Hermione opened her eyes slowly, yawning until she felt her jaw would crack. Unwilling to move from her warm cocoon, she stayed in bed a few minutes longer. A low hum of sound drifted up through the floorboards, with one voice occasionally rising above the rest. She glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was only eight o’clock. However, further sleep was impossible with all the hubbub from downstairs. Reluctantly, she swung her feet onto the smooth grain of the polished floor.
As she shuffled out of the door, sleep still weighing heavily on her, she cast a look over to the other occupant of the room. Ginny was visible only as a dark mound in the gloom. Hermione bit her lip as she turned and walked out. Ginny was still barely talking to her after their argument. But what could she do? Ginny was just as bad as Ron when it came to forgiving others.
Once she was dressed, she trooped downstairs, still worried over what to do about Ginny. However, she was to find no peace of mind there. Chaos reigned supreme; people rushed back and forth, steam billowed from the kitchen, voices cried over each other for attention. The result was uproar. Hermione stood on the last step and stared. She grabbed Draco’s arm as he went past.
“Draco, what is going on?” she asked him, bewilderment evident in her voice.
“I’m not really sure,” he replied in a confused tone of voice, “but I think some people are arriving soon. Mrs. Weasley’s in a big panic.” He hesitated, his eyes flickering downwards. She wondered suddenly why his normally pale cheeks had just a tinge of pink in them as he talked to her. She quickly dismissed it, putting it down as a result of the morning’s busy activities.
“Hermione“” he began, not meeting her eyes.
At that moment Ron hurried up to them. “Hermione! Where have you been? Bill and Fleur are arriving in a few hours!”
Hermione’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “Is that what all the fuss is about?” She couldn’t see how the impending arrival could throw the whole household into complete disarray. After all, Fleur had already seen the Weasley household in its everyday state; surely the clutter and clamour wouldn’t take her aback now.
Ron shook his head impatiently. “No! They’re bringing her parents with them!” He glanced around furtively, checking that there was no Mrs. Weasley around to pounce on him. “Mum’s in an absolute frenzy. She’s trying to get the whole house cleaned, make the lunch, and about a million other things besides.”
A sudden indignant squawk made them all jump. “Ron Weasley! I told you to go and get rid of those gnomes!”
“Yes, Mum,” Ron muttered, before hastening to the garden. Mrs. Weasley turned on Draco, who shrank back a little from her beady gaze. “And you can go help him!” she told Draco. He nodded and rushed off after Ron, clearly relieved to be away from Mrs. Weasley’s irritable presence. Hermione found herself suddenly alone. Before she could escape, Mrs. Weasley turned around and pounced on her.
“Hermione! I need you to help me in the kitchen.” Mrs. Weasley turned and bustled off, irritated urgency emanating from her. Hermione sighed resignedly and trooped slowly after her, making a face at Ron as he waved at her smugly from outside. She was unable to suppress as a smile as he ducked to avoid a flying gnome.
“Sorry! Sorry!” The sound of Draco’s frantic apologies followed her as she left the room.
The kitchen was like a scene from hell. Knives flew across the room, chopping everything in their path, pots bubbled and shrieked, the oven roared, water surged, and in the middle of it all was Mrs. Weasley, shrouded in steam. She stood as the mad conductor of a demonic orchestra; wand flying everywhere in a frenzied rush, and her hair stood out from her head like a murdered dandelion.
Hermione rushed to the sink and wrestled for control of the scrubbing brush, which was trying to clean her hair. She yanked it out, wincing as it took several bushy strands with it. She leaned across the sink and switched off the tap, ceasing the cascade of water down the side of the cupboards. As she forced the reluctant brush to clean the first of a tottering mountain of saucepans, she reflected that these visitors were decidedly more trouble than they were worth.
________________________________________________________________________
Several hours later, Draco surveyed the Weasley’s gnome-free garden with satisfaction. It had not come without cost; he was nursing a nasty bite on his thumb, courtesy of his last gnome. Despite the cool wind that whipped the grass around him, sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away with a grimy arm. Ron stood beside him, equally exhausted. He turned and gave Draco the thumbs-up. After hours of painful work, the last gnome had been evicted.
