Jerk Chicken
"Your house smells… spicy." Hermione laughed just a little as she walked over the threshold into Draco's elegant row house. He smirked and said,
"Food just got delivered twenty minutes ago. I've got a spell going to keep it warm."
"Oh. Here. I thought… thought it would be rude to come with nothing, so…" Hermione passed over a cardboard holder containing six brown bottles of beer.
"Red… Stripe," Draco read, and Hermione grinned.
"It's Muggle beer, but it's good. It's Jamaican. I promise that's what you're meant to drink with jerk chicken."
"Well, I believe you." Draco shut the door behind her and said rather awkwardly, "Dining room's through here."
Hermione followed him past the too-clean stairs, the ones with carpet running over the wood that looked like no one had ever walked on it. The wood and tile on the floor gleamed; the walls were free of a single fingerprint. The paintings on the wall were telling - still life of fruit and wine, a deserted-looking manor house on a moor, the bored-looking portrait of a lovely young woman.
"Are you very lonely?" Hermione asked impulsively as they stepped into the dining room. For a moment, Draco ignored her question, setting out white bone china plates opposite one another and carefully arranging the cutlery. Hermione opened her mouth to apologise, but Draco said sharply,
"Doesn't matter if I'm lonely, does it? My family hates me because I'm a traitor to them and everything they've ever stood for. People like Potter and Weasley hate me because… well, they may have a decent reason to, if I'm honest. Why do you suppose it is I requested a position in the bowels of the Ministry, in a tiny little office on my own? Hm?"
He finally looked up, and Hermione blinked, feeling a little ashamed all of a sudden. She set the beer down on the table and aimed her wand at the six-pack.
"Defrigendo." They'd be properly chilled now, she knew. She pulled her own chair out, knowing that Draco Malfoy would know better than to pull it out for her. She stared at the boxes of delivered food and said simply, "I'm famished."
There was silence as they each spooned spiced chicken, rice, plantains, and carrots onto their plates. Hermione used her wand to crack the lid off the bottle of her beer, and Draco did the same. Before they drank, she held up the brown glass bottle and said meaningfully,
"To people unwilling to accept that others are unequivocally evil, and those determined to look past others' faults and past deeds, optimistic about the future."
Draco laughed a little and shook his head.
"What?" Hermione snapped.
"That's… a really terrible toast, Granger," he said with his characteristic smirk. Hermione felt her cheeks go warm, and she tipped up her chin.
"If you can do better, then do it."
Draco thought for a moment, studying the condensation on the bottle in his hand. Finally, he murmured,
"To second chances. To third chances. And, far more importantly, to eight hundred and sixty-seventh chances."
Hermione's eyes were scorching hot all of a sudden, but she found enough voice to say,
"To eight hundred and sixty-seventh chances."
She sipped her beer then, and when she set about eating the hot chicken, the plantains, the rice, and the carrots, she said,
"Mmm. This is good."
"I've discovered that not all Muggle food is rubbish," Draco said simply. "When I was very young, my father told me that all Muggles ate was gruel, because they didn't have the ability to prepare anything else."
Hermione snorted a laugh, and when Draco looked indignant, she steadied her face and informed him,
"My mother bakes macarons better than the finest pastry chefs in France. My father makes a Sunday roast that starts your mouth watering on Wednesday. Muggles eat real food. Can you imagine my shock and… well, my disgust… the first time I tasted pumpkin juice?"
"What's wrong with pumpkin juice?" Draco demanded, and Hermione shrugged.
"There are better juices. I was on holiday once and had a mix of guava, orange, and pineapple juice. Now that was good."
Draco stared at his plate, pushing his chicken with his fork, and he finally admitted, "That sounds… I'll have to try that sometime."
"House-Elves really are spectacular cooks, though," Hermione said, chewing and swallowing a bite of plantain. "I still really have no idea how they do it."
"Why do you want to free them if most of them don't want to be freed?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione's mouth fell open. Draco set down his fork and folded his arms. "When Potter gave my family's elf -"
"Dobby," Hermione interjected, her stomach hurting at the memory of Bellatrix hurtling a dagger straight at Dobby's chest. Draco sighed.
"Dobby. When Potter gave Dobby that sock, he was the happiest little creature who ever lived. But many House-Elves are happy to serve witches and wizards."
