Whatever Thing
He was late.
It was 12:03, and they'd said noon. He was three minutes late.
So when he came sauntering across the atrium, looking like he was going to be sick on the floor, Hermione considered scolding him for his tardiness. But then she saw how pale his face was, and when he walked up to her with a serious expression, she asked,
"What's happened?"
"Just… whispers I… it doesn't matter," Draco said, pinching his lips. He gestured to a table in the little Atrium Café, and he and Hermione sat. The wizards at the table beside them shot them looks of utter shock, then gazed at one another in silent wonder. Hermione pulled her chair in and asked again, more quietly,
"Can you tell me what happened, Draco?"
He touched his fingers to his forehead, and it was only then that Hermione saw how badly they were shaking.
"It's the little child. Every damned day… every day, he whispers. Begging for someone to tell his mummy that he isn't afraid anymore. Every single day, I hear that child whisper. But how am I meant to tell his mother anything when I haven't got any idea who he is? It isn't as though I can shout through the Veil asking for specifics. And, anyway, we don't pass the whispers along, and… I shouldn't discuss this here."
Hermione was shocked at how pale and drawn he looked. She reached on impulse for his hand, and he looked around quickly as others watched her cover his fingers with hers. Hermione didn't care.
"Maybe you should work in another department for a while," she suggested, but Draco shook his head.
"I just need to get my mind on something else for a while. I made the record. That's my job. I want to think of something else. Something happy."
"Erm… hello, Miss Granger," said the tall, skinny witch who served as the waitress at the employee café. "Mr Malfoy. What… what can I get for you?"
She seems completely shocked to see Hermione and Draco together. Hermione considered pulling her hand from Draco's, but she decided to leave it there, and she tipped her chin up a bit as she said,
"I'll have a steak pasty, please, with a side greens salad. Water with lemon, if you don't mind."
The witch nodded and scribbled down the order with a peacock feather quill. Her wide eyes turned to Draco, and he said quietly,
"That sounds good, actually. I'll have the same."
"It'll be out straight away," the witch said, staring over her shoulder as she walked away. Hermione could feel dozens of eyes on them, but she ignored them.
"I have something happy to tell you," she said honestly. "This morning I presented a draught of regulations for Elfish welfare to the head my department, Mr Tratt. All I'm asking for right now is a ban on corporal punishment or forced self-punishment involving physical harm. And do you know what he said?"
"What did he say?" Draco dragged his thumb over Hermione's, and she grinned.
"He said that he's going to approve it as department head and ask for the Minister's signature. Kingsley's a good friend of mine; he said he'll sign off on it as soon as it hits his desk. I know I'll face some kickback from people like… people like…"
"People like my family," Draco smirked. He released Hermione's hand as the waitress came back with their glasses of water with lemon. After she'd gone, Draco said seriously, "You're doing the right thing. What my father and mother did to Dobby, what they taught me to do to him… it was wrong. He wasn't an object; he was a creature with emotions and the ability to think, and the way we all treated him was… inexcusable."
Hermione felt a strange pull in her chest as his blue eyes shifted around and then shut for a moment. She remembered the look of Dobby on the beach, dagger lodged in his chest, bleeding out and reaching up for Harry. Her own eyes watered a little, and she said,
"Do you know it'll called? The new legislation banning physical mistreatment? It's the Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment. A mouthful, I know, but… but it's in his honour."
"Oh." Draco lowered his head a little and said quietly, "One time, when I was a very little boy, not older than six or seven, I came down with dragon pox. A mild case, but I was laid up for a while. Dobby brought me warm soup. He rubbed ointment all over my sores. He took better care of me than my parents did. And I never, ever thanked him for it. I wish I could. I wish… I wish I could tell him I was sorry, and grateful."