Ginny stuck her head out the door.
“They’re here!” she hissed. Draco and Ron started inside, but Ginny stopped them in their tracks.
“Malfoy can’t go. He has to hide upstairs.” She planted herself firmly across the doorway, hands on hips, and expression of defiance on her freckled face.
“What? Why?” Draco asked, a sinking feeling beginning in his stomach.
“You’re a wanted Death Eater,” she said, tapping her foot impatiently on the floor. “Need I say more?”
“What’s a Death”” But Ginny and Ron had already left. Grumbling quietly to himself, Draco slipped inside and up the stairs.
He surveyed the utter squalor that was Ron’s room with mild distaste. Sighing, he flopped down on the camp bed. It creaked ominously under him, and he hurriedly shifted his weight. A meaningless hum of polite conversation came from downstairs.
He hadn’t even been up there five minutes, and already he was bored. The worst thing was, there were several things he could have done to occupy himself, but he was too bored to try any of them. He lay on his back on the treacherous bed, staring at a wandering spider on the ceiling. His mind ran in self-pitying circles as he contemplated the utter monotony of his situation.
His brain suddenly kicked back into action as something worthwhile to do finally came to mind. Without thinking, he swiftly swung himself into a sitting position on the bed. This proved too much for the ancient springs, which gave way, sending him crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust. Specks of rust settled gently in his dark hair as he sat in a dazed heap on the wooden floorboards.
Shaking his head, he staggered to his feet and over to Ron’s desk. His plan! How could he possibly have forgotten? Feverishly, he hunted through the mess on Ron’s desk for some parchment. He pounced on a stray piece and grabbed and old quill. Dipping it in a drying pot of ink, he began to write.
Dear Hermione…
________________________________________________________________________
Hermione leaned against the sink and sighed in relief. She inspected her hands ruefully. They were red and shrivelled, the result of several hours straight of washing up. Beside her, Ron moaned as he knuckled his stiff back. Harry had collapsed on a kitchen chair, his head on his arms.
“Where are Fred and George?” she asked, suddenly aware of their absence. Harry raised his head.
“Didn’t you hear?” he asked curiously. She shook her head, bushy hair flying. “Their shop was attacked, probably be Death Eaters, and their assistant has vanished.”
Ron handed her that morning’s copy of Daily Prophet wordlessly. From the front page screamed the headline ’WEASLEY WIZARD WHEEZES WHACKED!’
Hermione stared numbly at it, unable to tear her eyes away from the cruel, insensitive words. The danger of their current situation hit home with a vengeance. Hurriedly, her eyes flickered on.
U “ NO “ POO IS NO MORE
Yesterday morning, in a dramatic turn of events, the joke shop ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ was attacked. Shoppers arrived that morning to see the shop windows smashed in and products strewn around Diagon Alley…
Hermione’s heart crashed down, sending splinters of horror and fear throughout her body. She skimmed the page for concrete information.
… according to Ministry Aurors, the attack took place some time during the previous night.
“As far as we are concerned, this was simply a robbery, nothing more or less,” a shady Auror told our intrepid reporter. He was unwilling to answer further questions.
Several windows were broken, and the door smashed in, but only some wares were taken; many were simply broken as the shelves were ripped from the walls. These facts, coupled with the disappearance of the shop assistant, Verity Venceworth, lead this reporter to the conclusion that this was no ‘simple robbery’. Rumours of Death Eater involvement were unconfirmed at the time of press.
Hermione tore her eyes away, forcing herself to look instead at the picture. Dour-faced Aurors sifted through the wreckage of what was once a focal point of joy and mischievousness. However, that was not the sight which upset her the most. Due to the strange angle of the photo, one thing stood out in the foreground. A small purple Pygmy Puff lay dead on the floor, pieces of broken glass surrounding its corpse. For some reason, the little body seemed to epitomise the sadness and loss of the situation.
“So this “ this is what they were worried about last night,” she managed at last. A split second later she kicked herself for pointing out the obvious and irrelevant. Ron merely nodded, his face grim. Hermione suppressed a shiver at the thought of what could have happened if the twins had been at the shop.