Hermione pinched her lips and said tightly, "I admit that the initial goals of S.P.E.W., which were total liberation of all House-Elves, were misguided in that I did not listen to the voices of the Elves themselves. Many, as you say, did not want to be taken from their work. But I still believe strongly that there must be better regulation for their welfare. In my new position at the Ministry, I intend on helping to get new laws passed that strictly govern the treatment of House-Elves by wizarding families and establishments. Your father used to kick Dobby, to whack him with his walking stick."
Draco went red-faced, and he said softly, "When I was six, I told Dobby to jump off the roof of Malfoy Manor. He did it. He broke both legs. I laughed."
Hermione's eyes welled and she pushed her plate away a bit. "Why would you tell me that?"
"I was mimicking my father," Draco considered. "Trying to be even more than he was. It was wrong. I don't blame Dobby for his elation when he got that sock from Potter."
He drank very deeply from his beer then, shutting his eyes for a moment. Hermione cleared her throat, shoved some more chicken and rice into her mouth, and drank from her own bottle of beer. Finally she said,
"If Dobby were here, he'd forgive you, too. I know that to be true, whether Harry or Ron think so."
"And what does Ron Weasley think about the fact that you're here tonight?" Draco sipped from his beer again, finishing it off and reaching for a second one. Hermione didn't answer. She just took the last few bites of her food, feeling quite full indeed. Draco scoffed a little and said, "He doesn't know you're here. If he knew you were here, he'd break things off with you, because Weasley is a great many things, but a thoughtful listener is not one of them."
"I haven't spoken to him. I sent him an owl," Hermione said, unsure of why she was revealing all of this to Draco Malfoy. "I told him that I got the new position, that I'd be delighted to see him and talk with him when he's ready to discuss my plans for Squib and Elfish welfare as well as my hopes for reconciliation in the wizarding community."
Draco looked very serious then, dragging his thumb up and down the Red Stripe label. It made Hermione shiver for some reason, watching his thumb move like that. She flicked her eyes up to his, and he asked softly,
"And do you suppose you'll be hearing back from him any time soon?"
Hermione sipped her beer and said, "I think it might not be the worst thing for me to just… take a bit of a break."
"From Potter and Weasley." Draco's eyebrows flew up. "I certainly haven't meant to wedge between the Golden Trio."
"N-No, it's… there's been tension for some time," Hermione said quickly. "Harry's open to the idea, to the dream of a unified community to protect ourselves against the next Dark Wizard. Ron and Ginny… they don't want to hear it. They think that anyone who's ever dabbled - ever - in the Dark Arts should be punished and ostracised forever."
"Well, in the spirit of reconciliation," Draco said, "I wrote some letters of my own today. Katie Bell. She won't accept the apology, but I sent one anyway. My Aunt Andromeda. I've never met her, so I don't know what she'd think. I told her I was sorry we'd never met, that she'd been cast out for marrying who she did. I told her I was sorry that her daughter died, that Remus Lupin died, that her grandson will grow up without his parents because of a stupid battle over… nothing. I sent a few others, too."
"You sent those letters?" Hermione felt profoundly emotional all of a sudden, thinking of Tonks and Lupin lying dead together, of Katie Bell's near death, of… of…
"Molly Weasley," she said suddenly, nodding. "Arthur and Molly Weasley. They won't forgive you, either, but I think you should write to them."
Draco looked almost offended. He shook his head and insisted, "That entire family still hates me far more than I ever hated them."
"No. Molly and Arthur… they may not forgive you. They'll never want to see your face again, but they deserve a letter. Tell them you know nothing can ever bring their son back. Tell them you know your family treated theirs like rubbish for ages. And tell them you want to be a better wizard than the Malfoys before you. Just… please. Please write to them. Will you?"
Draco was quiet for an exceptionally long time. He Scoured the remnants of food off his plate, and Hermione did the same. Draco Banished the dishes to his kitchen, and then he finally said,
"Fine. I'll write to them, even though I know it won't do any good."
"Thank you." Hermione smiled at him then, genuinely smiled, and she informed him, "You continue to surprise me, Draco Malfoy, and I find I rather like it."
He curled up half his mouth, looking entirely too handsome, and he suggested,
"Let's change the subject, shall we? When do you start your new position?"
"Tomorrow morning," Hermione said happily. She glanced down and admitted, "I'll have to go to Madam Malkin's and get some new work robes."
"Go to Twillfit and Tatting's," Draco said immediately. "They do a much better job of…"
He trailed off then, realising he was sounding haughty again, and he sipped deeply from his beer once more.
"You'll be working with Squibs and Elves, then."
