Summary:

Hermione and Draco hash things out

Chapter Text

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How she could just sit there, chewing her apple and looking up at the trees was fucking beyond him.

He had to get out of here. Away from her. Back to his home. Not his sodding Muggle flat, his real home. He needed to be by himself, to process all of this ... to begin to comprehend exactly what had happened to him. What had been done to him.

But she didn't really look like she planned on going anywhere.

"It's getting dark."

"I bought a pair of tents. And sleeping bags. And there's enough food to last us until ... well, it's pretty much an endless supply."

"You are out of your bloody mind."

"I think I might be."

She wrapped the apple core in a napkin and stuffed it into her bag. Her bag. The same bag she brought with her every week to see him. Had her wand been in there the whole time? Was her wand in there now? If he could just get it from her ...

"Stop staring at my bag like that. My wand isn't in there."

"I don't need your wand to kill you."

She looked slightly ill. Good.

"You would kill me, Draco?"

He couldn't look at her. Or answer her question. Suddenly, she stood up and walked over to him, positioning herself inches from his face. She then picked up his hands and put them around her neck.

"Go on then. I'm sure you could do it."

Her skin was soft beneath his hands. He tightened the grip, hoping it would make her eyes light up with fear. It didn't.

"Go on," she goaded.

He clenched his teeth and set his jaw.

"You're going to have to squeeze tighter than that."

"Why are you doing this?" he hissed.

"Why aren't you killing me?" her voice was perfectly even. He tried to channel his aggravation at her calmness into his hands, but they disobeyed, instead relaxing their grip and sliding impotently down her throat, down her shoulders, back into his lap. Tears began to sting his eyes. He blinked them away. She picked up his hands again and put them on her throat. "Come on," she said. The serene tone of her voice broke as her lips began to tremble. "Give it another go."

"Stop doing that," he rasped. Instead of closing around her throat, his hands instead cupped her face. He caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, brushing away the tears that began to slide down them. "Just stop."

"Stop what?" Slowly, tentatively, she reached up and took his face in her hands, mirroring his own motions.

He could feel her breath on his chin. His mind flashed to the way her face looked in the soft light of his living room on a night that seemed to have happened long ago in someone else's life. He licked his lips, but didn't bring them to hers. "Stop ... stop ... acting like ... like ..."

"Like what?" she whispered.

"Like you didn't spend over a decade hating me." His voice was stronger now, fueled by a deep sense of disgust in the pit of his stomach.

She pulled back and opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.

"Because I hated you too, Granger. That's the first thing I thought when I saw you here. That I hated you." She took his hands, crushing them so tightly in hers that it almost hurt. He tried to wrest them away, but she wouldn't give them up.

"I know."

"Let go of my hands."

"No."

"Let go."

"Take them from me. You're much stronger than I am."

"You're a bloody idiot." He finally reclaimed his hands.

"Probably."

"Why did you bring me here?"

"To keep you from hurting yourself or others."

"Why are you here?"

"I just told you that."

"No. Why did you bring me here? Where's Potter? Weasley? Shacklebolt? Anyone else?"

"I told you. No one knows about this. And it's not," she said, sitting up straighter, "because I think of you as a charity case. I could have brought this to the Ministry and had them figure out what to do with you. They could have re-erased your memory, given you another new identity."

His stomach churned at the words. He was an experiment gone awry, a mindless mote of dust to be erased and reprogrammed at will. The fucking Minstry and their fucking ...

"But I didn't want that to happen. I didn't trust them, Draco."

"Because they fucked it up so royally the first go-round?"

"No. Well, yes. But also because no one knew you the way ..."

"The way you did?" he sneered.

"Yes."

"You didn't know me, Granger." His voice dripped with venom. "You knew the person you programmed me to be."

She made a face like he'd punched her in the stomach, then stood up and marched over to the blanket, retrieving the ticket stub that had fallen to the ground. For an agonizing moment, he was sure that she was going to tear it in two. He half-rose to stop her before regaining control of his sensibility. What did it matter to him?

"We didn't program you, Draco. We erased your memories of the wizarding world. This," she said, brandishing the ticket, "and this," she said, pulling his poorly-folded approximation of a napkin rose out of her back pocket, "are from you. Just you."

"You kept that?"

"How could I not? It's the last flower I'd ever get from you. That's what you said, at least."

"You are a sentimental fool."