A shroud of silence hung over the room. Hermione wondered whether she should break it when Ginny flounced into the room.
“Mum wants you to go and meet them,”she told them, spitting the last word out as if was burning her lips.
“What are they like?” Ron asked as he mooched slowly over to the door. Ginny made a face.
“Even worse than Phlegm.”
Hermione and Harry exchanged looks of alarm as they followed Ron out of the doorway. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on his tousled red hair as they all walked slowly to the sitting room door. Despite Ginny’s warning, Ron seemed to be struggling to keep to his slow walk. Fleur, Hermione thought with disgust.
The short, sharp bursts of conversation with long awkward silences heralded a room whose occupants had already discovered, in only the few minutes they had spent in each other’s company, that there was mutual hatred between them. Ron glanced around at Harry and Hermione, waited for one of the quiet stretches, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Ron! Harry! Hermione!” cried Mrs. Weasley in tones of almost maniacal relief. “Meet Mr. “ I mean, Mon-sewer and Mad-am Delacour. Monsewer and Madam, meet Ron, my youngest son, and his friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter “ though you’ll know all about him, of course,” she twittered as she sat back, having finally managed to pass the burden of conversation onto others.
“Pleased to meet you,” purred a voice. Hermione saw Harry’s face turn puce as he gazed over her shoulder. Ron gaped, his mouth hanging open and eyes popping. A strangled noise came out of his throat, and his face burned with the fiery flames of embarrassment. Hermione turned in trepidation, wondering what creature of darkness could be lurking behind her.
She couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her lips. Lounging in one of the Weasley’s shabby armchairs was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Even Fleur looked merely pretty beside her. Hair the colour of moonlight fell about her shoulders, draped in blue velvet robes that hinted at everything and revealed nothing. A sudden feeling of inferiority came over Hermione. Who am I, to stand in the same room as this woman and presume to think myself equal, she thought. She couldn’t bear to look at the woman’s face, choosing to lower her eyes to her own feet in their sensible black shoes. As her gaze left the woman, thoughts that had been struggling to be heard broke to the surface.
Don’t be such an idiot! Get a grip. Veela blood, remember? Hermione shook her head and snapped it up suddenly, determined to look the woman in the eye before she could be deterred. Dark blue eyes looked at the world from under long, thick lashes. As their eyes met, Hermione was sure she saw surprise flicker there before the mask of condescending superiority slid back into place.
“Pleased to meet you too,” she said as loudly and clearly as she dared. Her voice seemed to startle Harry and Ron back from whatever unearthly realm they had been occupying. Suppressing a twinge of irritation, Hermione glanced over at the man sitting beside Madame Delacour.
Her first, amazed thought was, Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!, before her more rational side cut in. He certainly was good-looking, and his clothing reeked of opulence, but there was something about his face… a dazed, almost hypnotised look. His eyes suddenly flicked in her direction, but they seemed unable to fully focus on her “ he appeared to be looking straight through her. Hermione shivered and looked away.
“Could you excuse me for a moment, if you please?” Mme Delacour asked, rising languorously from the chair. Her accent was slightly stilted, but other than that her English was perfect. Like her.
“Of “ of course,” Mrs. Weasley stammered, startled out of her momentary reverie. Mme Delacour barely waited for the assent as she swept gracefully out of the room.
“Well “ well isn’t this nice?” Mrs. Weasley said weakly.
“Where are Bill and Fleur?” Ron asked as he found an armchair. Harry and Hermione quickly followed suit.
“Fleur felt a little faint, so they’ve just gone outside for a breath of fresh air.” Ron snorted disbelievingly, but was forced to turn it into a sneeze halfway through as Mrs. Weasley glared at him.
“I don’t blame them for wanting to get away,” Harry whispered above the noise of Ron choking. Hermione nodded fervently.
An unexpected sound caught her ears “ she heard a floorboard creak above her. She frowned; Draco should know better than to be wandering around while there were strangers in the house.
“Mrs. Weasley, I have to get a “ a book,” Hermione explained, saying the first thing that came into her mind. She hurried out of the room before anyone had a chance to stop her.
