The Gallows Chapter 10

The tray, it turned out, was spelled to land softly if dropped, along with the contents upon it. However, Hermione couldn’t have cared less as she watched Draco take another step outside of the closet, his shoulders hunched to his ears. Pain sliced into her palms, knuckles bleached white with the effort not to offer him a hand. She bit the inside of her cheek to quell the praise spilling through her chest — sure that in this moment if she’d been asked, she would have been able to cast the most powerful patronus of her life.

Instead, she watched from the door as he made his way painfully slowly towards the pair of chairs before the fire, placing a shaking hand on the back of the closest one.

“W—would you like to have dinner here tonight?” she asked softly and, for once, he did not flinch at her voice.

His shoulders lowered a fraction and he nodded before lowering into the seat. Hermione grabbed up the tray, grateful for whatever magic had been cast upon it, and made her way over. But Malfoy was rigid in the chair, checking over his shoulder towards the open room again and again, mouth taut with tension.

Carefully she placed the tray down on the low coffee table and stepped back, fidgeting with the watch clasped around her wrist.

“Do you mind if I move my chair?” she asked slowly, an offer there in the question. “I prefer not to have my back to an open room.”

Something shifted in those gray eyes as he nodded. Some of the deep bruising beneath had lessened in the last two weeks, smoothing into pale, unblemished skin. Flicking her wand, she floated her chair closer to the fire so it faced towards the room. Another soft sigh from Malfoy, the tension in his body lessening slightly as Hermione settled in the chair. She frowned assuming when she asked to move the chair that he might have moved his as well.

Either way, Malfoy relaxed enough to take the plate, balancing it on his knees and barely stopping to cut the omelet before shoving it into his mouth.  He choked on the first bite and Hermione leant forward but stopped herself from reaching for him.

“Steady,” she murmured. “Take your time.”

Malfoy paused and heat crept through her cheeks. Had she done it again? Her muscles locked into place, but he only took a deep breath before slowly picking up his knife and cutting a piece of egg. It was the same movement she’d seen Theo and Pansy use earlier that day.

“Did you and the others go to finishing school?” The question burst from her lips before she could stop it.

Malfoy looked up at her, the edges of his mouth tugging down into a frown. It was the most expression she’d seen on his face since the final battle when he’d been screaming for Crabbe outside of the room of requirement.

“Yes, we did.” The rasp in his voice was heavy and he swallowed before taking a bite of his eggs, stopping himself at the last moment before rushing to take another.

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve never seen someone eat a salad with as much dignity as Theo this afternoon.”

Was that a smile there on his lips? It was only a moment, perhaps another tremor, but she could have sworn he’d grinned.

“We cracked the case,” she said quickly, desperate to see any other flicker of emotion.

Malfoy’s brows flicked up and she could have squealed at the look of… what was it? Pride? Surprise?

“How did you figure it out?” His rough voice sounded a bit more alive, like a true question instead of merely a grunting yes or no, or else a remark delivered like the edge of a knife.

So, she launched into her explanation, the realization she’d had. By the end of her story, Malfoy finished his food and was resting his elbows on his thighs, staring at the flames crackling in the hearth. But she knew he was listening from the way his eyes moved, the soft nod he gave whenever she said you know?

And it was odd because she might have been droning about her work, but for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt heard.

…

The next morning Hermione woke to a pair of large bat ears swaying in front of her face, and a tiny hand smoothing back her curls.

“Mistress has a visitor,” Lottie said softly. “Mistress is needing to wake up.”

Hermione groaned, snuggling deeper into the pillow. She’d gone to bed much too late staying up talking with (or was it at?) Malfoy. A body launched itself into the bed beside her, red hair flying as much too strong fingers found their way to her ribs.

“Oh yes! Lady Malfoy you must get up, you have a very important visitor!” Ginny crowed.

“Shhh Gin! Malfoy is sleeping,” Hermione whispered much too loud, bolting straight up.

Ginny froze, hands still curled into claws. “Did you say, Malfoy is sleeping?”

Immediately the redhead looked about the large bed, even going so far as to lift up the duvet. Hermione slapped it down, rolling her eyes.

“Not here, obviously,” she gestured to the connecting door, “through there.”

