Always Something - Dramione

Chapter Thirteen

The room of Malfoy Manor Hermione remembered best was, of course, the drawing room. That's where she brought herself and Draco when they left their son grieving at Hogwarts to go in search of anything at all that could restore him to the kind of angsty normal the boy preferred.

At first, the room was unrecognizable, great heavy drapes drawn over the windows. There was no daylight except for a long, thin beam of light where the swaths of fabric didn't quite meet over the window.

"Are we here?" Hermione whispered into the darkness.

Draco took a deep breath. "Yes. Smells like stone-ground dust, books, narcissus flowers, and wine. Home."

"The house let me apparate right inside of it," she said.

"Yes. It's like I told you: for years, it's regarded you as one of its masters."

"So the pure-blood talk -- "

"Was never true -- just a way to guard unfair status and wealth. But you knew that all along."

He let go of her hand and walked toward the covered window, taking the edges of the curtains and throwing them apart, letting sunlight into the room. It lit the motes of dust hanging in the air. Hermione covered her eyes for a moment and when she lowered her arm, tiny, broken rainbows marked the walls, floor, ceiling -- light refracted through the crystals of the chandelier.

"You should have let me take us here," Draco said. "I could have brought us into a different room."

She blinked in the sunlight, standing in the beam, looking to the chandelier re-suspended overhead. "It's up," she said.

"Yes. Are you alright?" he asked. "Can you -- breathe?"

"I can breathe," she said. "But there's more to being alright than that." Hermione pulled her eyebrows together. "Malfoy, if the house is like an unruly pet that only obeys its masters, how in the world -- "

They jumped as the door to the room was thrust open and an elegant grey lady dressed in a long, brocade dress despite the summer warmth outside sailed toward them. "Draco!" she said, taking his face between both of her hands. "And Hermione, my darlings, I'm so glad you've come. How are you, Hermione? We haven't met since the accident. You're looking well, but how are you, truly?"

"Er -- oh, the same," she stammered.

"Is that so? Did Lockhart not bring help?"

"He did, Mother," Draco hurried to say. "Thank you. We're giving his suggestions our most careful consideration. Hermione is concerned about some risks."

"Well, you musn't let Dr. Huang return to Taiwan without treating you, Hermione. No one in Britain is his equal when it comes to the wizard brain."

Hermione fought to listen, to be polite and daughterly, but she couldn't help recoiling as Narcissa Malfoy clutched at her, reaching for her hands.

Deflecting the awkwardness, Draco greeted his father, standing in the drawing room's open doorway.

"Father."

"Draco," Lucius returned. "Let's come on out of this beastly, empty room. What do you say, Hermione? Shall we visit in the library? Chairs, sofas, tea, books..."

She tried to honor his hospitality with a smile and her thanks. Draco sighed and took her hand, walking slowly, not following too closely as his parents led them past the manor's grand stairway, past the door sealed shut over the old dining room, past Lucius's study, and into Narcissa's library. By the time they arrived, Hermione was no longer holding Draco's hand but clinging to his arm. As they were about to step over the threshold, he spoke into her ear. "It's alright. You're safe now."