It was later. Uproar had happened.
Hermione, Ron and Harry sat silently at the kitchen table, listening to the rain rattling the windowpanes. A clock ticked loudly from above the back door. Each second felt like eternity.
Hermione stared at her hands, clasped so tightly in front of her. She concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out, trying to ignore the lump in her throat and the sick feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t think about it. If she did, she knew those tears that hovered in her eyes would spill out and nothing would stop her from degenerating into a sobbing, tear-soaked mess.
He called me a Mudblood. Each time she remembered, it felt like a blow to her stomach. She bit her lip to stop it trembling. Stupid. Stupid. To think someone could change so much, to delude herself into believing it could last. Well, now she was paying for her folly.
She jumped as a chair scraped across the tiles. Harry had stood up.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he muttered. “ I’m going to see what’s going on.”
“Harry…” Hermione began weakly, but he ignored her and strode towards the kitchen door.
It swung open suddenly and Lupin entered the room, looking even more exhausted than usual.
“What’s happening? Is his memory back? What’s he said?” Harry said at once. Lupin held his hands up in front of him, warding off all their questions until he had collapsed gratefully into a chair.
“Well?” Harry demanded.
“He’s back,” Lupin said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “He’s hurt, he’s tired, he’s frightened out of his wits and he won’t tell us anything.”
“Where is he?” asked Hermione, finding her voice at last.
“In a little room on the top floor “ safely locked,” he added, seeing Harry and Ron’s expressions. “He’s going to have to stay here until we figure out what to do with him.”
“So we’re back on babysitting duty,” Ron said flatly. Lupin nodded. “Great. Just how I wanted to spend the rest of my summer.”
“Why can’t he just go to Azkaban or something?” Harry shot at Lupin, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the back of his chair.
Lupin shook his head sadly. “With the Ministry the way it is now, they’d probably announce they had a vicious, murdering Death Eater and execute him at once.”
“Isn’t that what he is?”
“Not yet. Remember, he couldn’t kill Dumbledore. And besides,” Lupin smiled humourlessly, “Dumbledore promised him he’d be safe if he came to us.”
“He’s only here because he tried to attack Hermione!” Ron cried incredulously.
“But he did come willingly afterwards“”
“Only because the prat had wiped his own memory!”
“What did he say?” Hermione said quietly.
“Not much. We just established he was back and left him “ there was no point in talking to him when he was in such a state. We’ve spent the last few hours arguing over what to do with him. Some people, I must say, were in favour of Harry’s suggestion, but eventually we decided it’s best to keep him here for the moment. Actually “” Lupin glanced at his watch ““ someone should probably check on him, he’s been in there around five hours and he‘s probably starving…” He glanced at Hermione, who nodded.
“But what about the Horcruxes!” Harry burst out angrily. “How am I supposed to do anything when I’m stuck here guarding Malfoy?”
Hermione slipped out of her chair and began preparing toast and tea. Her hands trembled as she set the pot to boil, and she willed herself to calm down. The sick feeling in her stomach had tightened into a tight, nauseous knot. I have to forget him, she told herself. I have to forget he was ever nice to me, ever cared for me , ever kissed me“ her resolution faltered a little at this, but she continued“I have to realise he’s gone, and left this horrible, sneering, smirking creature in his place. A tear dripped off her nose and into the tea. She wiped her eyes hastily; the last thing she wanted to show Malfoy was weakness. She left the room as steadily as she could, leaving Harry’s angry shouts and Lupin’s weary replies behind her.
The house seemed to have nothing but stairs. She climbed the first flight slowly, peering down the dark corridor that branched off it. Nothing stirred, and so she continued up the next (thankfully smaller) flight. She almost dropped the tray as she peered through the gloom to see a dark figure facing her, until she realised she was looking into a large, cracked mirror. Trying to keep control of her nerves, she faced the last small set of stairs and climbed them slowly.
A closed door faced her at the top, paint cracking off the panels. She set the tray down carefully and tried to turn the handle. It wouldn’t budge, and a faint tingling in her palm told her it was enchanted. Satisfied this was the right room, she took out her wand and whispered “Alohomora”. Gripping her wand tightly in suddenly sweaty fingers, she twisted the doorknob.
The door creaked open slowly to reveal a tiny room. Grey light spilled in from a small window set in one wall, illuminating the figure that sprawled on the narrow bed. A rickety table stood somewhat unsteadily beneath the window. The room was otherwise empty. It smelled of damp and disuse.
“Hello, Malfoy,” Hermione quavered.
Draco lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. A spider scuttled across, hurrying to its enormous web in the corner. He watched it as it descended upon a fly that struggled in the sticky threads of its trap, encasing it to await the spider’s hunger.