“Master Draco is awake,” Lottie said helpfully, drawing back the curtains with a snap of her fingers. “He has been awake for a very long time, yes he has. Lottie is bringing him tea but he is not drinking it.”

Hermione swallowed the acid crawling up her throat, imagining him back in the closet, staring at his old clothes.

“Would you fix us a tray, Lottie? I’ll bring Malfoy some tea.” Ginny gaped, but Hermione merely waved her away. “Stop it.”

Her friend’s jaw shut with a snap and she widened her eyes. “Stop what? I haven’t said anything!”

“That look hasn’t worked on anyone since 1994 and you know it.” Hermione rushed around the room, slipping back on her leggings.

Ginny threw a well-worn sweatshirt at her that had been hanging off the edge of the bed. “Here, cover up those bouncy tits before you give the man a heart attack.”

“Sorry, why exactly are you here at the ass crack of dawn?” Hermione grumbled, stumbling as she tried to slip on a thick pair of socks while standing.

“Jet lag,” Ginny yawned, “can’t sleep.”

Two trays appeared on the coffee table, one laden with pastries, fruit, two cups of tea and a large steaming pot along with all the accoutrements. The second was merely a smaller version of the first, save for the single cup and pieces of toast with apricot jam instead of pastries. Hermione fixed her tea, placing it on the second tray.

“Stay here, Gin. I mean it — don’t go into his room. I’ll be back in a bit and in the meantime, you can eat, snoop, or sleep all you want, yeah?”

The redhead sobered. They had corresponded in the last two weeks given that Ginny had back-to-back quidditch matches abroad.

“Of course, Hermione, I would never,” she breathed. “I’ll just sort through your underwear drawer while you’re gone to see what we can use as fuel for this enormous fireplace.”

Giving Gin a two-finger salute, Hermione grabbed up the tray and made her way towards the connecting door, knocking twice before pausing.

What if he didn’t want to see her? This was a change in their routine. It was five in the bloody morning for Merlin’s sake. But she shook her head, it was too late now.

“Malfoy? It’s Hermione. I’m going to come in, all right?”

Swinging the door open, she tried not to drop her tray again when she found Malfoy seated before the fire on the floor, his back to the flames, holding Pride and Prejudice tightly in both hands.

“Good morning,” she greeted gently. “I thought you might want some tea.”

Malfoy blinked, slowly setting down the book like he’d been caught. “Good morning.”

That was going to take some getting used to. She’d come to expect his silence, his stillness, and now he appeared more like a living breathing human. Slow enough as to not startle, she made her way across the room and placed the tray down on the table in front of him.

“It’s early,” he said but it sounded more like a question.

“You’re telling me,” she yawned, “Ginny — you remember Ginny Weasley, yes? Well, she’s chaser for the Harpies and has had multiple games abroad. Turkey, Istanbul, and Dubai, I think. Anyway, her sleep schedule is all sorts of messed up and she’s decided to make it my problem.”

Malfoy’s hand froze over the silver pitcher of cream, eyes widening until she could see the entire ring of gray. Hermione leant forward, quickly placing her cup back on the table.

“Is… is it all right that she’s here? If it makes you uncomfortable, I can ask her to leave.”

His lids slid shut, nostrils flaring, but he shook his head slowly. Finally, he picked up the cream, pouring it into his tea until it was almost white.

“Theo, Pansy, and Blaise should be here soon,” Hermione rushed out, wanting to smooth over whatever panic he might have felt.

At this, his mouth relaxed and his attention flicked up to her. Just for a moment, she saw an echo of the boy she’d seen at school. Seen, because it had only been from a distance that she’d witnessed that brief expression. There was something like comradery there in his gaze, amusement crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

“We need to make sure Blaise runs into Weasley.”

We.

The word brought a flush to her cheeks, a smile breaking out before she could call it back. We. Like… like they were more than just prisoner and warden. Like they were a team.

Hermione sat with Malfoy as he ate his toast, reminding him to slow down every now and again when he rushed and choked. It was long enough that the sun had finally peeked over the horizon and the morning light spilled onto the dark wood floors, catching in his hair and gilding it gold.