"Well, I don't really know exactly what I'm meant to do. Advocate for their welfare, I think," Hermione said. Draco look sceptical, and she snapped, "What?"
"As far as I know, that position is more concerned with registration and control, not welfare advocacy."
"Well, I'll just have to change that," Hermione said sharply. When Draco just nodded, she demanded, "And what is it that you do, since you're so fond of knowing everyone else's job descriptions?"
Draco hesitated, dragging his thumb over the Red Stripe label again in the same way that had set Hermione shivering before.
"I'm not… not really meant to discuss my work," Draco said, which left Hermione more curious than ever.
"I could just Confound you into telling me," she teased, and Draco laughed a little and shook his head.
"Yeah. You could certainly try. It's the Department of Mysteries for a reason, Hermione."
Hermione. He mostly still called her 'Granger.' It was odd to hear her name come from between his lips. She drummed her fingers on his stout, dark dining table and insisted,
"You said you work with the Death Chamber. I saw Sirius Black fall through, pushed by Bellatrix Lestrange. I saw… please, tell me what sort of work happens in that room."
Draco blinked very slowly, and his voice was steady and soft as he leaned forward a little bit.
"I listen to the whispers."
Hermione's veins went cold. She shook her head a little. "You listen… to the whispers."
"Only some people can hear them. I hear them very clearly. I listen to the whispers of the dead, trying desperately to reach their loved ones, and I record those whispers. And that is what I do for a living." Draco sat up straight and drank the last of his second beer. Hermione's mouth fell open, and she finally asked,
"Do you pass along the… what the people are trying to say?"
"No. It's just snippets, just little hints of things. We keep the records stored securely in the department," Draco said sharply. Hermione threw up an eyebrow and asked,
"How did that work out for the Prophecies and the Time-Turners?"
Draco didn't smile. He cleared his throat and stared at the brown glass of his empty bottle of Red Stripe.
"One time I thought I heard him. Him. The Dark… Voldemort. I thought I heard him, because someone said my name. Draco, you can finish what we started. I thought it was him, talking to me from the other side. But the voice was off; the tone was off."
"I don't suppose that if there is an afterlife, Voldemort gets to be there, anyway," Hermione said, feeling quite bitter. "Who do you think it was?"
"My Aunt Bellatrix, probably," Draco shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Most of the time the whispers are irrelevant, at least to me. Susan, please try harder with your schooling… I still love you, Aengus."
Hermione's face twisted with horror, and she demanded,
"How on Earth do you cope with that? With… with listening to the dead all day? Working alone in that awful chamber, going to that dank little office, coming home to this empty house? Don't you ever feel lonely? Don't you ever get… depressed?"
Draco shrugged, too vigorously, and his pale blue eyes shimmered as though he were on the verge of crying. His voice was thick and tight as he said almost frantically,
"Does it matter? I'm just one of the ones who lost the war? I've got no family. I've got no friends. So what does it matter if most of the words I hear come from dead people? What does it matter if I work and live alone? What matters about any of it?"
He went to drink from his beer again, but it was empty, so he slammed the glass bottle back down onto the table, startling Hermione.
"I'll be your friend," she said very softly, and Draco rolled his eyes. He sneered a little as he said,
"Come off it, Granger; you've despised me from the moment we step foot into Hogwarts."
"And you despised me right back, probably even more so," Hermione noted. "Things are different now, aren't they, Draco? You've eschewed the family that's still hateful. You've given up the old ways of harming others. You're earning your own way. You're… living. You're doing your best to just live. And I have forgiven you, and I will be your friend."
"I don't need your pity," Draco spat, but Hermione reached impulsively across the table and wrenched his fingers from around the brown glass bottle. He looked completely shocked by the way she'd snared her fingers through his, and his breath hitched a little. Hermione wondered distantly when the last time any human being had shown Draco Malfoy a modicum of affection. She shook her head and said,
"It isn't pity, and this isn't for the cause of widespread reconciliation. You're an intelligent wizard, Draco, and I think perhaps if you and I tried hard enough, we might be able to find some of the same things funny and interesting and worthwhile. I'd like to… to be your friend."
"You've gone mad," Draco said crisply, pulling his hand from hers. "Entirely too much spice in that Muggle chicken; it's driven you mad."
Hermione giggled despite herself, and Draco seemed unable to keep himself from smiling just a little bit. He shook his head slowly and insisted,
"I had friends, once upon a time."
"No, you had lackeys," Hermione corrected him, "and I am not a lackey. I don't think you've ever actually had a real friend. Have you?"