Suddenly Hermione wished that Ron and Harry were here to hear Draco reflect upon what he'd done, to hear Draco say the things that needed to be said. She blinked quickly and watched as the waitress set down their steak pasties and greens salads. She cut into her pasty and noted,
"I read my parents' Muggle newspaper this morning. It said that The Astronaut's Wife is the worst film of the summer. It's barely made any money, and the critics despise it."
Draco laughed and stabbed his fork into his greens. He took a few bites of salad and sipped his water, and he said,
"I admittedly lack a solid schema for Muggle filmmaking, but it was…"
"Bad." Hermione grinned and blew on a bite of steak pasty.
"Hello."
She gulped down the bite and looked up at the sound of Harry's voice. Her mouth fell open, and Harry looked round, seeming to understand that this scene would be a scandal to everyone observing. Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived. Hermione Granger - War Heroine. Draco Malfoy - Disavowed Death Eater. Hermione pushed out a chair and asked quietly,
"Would you like to sit?"
"Erm, no. Thanks." Harry licked his bottom lip and put his hands on the back of the chair. He stared at Draco, who looked back with a completely blank expression. Finally Harry sighed and turned his face to Hermione. "I just wanted to tell you, 'Mione, that… that you're a bigger person than I am. I'm not where you are. Not yet. Maybe someday. Ron… I dunno if he's ever going to be on board the Forgiveness Train. But you're right in saying that it's what we all need if we're ever going to heal. I promise you that as soon as my mind allows me, I'll join you… both of you… in trying to move forward."
Draco gulped, and he set down his fork and knife. He hesitated for a moment, and then he murmured,
"There's not much I could probably say, Potter, that would ever put things to rights between you and I. The only thing I want you to understand is that I know my family and the side I was on were all completely wrong. I know that I was wrong, that I said and did terrible things. And I want the rest of my life to be different. But if you hate forever, I can't say I would blame you for half an instant. If I were in your shoes, staring down an apology from a wizard like me… well, I'd still hate me, too."
"I don't hate you, Malfoy," Harry said, pinching his lips and tightening his fingers round the back of the chair. "I'm just nowhere near ready to be your friend, right?"
"Right." Draco nodded and stared down at his food. Harry studied him for a long moment and then turned his face back to Hermione.
"You're one of my best friends. We've been to hell and back together, you and I," he reminded her. "Ron'll do whatever he wants, and that's his right. And as for you, Hermione… I just want you happy. Because I care a lot about you, and I always will, and if sitting here at lunch and going to the cinema and doing other… things… with Draco Malfoy is what makes you happy, then…"
He trailed off and shut his eyes, looking a little nauseated. Hermione covered her hand with his and whispered,
"Thank you."
"Kingsley sent me a memo," Harry said crisply, opening his eyes. "He's planning on signing off on the Dobby the Elf Act, or…"
"The Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment," Hermione nodded, smiling a little. Harry nodded, turning up half his mouth, and he glanced at Draco before he told Hermione,
"It's a great tribute. You're doing good work."
"We all are," Hermione said firmly. "You and Ron as Aurors. Me with my welfare work. And Draco… well, his work is important, too."
"I'm sure it is." Harry waved off the waitress who seemed curious as to whether he was staying or going. Harry sighed and said, "See you around, 'Mione. Malfoy."
"See you, Potter," Draco said quietly, and Hermione squeezed Harry's hand before he walked away.
She and Draco finished the rest of their meal in silence, knowing that nearly everyone in the atrium had eyes on them. Hermione insisted on paying for her own meal, and once the table had been cleared, she said rather awkwardly,
"I should get back up to my office."
"And I should go back down to… well." Draco gnawed his lip, and Hermione furrowed her brow.
"This job is eating away at you. I can see it."
"Oh, can you?" Draco's voice was harsh then, and his eyes were cold as he raised them to her. "Someone's got to listen to them. I'm not really sure why; if it were up to me, I'd just let them whisper and cry out into the void and be ignored. But for some reason that I'm not privy to, it's important that what the dead say be heard, and recorded, and saved. And I'm going to find out who that little boy is, Hermione; I'm going to…"
He shut his eyes and took a shaking breath. Hermione had a sudden idea, and she asked,
"How new are the whispers?"
