away from people. It’s part of why I picked the Department of Mysteries – I don’t really have to talk to anyone.”
“Thank you for telling me. I can see why you got so angry when you saw me with your memories. I can’t even imagine what horrors you had to occlude yourself from.” She was still looking at him with gentle warmth. It was almost painful for him. He felt undeserving.
“Please don’t be kind Granger.”
She looked puzzled at his words.
“I had to occlude because I was on the wrong side. I’ve been on the wrong side my whole goddamn life; you know that better than anyone. I really don’t deserve your kindness.”
“Sometimes, we do unspeakable things for the people we love Malfoy. You aren’t alone in that.”
His brows furrowed at that.
“You haven’t asked why Bulder put me on the Memory assignment.” She continued, a pained expression marring her features,
Draco felt something shift at that, she wanted him to ask and if he did she would tell the truth. He felt off-balance. They were not friends, they never had been, but if he asked the question there would be no turning back – something in their dynamic would be forever changed.
“Why?” His voice was a rough whisper.
“I obliviated my parents.” Her brown eyes glittered with unshed tears and Draco felt the uncomfortable urge to comfort her. He resisted as she opened her mouth to continue. “I knew they would be targeted by … by Death Eaters. The Order’s resources were limited and they couldn’t protect them. I erased myself from their memories and sent them to Australia. So far any attempts to reverse the spell hasn’t worked. Bulder hopes my ‘personal motivation’ will help reach a breakthrough in the curing of permanent magically induced memory loss.” The tears shimmering in her eyes had begun to fall and without thinking Draco reached for her hand, enclosing it in his calloused palm.
A moment passed where she didn’t move and Draco felt his cheeks heat. He shouldn’t have touched her; of all the people she might want comfort from regarding her parents, he – once one of the Death Eaters she’d had to protect them from – would not be one of them. He started to withdraw his hand, feeling disquieted, when her small fingers tightened and held him in place. He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.
“You know,” Draco’s voice was low despite the privacy Hermione’s charm afforded them, “Theo thinks I should befriend you.”
Hermione looked at him with watery eyes; an unspoken question in their depths.
“Oh?”
“Seems to think you would be good for my reputation.” He spoke the last word with a kind of mocking, sarcastic drawl and a roll of his eyes; as if he cared very little for the concept of a reputation.
“And what do you think?” Hermione kept her voice neutral; she wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. His shift in conversation throwing her.
“I think..” He paused, as if trying to summon the wherewithal to continue. “I think I’d prefer to befriend you without any sort of agenda.”