Draco seemed to think for a very long moment. "No. Probably not."
"Friendship is very important." Even as she said it, Hermione thought of how Ron and Harry and Ginny and had practically shoved her away for forgiving Draco, for wanting to reconcile with former enemies. Her heart sank a little. Then, struck with a fresh idea, she said enthusiastically, "You know who you ought to write to? And she'll forgive you, too! Luna. Luna Lovegood."
Draco threw up a brow. "Loony -"
"Luna," Hermione snapped. "Luna is braver than the most courageous Gryffindor. Kinder than the most compassionate Hufflepuff. And she's the most intelligent Ravenclaw I've ever met."
"Not much Slytherin in her, then?" Draco narrowed his eyes and smiled a bit, and Hermione laughed as she shook her head.
"She will not only forgive you, Draco, but she will listen, and she will tell others, and she… well, she's an exceptionally good friend."
"I told you, I'm not in the market for friends," Draco said again, but Hermione shrugged.
"And, yet, here I am. Sitting across from you. When pigs fly, Muggles might say about the idea of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger being friends. But to that I would simply reply that making a pig fly is as simple as using a first-year incantation."
Draco rolled his eyes again and tapped the brown glass bottle.
"Thanks for bringing beer, even if it was terrible beer."
Hermione snorted a laugh and stared at her Red Stripe. "It isn't very good, is it? But it paired beautifully with the jerk chicken."
"Like a deep fruity red with the most elegantly roasted lamb," Draco joked. Hermione grinned, despite every screaming instinct telling her that this boy - this grown wizard - was her enemy. Finally she said,
"Well, you can keep the rest of the beer, whether it's good or not. I should get going home. My parents… well, I've only just brought them back from Australia and restored their memories and… it's complicated. Anyway, I should go home."
"Right." Draco stared at her across the table, not rising from his chair. Hermione didn't move, either, until finally she said in a soft voice,
"I just don't want it to get too terribly late. They're still jumpy."
"Understood." Draco's pale eyes flicked around Hermione's hair, over her arms and back up to her face. His throat bobbed, and he said, "Good luck tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," Hermione repeated, shaking her head in confusion. Draco cocked up one blond brow and said slowly,
"First day in the new position."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." Hermione was dizzy for some reason. She finally flew to her feet, and Draco rose with her. The two of them walked out to the front door, and Hermione paused. She stared up at Draco, at his perfectly knotted tie and his sharp face and his bright eyes, and she said sincerely,
"I'm glad we're friends now."
"I never agreed to being friends with you," Draco said, the corners of his lips tugging up a bit. "I agreed to chicken, and you added beer. That entire spiel on friendship was very one-sided, and I never agreed."
"You will, though," Hermione teased him. Draco huffed a little breath and tipped his head.
"We'll see. Thanks for coming."
"Bye." Hermione put her hand on the doorknob, ready to fling it open and leave, but Draco's hand covered hers. She turned back, and he looked all of a sudden as though he'd be sick right there on his expensive hall carpet.
"Will you come back?" he asked, his voice cracking a little. Hermione broke a bit inside for him then, realising that he'd given up absolutely everything. He'd given up his wickedness. He'd given up his family, the closest people he'd had to friends. He'd lost loved ones in the war just like Harry and Hermione and Ron. He'd come to know the flaws in the worldview he'd been fed. He was different now, and he was very alone. Would she come back?
"For more jerk chicken?" she asked in a whisper, "or might we diversify the cuisine?"
Draco's eyes scanned around quickly, and he finally asked, "What are your feelings on… pizza?"
Hermione guffawed a little, and Draco scowled. Hermione steadied her face, wiping her smile away, and she said gravely,
"I adore pizza."
"All right. Pizza, then. Tomorrow night…? So you can…" Draco trailed off, and Hermione reached up on instinct to cup his sharp jaw in her hand. She nodded.
"Yes, seven o'clock tomorrow night to discuss my first day in my new position sounds absolutely marvelous. I like mushroom and onion on my pizza. Goodnight, Draco."
She hesitated in pulling her hand from him, and as she opened the door, her palm buzzed a little from touching him. She stepped over the threshold, and just before she Disapparated, she heard Draco said quietly,
"Night."
Author's Note: So Draco works listening to the whispers of the dead all day. That has to come into play later, no? Hm. And... pizza? Touching? What's next? ;) Thank you for reading. I am very, very, very grateful for any and all feedback, especially given that I update quickly. Thank you!