I’m a fly. The only question left is how soon I’ll be eaten. A giggle rose in his throat. He forced it back down; no need for hysteria.
Merlin, his head hurt. It throbbed with steady agony, as though an elephant had been tap-dancing on his brain.
He raised a hand to his forehead and let it sweep through his hair. He needed sleep. He didn’t feel like himself at all. Strange thoughts flittered around the inside of his head, images flickering tantalisingly before vanishing without a trace. He needed it to stop. Malfoys were not flies.
He strained his aching brain, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he could remember before waking up to Granger’s ugly face (that thought sent a strange feeling through him, one he couldn’t identify) was being somewhere wet and dark. He could remember hiding under the trees, cradling his mutilated hand and wishing he was dead. And then Granger had come and he’d duelled her “ but what spell had he used? Avada Kedavra? He wished. Impedimenta, then? No; he could remember, it was coming to him…
Obliviate.
I’m an idiot.
What had possessed him to use that spell? Aunt Bellatrix had barely begun teaching him it! He was lucky it hadn’t worked properly “ he shuddered to think of what could have happened if Granger had gotten her Mudblood paws (again that twinge “ what was wrong with him?) on his Obliviated self. No, it was something to be thankful for that he'd just knocked himself out.
Not that he was in the best of situations as it was. When he had woken up everyone had looked as if he'd grown an extra head. It couldn't have been what I said to Granger, could it? he wondered, Did they expect me to be nice to her? He scoffed at the thought.
He couldn't deny the fear that had gripped him when all those wizards converged on him and started firing questions at him. He'd kept his mouth shut and prayed they wouldn't kill him. They'd left him alone at last, defeated by his silence, and had bundled him into this box of a room.
He couldn’t help wondering why they didn’t just kill him, or lock him away in a dungeon somewhere, or (he shivered at the thought) hand him over to the Ministry? And these clothes! He looked down at them with revulsion. A grubby Muggle t-shirt and torn jeans. His skin itched at the thought of all the filthy Muggle hands that must have touched them, worn them even. He would have ripped them off were it not for the fact that his robes were nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t quite feel like confronting Potter in only his underwear “ if that was still his own. If it wasn’t, he shuddered to think who had changed his clothes. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t remember.
His stomach growled noisily. He wondered if they'd bother to feed him.
He tensed as the door creaked open, his hand groping automatically for the wand that wasn't there. Granger's bushy head appeared tentatively around the door.
"Hello, Malfoy."
Draco didn't reply. He was too shocked at the emotion that had flooded through him at the sight of her. Relief. Pure, unmistakable relief. Almost as if … he was glad to see her.
No way! he thought with revulsion. She just wasn't as big a threat as Potter or Weasley. So long as she didn't slap him, he amended. Best stay away, in any case.
He pulled himself upright as she entered with a tray. His head swam sickeningly and he refrained with difficulty from clutching it and sinking back down.
Granger set the tray down the dusty table. She held her wand tightly in one hand. He eyed the food longingly, but didn't want to move to it in case he fell over.
"How's your head?" Granger asked cautiously. Reluctantly, he turned his head to look at her. Even in his tired, muddled state, he was surprised at how nervous she seemed. She was clutching her wand so tightly he was sure it would snap soon, and her eyes kept flickering from him, to the window, to the door, back to him again…
He didn't reply. Silence had served him well so far. He settled instead for a disdainful look, hoping she wouldn't catch the fear that still lurked in the pit of his stomach.
She took a deep breath. "Listen, Malfoy, I know we never… got along before this, so I think it would be for the best if we both… forgot about what happened last night. It “ it can't mean anything now." She tossed her hair back and fixed him with a defiant look. She had the look of someone who had had something difficult to say and had at last spat it out.
What in Merlin's name is she talking about? He couldn't keep silent any longer. "Are you talking about when I missed hexing you? Because I don't know about you, Granger, but it wasn‘t much of a deep and meaningful experience for me." His voice grew stronger as he finished. He might be dizzy and have a splitting headache, but he could still try to make people feel as small as possible.
"Not then, I mean--" She stopped suddenly, realisation dawning on her ugly Mudblood face. Draco ruthlessly quashed any thoughts to the contrary. She IS a Mudblood, and she IS ugly. At least fairly ugly. Or at least plain. Certainly not conventionally beautiful , but -- Enough! I'm ill, he told himself. Very very ill. It will all be over tomorrow.
He couldn't understand the horror with which she was regarding him now. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, licking her lips nervously before saying, "You mean you don't remember?"
Smartest witch in the school, my Slytherin a--
“Are you messing with me, Malfoy?” Granger’s sharp tone cut across his thoughts. “Because if you are, I warn you“”
“Granger, I was hit by what we wizards call a Mem-o-ry Charm,” he drawled. “That means“”
“You “ you don’t remember anything of the last few weeks?” Granger interrupted him breathlessly.