Stupid idiot! she thought angrily. He doesn’t have the common sense of a “of a duck! She froze as she heard an unfamiliar noise up ahead. A faint click “ click “ click sounded from the hall. Hermione crept up the rest of the stairs carefully, avoiding the creaking step. She peered around the corner, only to see Mme Delacour skulking along the corridor. She stopped at a bedroom door and peered in. Hermione held her breath as she looked in her direction, but released it in a sigh of relief as she turned and headed up the next flight of stairs.
I should have said something, she thought as she walked slowly back down. Harry would have, and so would Ron. Even Draco“ She stopped suddenly. Draco! That woman would find him for sure! Without further thought, she whirled around and dashed up the stairs, tearing up until she saw Mme Delacour just ahead. The woman snatched her hand back from the handle to the door of Ron’s room.
“Ah “ Hermione! I was wondering, do you know where the “ the bathroom is?” Her voice couldn’t have held even a pebble, so slippery and smooth was it.
“It’s… downstairs. By the … sitting room,” panted Hermione. Her eyes didn’t leave the other woman until she started down the stairs. Once she was sure she was gone, she rushed into Ron’s room.
Draco was sitting in a corner at a rickety desk. His dark hair fell in front of his face as he concentrated. His head snapped up as she entered, and he snatched a sheet of paper from the table, his cheeks flushing a brilliant pink.
“Hermione! What are you doing“”
“Shh! There’s no time,” she whispered, her voice vibrating with urgency. “You have to lock this door, and don’t make a sound, understand?” He nodded, his forehead creasing in a puzzled frown.
Hermione rushed out of the room and downstairs. So caught up was she that she didn’t notice someone coming the opposite way. The ensuing collision almost knocked her off her fee.
“Hey! What’s the rush?” Ron asked in surprise as he stretched out hand to steady her. She regained her balance and quickly recounted to him what she had seen. His face darkened.
“I knew there was something funny about that woman,” he muttered. His hands tightened until Hermione winced at the pressure on her arms.
“What can we do? We can’t exactly walk in and accuse her!” Hermione’s brow furrowed in concentration. Ron looked at her helplessly.
“Maybe“”
A loud gong-like sound filled the air. Hermione and Ron lifted their heads, startled. As the echoes gradually died away, Mrs. Weasley’s magically magnified voice rang out.
“Dinner is ready!”
Hermione sighed in relief and ran down the stairs, Ron following right behind her. At least now she won’t be able to slip away so easily, she thought with satisfaction.
________________________________________________________________________
Draco smiled in satisfaction as he scrawled his signature on the end. He sat back in his chair, allowing his aching, ink-spattered hands to rest. He could hear the sound of voices coming from outside, and was tempted to peep out the window, but thought better of it. He didn’t know what had happened, but it had been enough to upset Hermione, so it obviously wasn’t good.
His eyelids began to drift slowly shut, but he forced them open again. It was only about seven o’clock, for Merlin’s sake! He got up from the chair, wincing painfully as he straightened his legs. He began to pace up and down the small room, trying to work the stiffness out of his bones. Eventually, he collapsed on the bed, exhausted. Sleep was out of the question, of course. He needed to stay awake to ask Hermione what had happened. He couldn’t possibly fall asleep now…
A loud banging and rattling noise startled him from dreamless slumber. He sat up straight on the bed, nerves tingling in alarm.
“Draco! Hurry up and let us in! It’s nearly eleven!” Draco relaxed as he recognised Ron and Harry’s voices. He swung himself off the bed and unlocked the door, unable to stop an enormous yawn as the pair of them trooped in.
“So? What happened? What was wrong with Hermione?” he asked, fighting to keep the sleepiness from his voice.
Harry and Ron both started talking at once, their voices jumbled together. By the time he figured out what they were saying and grasped the implications of it, he was wide awake. None of them got much sleep that night.
My Name is Draco Malfoy... I Think by mooncalf
Chapter Notes: Six months. I can't believe it's been so long. I wholeheartedly aplogise to the few readers I might have left. I plead only long computer-less holidays, crippling writer's block and (I must admit) a certain amount of laziness. However, I'm now back on track, and I've developed a clear idea of where the story is going.
Oh, and thanks a million to my amazing beta, Hatusu.