Draco frowned and said, "Most of them are people who have died in the last few years. They haven't fully moved on. That's what I'm made to understand."
"How old does the boy sound?" Hermione asked, and Draco suddenly seemed to realise what she was getting at. His throat bobbed.
"I dunno. Little. Five. Six. Just a little thing."
"I'm going to ask Kingsley to get me records," Hermione said firmly. "All deaths of little boys from the last twenty years. If he keeps whispering… you don't have to pass on the actual record, Draco, but you could find his mother for him."
Draco shook his head firmly. "That's not my job; that's not what I'm meant to -"
"But you'd feel better, wouldn't you?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "If you could find that boy's mother and reassure her that her little boy isn't afraid, that he wanted her to know that?"
Draco's face went white as a sheet, and he mumbled, "This is why I'm not meant to discuss my work. You can't interfere, Hermione. The Department of Mysteries doesn't go about hunting down family members and passing on messages."
Hermione pinched her lips, resisting the Gryffindor urge within her to ignore Draco and get the records without his permission. It would be just like her; she'd ignored rules for as long as she could remember. She tried once more to convince him, saying,
"Sometimes the way things are traditionally done isn't the best way."
"Listen, Granger," Draco said, and she heard a hint of his old snarl there. "I know you're no goody two-shoes. I know you like to break systems, not just rules. Stealing ingredients to make Polyjuice Potion. Permanently scarring Marietta Edgecombe. Obliviating your parents. Breaking into the Ministry whilst impersonating a Ministry official. Keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar as a beetle. Now passing new legislation to protect House-Elves"
Hermione scowled. They'd discussed many of the less-savoury things she'd done over the years. It was one of the ways she'd reassured Draco that she was no saint herself, but that she'd always had good intentions. She scowled now and said,
"Everything I've done has been to protect the people I care about," she said bitterly. "If I could help you find that little boy's family, then -"
"No." Draco shook his head firmly, and there was a flash in his blue eyes that left no room for debate. "No. I will not be sacked because you decided to take it upon yourself to demolish every bit of protocol my position calls for. I will hear the child's whispers, and I will record them, and if I need Dreamless Sleep to make it through the night without him in my head, then I will take Dreamless Sleep? Do you understand? Don't do what you're thinking of doing, Hermione."
She frowned deeply but finally nodded and said, "If you ever change your mind…"
"Yes, I'm sure you'll be more than willing to track down the bereaved mother," Draco nodded. "So if I ever change my mind, I'll let you know. For now, Hermione, you must do nothing about this. Please, if you care at all for whatever little… whatever sort of thing has sprung up between you and me, then swear it. Swear you'll do nothing."
Whatever thing had sprung up between them. Hermione gulped and nodded again.
"I swear I won't do anything unless you ask me to," she promised. She stared at him for a very long moment, and she finally asked in a soft voice, "What sort of thing has sprung up?"
"The sort that makes me want to ask if you'd like to join me at the Royal Opera House this weekend," Draco said. He reached into his robes and pulled out two tickets, which he slid across the table to Hermione. "I've done some research, and I suspect we'll both enjoy a Muggle production of opera better than The Astronaut's Wife."
Hermione grinned as she picked up the tickets. "The Magic Flute. Fitting."
"Will you come?" Draco asked tightly, and Hermione smiled at him and nodded.
"Oh, yes. I'd love to. Thank you."
"Right." Draco took the tickets back and tucked them away, and he huffed a breath. "Back the grind. Have a good rest of the day, then."
They both stood, and Hermione watched him walk quickly toward the bank of lifts, realising for the first time that she cared more deeply for Draco Malfoy than she would have ever, ever thought possible.
Author's Note: Whew! I promise there's a nice lemon headed your way… nights at the opera can put you in a mood, if you know what I mean… ;)