"Yes, I suppose I am. Do you want this back?" she handed the crumpled ticket stub to him. He almost reached for it. Almost.

"Stop that."

"What?"

"Stop trying to make me think that I was ... that I had any control over what I did after you fucked with my mind."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Draco. There was nothing in the spell that changed you as a person. Drake Malford was Draco Malfoy, just without the memories, without the upbringing, without the twisted lies that your parents had been pouring into your head since you were a baby."

"You do not talk about my parents," he growled at her.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"You're right. I'm not." Her voice had gained a considerably icy edge. "So how did it feel, Draco?"

"What?" His head was beginning to throb. When would this be over?

"Kissing a mudblood? Letting a mudblood sleep next to you at night? Making love to a mudblood?"

"Shut up."

"Why? Because you liked it? You certainly seemed to like it, the way you called out my name when you..."

"Shut the fuck up, Granger," he growled.

"No." She walked up to him again. Too close. "No I will not shut up, not until you realize this: Draco Malfoy and Drake Malford are the same person. They are both you. That spell didn't make you do anything or feel anything or think anything. It ... it freed you."

"Freed me? Freed me? Do you have any fucking idea what I was going through? Especially towards the end?"

"Alright, perhaps that was a poor choice of words. I admit that."

"Someone alert the fucking Daily Prophet. Hermione Granger just admitted that she was wrong."

She rolled her eyes. He glared at her, fuming.

"You made a pretty good Muggle for a while, though. Had a job, went for walks through the park. Jumped in a scummy pond to save a stuffed rabbit. Made pizza dough from scratch. Memorized lines from Shakespeare."

"Shut up. God! Do you ever just shut up?"

"That was you, Draco. All of it."

He clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes. He could feel the tears again, rising in his throat, burning behind his eyelids. He moved his hands from his ears to his face, fingers pressing against his brow so firmly that they trembled. She put her hands on his arms, digging her nails into his flesh.

"That was you," she said forcefully.

"Stop ... fucking with my mind." He had meant that to sound like a command, but it came out as a strangled plea.

"I'm not fucking with your mind, Draco. I'm telling you the truth. That was you."

He pressed his lips together, intent on keeping everything buried safely in his chest, where it could pulse sharply against his ribs. For a brief moment, he wished that she would wrap her arms around him and let him breathe in her hair and her skin, because he knew it would smell just as it did in his flat, when she lay next to him on his bed. He wanted to let her cradle his head between her neck and her shoulder, to let her stroke his hair and kiss his forehead, to let her warmth erase everything. Instead, he wrung his arms from her grip, then took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose.

"You don't know anything, Granger," he said softly.

"You're right. Not when it comes to this. I don't have the slightest clue what I'm doing." She spoke without a trace of sarcasm; her face was deathly serious. "I have no idea what to do once we leave this forest."

"So we are actually going to leave at some point?"

She stole a glance at him, obviously unsure how to take it. He attempted a smirk.

"I assume so." She attempted one back at him.

"Granger ..."

"What?"

"I have to take a piss."

"Oh." Her face reddened a bit. "Well, we're in a forest. I'll just ... turn around."

He walked as far as the barrier would let him go, and then took care of business. When he returned, she had packed up the blanket and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Does this mean we're leaving?"

"Yes. I can't keep you here like a ... prisoner. I don't know what else I'm waiting for, Draco. I trusted you enough to reverse the spell, so I'll just have to trust you enough not to go on some sort of killing spree once we get back."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Where are we going to go?"

"The Ministry, I guess. I'll explain everything to Shacklebolt and ..."

"I don't want to go there."

"I can't take you back to the Manor. It's got anti-apparation wards around it."

"I don't want to go there either."

"Well I can't just drop you off in ..."

"I want to go back to my flat. I want to get a few things from there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She chewed her lip and took a deep breath before shrugging and saying, "Why the hell not?" She pulled her wand from the back of her jeans. His gaze focused upon it immediately. She eyed him cautiously, but said only: "Hold tight to me."

He did.

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The flat was exactly as he had left it, minus the blood. Sticks were strewn about the living room; a knife sat on the kitchen table.

She kept giving him nervous glances, perhaps expecting him to lose his shit at any particular moment. He couldn't blame her, really.

"What are you going to do about my flat? And my job?"

"We'll just tell everyone that you suddenly had to leave town due to a family emergency."