She hadn’t realized until then how much he’d filled out. Some of the sharpness in his face had softened, reminding her less of a skeleton covered in silk. His lips were fuller too, no longer cracked with thirst, but a healthy soft pink. The sharp angle of his shoulders was still there though and she noticed the way the shirt hung off his frame. Making a mental note to continue the nutrition potions, she waved her wand to clear away the empty tray and cast a tempus charm to check the time.

“I’ll get out of your hair — they should be here in the next few minutes anyway.” With a sigh she rose, gathering her hair up into a bun on her head and sticking her wand through it. “I’ll see you this evening, all right?”

Malfoy watched each movement warily, his throat bobbing with a swallow. He lifted a trembling hand, running it through his hair before his attention flicked to the closet.

“Wherever you feel safest, Malfoy. No one will push you.”

A small huff slipped through his lips and she could have sworn in another life, it would have been a laugh. “You obviously have never met Pansy Parkinson.”

…

Hermione passed the morning in the rose garden, Ginny perched on the box with a large hat she’d conjured so as not to burn in the spring sun. When she’d arrived back in her room, it had been to find the redhead sprawled across her bed, dead to the world. Therefore, it’d been with extreme pleasure that she’d woken her, demanding her presence out on the estate.

Ginny grumbled at first until she finally caught sight of the garden and spent the first hour or so wandering through the long rows of flowers before circling back to Hermione’s project.

“Do you think he’ll mind that you’re taking care of Narcissa’s flowers?” Ginny asked quietly, observing Hermione pull a weed from the box and throw it onto a growing pile to vanish later.

She sat back, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. That had been the question circling her mind ever since she started working on the garden. Each step of her life felt like another move in a chess match where she couldn’t see the board.

“I hope that by the time he feels well enough to look out a window the garden will be done and he’ll be none the wiser.

Ginny hummed, holding the back of her wide brimmed hat with one hand as she pointed her face up into the sun. They sat in companionable silence, Hermione occasionally checking the text floating beside her to ensure she wasn’t making any mistakes, while Ginny soaked up the sun, no doubt adding to her impressive collection of freckles.

“Are you happy?”

The question startled Hermione and she froze, hand wrapped around a particularly tough length of ivy. If Ginny had asked that question three weeks ago, Hermione would not have hesitated. The answer would have been: yes, of course I’m happy. She had her job, her friends, she took her occasional days off to the countryside to hole up in a little cabin drinking endless cups of tea and reading every smutty romance novel she could get her hands on.

“I don’t know,” she answered slowly, staring at her mud caked gloves.

There was a weight on her chest that had not been there two weeks ago. A responsibility that laid across her shoulders that felt almost as heavy as the one Harry had placed there all those years ago. It wasn’t happiness what she felt. She could not even call it contentment. At times, especially in those moments when Malfoy lashed out or his silence filled the entire manor, she would have called it agony.

But then she thought of his face that morning. The ghost of the grin pulling up his lips. His hair, gilded by the rising sun, and the hollows beneath his eyes fading with each passing day. Those small questions he asked, the revelation of his attention, the concern he’d shown over her to Pansy and Theo. It had been concern, hadn’t it? Or just an observation.

She doesn’t eat lunch.

The moment was broken by the sunroom door swinging open and a deep voice calling across the grounds.

“Hermione, come in and have something to eat!”

Blaise stood at the top step of the patio, shielding his eyes from the sun. He was dressed casually — or as casually as she ever saw the Slytherins dress — in a pair of soft gray slacks and a lightweight cream sweater rolled up his forearms.

“Come on, Gin,” she murmured, pulling off her gloves and closing the horticulture book, vanishing it back to her room.

The redhead jumped to her feet. “Godric, is that Zabini?”

“Yep,” she answered, popping the p.

They strode closer and with each step, Blaise’s eyes widened into saucers, fixed on Ginny following close behind, a Cheshire grin plastered to her face.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Blaise murmured with something reverence, the hand covering his eyes dropping slowly to his chest.

“And just like that, my lady boner is gone,” Ginny muttered, flouncing past him and into the sunroom.

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head and following close behind, leaving Blaise stunned on the patio. And as Theo gave her a squeeze and Hermione prepared a small tray of food for Malfoy, intent on bringing it up to him so at least on the weekends he could get three meals a day, she thought she might know what it was she felt.

Compassion.

Duty.

And most of all: purpose.