He sighed, rolling his eyes despite the pain. It was like talking to Goyle. “No, Granger, my memory of the last few weeks is fine, I’m sure you’re thrilled to know. It’s just last night, since the hex, that I have problems with.”
Her face fell. “Oh… then it must have been that Delacour woman,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
“Merlin’s beard, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent! Since the Memory Charm I hit myself with, last night, I don’t remember anything until waking up in this dump of a house with you hovering over me “ which is not a good sight to wake up to, by the way. I’ll have nightmares for weeks.” He smirked as he finished, sitting back against the wall. He sat up again hurriedly as he felt something climb down his collar.
To his disappointment, Granger brushed off all his insults. She stepped forward to the end of his bed and placed her hands on the bedstead. She leaned forward. He leaned back.
“Dr“Malfoy,” she began (causing Draco to stare at her in shock “ since when had Granger, of all people, even started to call him by his first name?), “Today is the twenty-first of July. You tried to hex me about a month ago. Your spell backfired and hit you. You had no memory of your entire life. You asked me for help, so I brought you to the Order. We weren’t sure if you’d ever recover…”
Draco sat perfectly still, allowing Granger’s careful, steady words wash over him. Part of him was convinced that this was all a dream, and he would soon wake up in his four-poster bed with its silken sheets and a house-elf serving him breakfast in bed. The rest of him, unfortunately, conceded that this was probably true. For one thing , he had no after-pains from the Cruciatus curse, and if this was only a few hours later he’d still be feeling them. But a month? With no idea who he was? Impossible… wasn’t it?
“… and she hit you with a curse. You banged your head and when you came around…” Granger trailed off. She glanced at Draco who was staring into space, lost in thought. “Malfoy! Did you hear a word I said?”
Draco blinked, racking his brain to remember the rest of what she’d said. Unsuccessful, he opted for nastiness. “Why would I bother listening to anything you have to say, Granger?” he sneered.
“Oh!” Granger flounced to the window, tossing her hair behind her head petulantly.
A bluebottle dashed itself relentlessly against the window. The loud buzzing became unbearably irritating in the silence.
Draco wrestled with his curiosity. He desperately wanted to find out what had happened “ but not from Granger. How did he know she wasn’t just playing some big joke on him? Granted, it might be considered a little strange to plan huge practical jokes on schoolmates during the middle of a war, but it was possible. Just about.
The bluebottle gave up on its quest for freedom, and began to orbit Draco’s head instead. He swatted at it with unnecessary violence.
He was forced to admit the improbability of his theory after a few moments, but that still didn’t mean he was going to give in to Granger. No way. She could stand there huffing and puffing till she died, for all he cared.
His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that if one of them were going to die, chances were it would be him. To his further mortification, he was sure he saw Granger’s lips curl upwards slightly in a fleeting smile.
He suddenly realised that the bluebottle’s irritating buzz was gone. He glanced up and saw, with a feeling of inevitability, the insect struggling desperately in the intricate threads of the spider’s web. The spider sat patiently, waiting for its large prey’s struggles to die down.
It was a sign. He gave up. “Did you say I was out of it for a month, Granger?” His lips tightened as she turned with a look of triumph on her face.
“A month, yes, but you weren’t ‘out of it’,” Granger said in her most annoying know-it-all tone, the inverted commas clanging into place. “You just couldn’t remember who you were. You thought Harry and Ron and I were your friends.” Her lips twitched at his look of utter revulsion and disbelief. Draco was sure she was enjoying this.
“You’re lying,” he spat.
“Why would I lie?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. She seemed to have all her confidence back, unlike him, Draco noted bitterly. His insecurity was scaling new heights by the second.
“Don’t ask me to try to fathom the way a Mudblood’s mind works.” He smirked as her eyes opened wide. And is that tears I see brimming? He frowned as he felt a disquieting tremor of “ of guilt? Surely not! Just hunger, he assured himself.
He suddenly realised that Granger had her hand on the doorknob.
“Don’t go!” he burst out without thinking. She turned in surprise. He felt the heat climb in his cheeks as he wondered why the hell he’d just said that.
“What is it with you, Malfoy?” she said softly. “One minute you’re screaming insults, the next begging me to stay.”
He opened his mouth for a smart retort, but none came. He watched in silence as she shook her head and walked out the door. It creaked closed and he heard her whisper to lock it once more. Her footsteps echoed as she walked down the stairs.
Only when the last faint sounds of her had faded away did he lean his head back against the wall and let the tears fall.
My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think by mooncalf
Chapter Notes: This chapter is dedicated to Jairah, who managed to predict the story to this point way back at around chapter four.