"Right." He began to gather up the sticks. She watched him for a few seconds and then pitched in. "Can you tell Tad that I had a flesh-eating disease and that anyone who drank out of my coffee cup on fucking purpose just to fucking be a fucking Insufferable Wanker should probably get tested?"

She snorted, then giggled, then began to laugh. The bundle of sticks she had in her arms tumbled to the floor.

"Very graceful."

She wiped at her eyes and cleared her throat. "He didn't sound very pleasant to work with," she said, collecting the sticks again.

"You haven't a fucking clue."

"Too bad you never got him to dress as a Flying Monkey."

"How did you ..." He stopped collecting sticks and scrutinized her. "Did you ... of course you did. No wonder I thought you were reading it as I wrote."

"What do you want to do with these?" she asked, offered him her armful of sticks.

"I don't know."

"These aren't what you came back for?"

"God, no. I just wanted to tidy up a bit."

She began to laugh again, even harder than before, and then trotted off to the bathroom.

"That funny, eh?"

"I drank a lot of water back there! Not all of us can just pee in the woods!" she called from the other side of the door.

He put the sticks into the trash. Then he rinsed off the knife and put it back in the drawer. When he reentered the living room, she was standing there, rifling through her bag.

"What are you looking for?"

"This." She walked up to him held out the wrinkled ticket stub.

"You keep it."

"I have my own. I took both of ours back from the ticket-taker. Keep it. So you remember."

"I don't need it to remem..." but his words were cut off by her lips, which had planted themselves over his. He stiffened and pulled away.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I just ..."

"You just what?" His voice was crueler than he had meant it to sound, and it made her wince. The corners of her eyes creased.

"I just ... nevermind. I'm very sorry. It won't happen again."

He gave her a hard look. Her soft brown eyes flickered in his gaze. He lifted a finger to her face and brushed his knuckle from her cheek down to her jaw. She gasped slightly. That sound broke his will; the next thing he knew, he was kissing her, holding her body tightly against his. He felt an erection begin to stir against the thin material of his running shorts and removed his lips from hers, pushing her away from him. He certainly couldn't get them involved in that again. He swore softly and took several steps backwards.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"That one was my fault," he muttered. His eyes fixed themselves on the nondescript landscape painting on the wall behind the couch, then on the remote control, then on the square patch of sunlight on the carpet. Anywhere but her.

"Draco?"

"What?"

"I never told you something."

"Don't tell me now."

"Why not?"

"Because it's something you were going to tell him, isn't it?"

"You are him."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"I have to get a few things out of my bedroom. You should ... probably stay here."

"Alright."

He left her in the living room and got a briefcase from his closet. There was an expensive pen he really liked. And a pair of very nice sunglasses. And a copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare. And a purple hair tie with four bobby pins dangling from it. He closed the briefcase and changed into a grey jumper and blue jeans.

When he returned to the living room, she was sitting on his couch in the same spot she always sat in, writing on a piece of parchment. He tried not to look at her as he proceeded into the kitchen, even though he was fairly certain there was nothing in there he wanted. He searched through the cabinets and refrigerator, just in case. His eyes lit on a container sitting in the back of the refrigerator. Suddenly something made perfect sense. "You had meant to say Chocolate Frogs, didn't you?" he called.

"Yes." She sounded almost guilty.

"Thank God. I was seriously questioning your taste for a while there." He walked back into the living room and looked around. There was nothing in here he wanted to take with him. "That's it then."

"Ok. Well. We can leave." She took out her wand. "I figure we can go to the ..."

"Do you ..." he interrupted. He couldn't believe he was doing this. "Do you want a cup of tea? Before we go?"

A simile positively lit up her face. "I would love one."

He put the bag on the ground and walked back into the kitchen.

---------------------------------------

She sipped her tea slowly, wishing that the cup could magically refill itself. He seemed to have the same idea. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure he'd even tasted his yet. He had, however, stirred it diligently.

"Are you trying to create a tea vortex?" she asked.

"Tea tastes better when it's been properly swirled," he sneered. "Everyone knows that."

"Thank you for the tip," she said, nodding gravely.

She couldn't quite believe they were sitting here at his kitchen table, not as Hermione and Drake, but as Hermione and Draco. Even if, as she had taken such great pains to remind him, they were the same person, it was still a bit unsettling.

"So where are we going?" he asked, finally sipping his drink.

"The Ministry. I ... sent a message to Harry. He's going to help us."

"Potter?" He made a face like he had just sucked on a lemon.

"Yes, Draco."

"How much does he know?"

She warmed her hands on the sides of her mug. "He knows I'm bringing you back. And that I reversed the spell."

"And that we've ...?"

"...Yes."

"Bloody hell, Granger."

"What do you want me to tell you? I needed help, Draco."

He made a noise of disgust.

"Anyway, Harry is going to talk to Shacklebolt right now. Give him an idea of what's happened. We'll apparate into my office, Shacklebolt can fire me, and then you can go."

"Go where?"

"Wherever you'd like."

"Where is my mother?"

"Except there."

"Granger ..." his voice rose.

"Draco," she countered, voice equally sharp, "your mother is happy. I can't stress that enough. Seeing you would only ... well, I don't quite know what it would do."

"End the spell on her."

"I can't do that."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I don't have the authority to do that."

"Like you had the fucking authority to drag me to a forest in New Zealand?"

She sighed. He had her there. "Draco ..." she began.

"Who else did you people do this to?"

"Blaise and Pansy." There was no point in keeping it from him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Not kidding."

"This is ridiculous. You have to reverse it on them. They weren't doing anything wrong."

"You'll have to talk to Shacklebolt about that. I am fairly confident that I will have very little clout with the Ministry after this ... escapade. But listen to me: they're fine. All of them."

"So you mean to tell me," he said, leaning forward in his chair, "that none of them ... not Blaise, not Pansy, not my mother ... none of them are like I was?"

"Not even a hint."

"Did you feed them all that story about the witness protection program and the head trauma?"

"Yes."

"And they fell for it?"

"You did," she pointed out.

He slammed his flat palm on the table. A bit of tea sloshed over the side of his mug. "It sounds so bloody stupid now," he said, wiping up the tea.

"I know."

"Granger, I want to see my mother."

She sighed. "Wait here."

Hermione went back into the living room, retrieved a file from her bag, and tossed it onto the kitchen table. Draco began to sift through it, skimming through Dean's inelegant prose, pausing to run his fingers over the frozen photographs.

"If Shacklebolt won't listen to me," he began, pausing on a picture of Narcissa at what must have been her office. She squinted at a computer screen, cradling a telephone between her ear and her shoulder.. "If I can't ..." He cleared his throat and rubbed his hand across his chin. "Will you .. let me know if ... will you keep tabs on her?"

"Of course. And if ... when I'm fired, Harry will. I promise."

"Fucking Potter."

"Yes, Draco. That's who he is. And I'm Hermione Granger. And you're having tea with me."

"What's your point?"

She sighed. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Neither of them drank the tea.

"You're sure you're going to be fired?"

"I can't see how I wouldn't be. I'd fire me, if I were Shacklebolt."

"I see." he looked as if he had meant to say something entirely different, but clamped his mouth shut and began to twirl the teaspoon between his fingers.

"I told you last weekend that I wouldn't regret it if I lost my job."

"That was different ... you were talking about ..."

"I was talking about the same thing."

"No you weren't."

"Yes. I. Was." Her voice was firm. "Draco, I ..."

"Don't."

"Fine." She balled a napkin inside of her fist.

"Good."

"But just because I'm not allowed to tell you ..."

"Shut up," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and pursing his lips together.

"Look at me."

He did. A watery film trembled over his grey eyes. She took his left hand and clasped it between hers, then kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed his palm against her cheek. He skimmed his thumb across her lips.

"This is too much for me, Granger."

"I understand. I'm not asking anything of you, Draco. When we get back, you can forget everything that happened between us."

He nodded slowly.

She brought their mugs to the sink and dumped the cold tea down the drain, trying to be as business-like as possible. "We should go," she said. "Harry's waiting."

She expected a snide remark at the mention of Harry's name, but he said nothing. She hung the mugs on the drainboard and they walked into the living room. She put her bag over her shoulder and picked up her wand. "Do you have everything you want to take with you?"

He looked around the living room one last time. "Yes." He picked up his briefcase, but made no move to join her on the other side of the room.

"Alright then. You have to ... you have to hold on to me for this to work."

"Right." He crossed the living room slowly and stood by her side.

She looked up at him. His hair was a mess, his eyes were rimmed with red. She readied her wand as he wrapped an arm around her.

"I won't forget, Granger," he whispered in her ear. "How could I?'

She swallowed, closed her eyes tightly, and Apparated them out.