Hard Time

Chapter Twenty-Four: Into the Muggles’ Den


Draco stood in front of the full-sized mirror in his room, inspecting himself in what was now the third outfit he'd tried on in the last half hour. He shook his head, nervous and frustrated. What did Muggles wear to a dinner invitation, anyway? A chuckle behind him told him that someone else was also enjoying the view. He whirled and gave Harry a scowling glare.

"It's a bit formal, Draco," Harry said, and Draco could see he was trying hard not to smile, but it didn't matter. Draco was angry, and he knew why he was angry; it was because he was going into a situation where he had no idea what to expect. And it was Hermione Granger, the same girl who had punched him in the face when he was thirteen that he was going to meet. Granger, who had consistently throughout the years beaten everyone, including himself, at exam time. Hermione, Harry’s friend, who was far too perceptive for her own good.

"It's Ralph Lauren," Draco replied, smoothing his trousers. He didn't have much that was informal; his parents would never have let him wear anything less than the best. He did like the soft black trousers, and the white shirt – well, it wasn't black, now was it?

"Take off the coat, and maybe roll up your sleeves a bit." Harry stepped over to help him remove the coat, and Draco found himself allowing it, watching Harry's dextrous hands as he slid the buttons through. "We really should find you a pair of jeans or something."

Draco looked down at himself. "I am not wearing jeans," he said archly. First of all, they looked bloody uncomfortable. And second, they were far too . . . plebeian. He also was not going to roll up his sleeves. It would entirely ruin the look. Not to mention that it would expose the ugly mess of healed scars on his wrists. The Dark Mark had faded away with Voldemort's death, but those were replacements he would never be rid of.

He risked a glance back to Harry, and found that Harry was smiling fondly at him, which gave Draco a moment of spinning vertigo; when had Harry ever looked fondly at him? "I guess this will work, then. Just be aware – Hermione's parents aren't rich like you. I doubt they'll be very dressed up." Of course Harry was wearing his customary tight-arsed jeans and a t-shirt. Draco would have loved an excuse to make him dress in Armani and have him deal with some of Mother's friends.

Well, so he was dressed, then, and it was almost time to go. Draco let out another anxious breath, telling himself that it would only be a couple of hours or so. As Harry had said, he could look on it as a practice session for acting out his new persona in front of Kingsley or the Wizengamot. "I'm ready," he stated, and at Harry's nod, followed him out of the room. Harry had his wand in his jeans pocket, and Draco was keeping his close as well, hidden up his sleeve. The chances of an attack the moment they stepped out of the Manor were slim, but neither of them wanted to be unprepared. Actually, Draco was rather impressed that Harry was allowing him to bring his wand at all.

They stepped out the front door of the Manor, and Draco frowned at seeing the untended gardens again. "We really should get to work on those gardens some time," he told Harry, as they walked towards the iron wrought gate. He also considered taking Harry down to the duck pond some time, and showing him the little places where he'd played as a child. Far too often he'd had to amuse himself, alone, on the banks of that pond while Father worked and Mother entertained her society guests.

Harry gazed at him thoughtfully and nodded, and Draco wondered if he guessed at any of his thoughts. "That would be good. Hopefully, the weather will start to cool off a little." He opened the gate and the two of them stepped beyond the Manor grounds. Harry would be taking Draco in a Side-Along Apparition since only he knew where Hermione lived. Considering Draco's past associations and the trouble Hermione had gone through to better protect her parents, it was actually a rather monumental decision to invite him along. Harry took Draco's hand and gave him an encouraging smile. Draco felt a warm flutter go through him. He'd been experiencing a rather disconcerting number of those today. Draco gave a nod, and with that, they were spinning away, off to their destination.

They appeared at the door of a plain red brick house with weeds in the garden and a quaint white door with a brass knocker. It was entirely a Muggle neighbourhood, and Draco felt a shiver, remembering the last time he'd been near anything similar, which had been on one of the Death Eater raids, when they'd forced him to witness ----

Harry rang the doorbell, the sound so sudden and incongruous that it made Draco start a little, jarring him out of his dark reminisces. He purposefully tried to steer his thoughts towards more pleasant things. A woman with bushy brown hair, tied haphazardly in a knot, opened the door and smiled at Harry, giving Draco a cautious, curious look. Draco found himself flushing hotly, wondering why again he had been daft enough to agree to this, standing stiff and silent. What sorts of things would Hermione have told her parents about him? Did they know what he was? Who he was?

"Hi, Mrs. Granger," Harry said easily, and Draco envied him that casual ease he seemed to have with everyone, from Muggles to Ministers. She gazed at Draco, and Harry hurried to introduce him. "Oh – this is Draco Malfoy – he attended Hogwarts with us. Hermione said he could come." There was a hopeful note at the end, as if Harry was hopeful that it wasn't too much of an imposition.

Mrs. Granger smiled politely and nodded, opening the door wider for the two of them to enter. "Yes, Hermione mentioned there would be two of you." She didn't comment further, but her sharp gaze on Draco made Draco think that Hermione had probably mentioned his name once or twice, and not in a positive light. He kept his eyes lowered and his hands folded in front of him, staying close to Harry, and trying to ignore the fear that was coursing through his body. They were supposed to be good people. They wouldn't hurt him. Or at least that's what he kept trying to tell himself.

"Hermione's upstairs," Mrs. Granger said as she led them into a sort of living room, piteously small to Draco's mind, especially given the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with books and odd little knick-knacks on the tables. A mild-looking man with light brown hair and glasses was seated on the sofa, hunched forward and watching a peculiar box in which tiny people were running about on a green field, chasing a little white ball. He glanced over as they walked in, and stood up, smiling and nodding to each in turn.

"Hello, Harry," he said, coming over to clap a hand on Harry's shoulder; they'd likely met at Flourish and Blott's or something, Draco reckoned. Indeed, he seemed to remember seeing them there in passing before the start of the second school year. Mr. Granger looked to him next, and Harry introduced Draco again. Draco was standing so straight his back hurt, but he couldn't seem to relax, especially when Mr. Granger came over to inspect him more closely. "So he's a wizard, too?" He looked at Draco's mouth. "Can I see your teeth?" Draco's eyes widened.

"Harold," Mrs. Granger admonished, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure they don't need you inspecting them before dinner." Draco backed up a step, still wide-eyed, and even more positive that he shouldn't have come here. Hermione's parents were obviously nuts.

Harry chuckled. "It's okay, Draco – Hermione’s parents are both dentists. Just give him a quick look." He turned to Mrs. Granger. "Can I go up and see Hermione?"

Mrs. Granger nodded. "She's in her room, on the computer, I think."

That received a nod from Harry, and he looked to Draco. "I'll be back in a minute – I need to ask her something." He didn't elaborate further, but hurried up the stairs, leaving Draco and Hermione's parents staring at each other uncertainly. Draco eyed Mr. Granger warily.

"I'd best be setting the table," Mrs. Granger said, breaking the standstill and heading towards the kitchen.

Mr. Granger smiled. "You can come watch the telly with me while we wait for them." He returned to the sofa and sat down, motioning for Draco to join him. There was a large overstuffed chair beside the sofa. Draco sat there, perched on the edge, listening to someone who sounded like Zacharias Smith on Quick Drops narrating a Quidditch match.

"So what is this?" Draco asked, in what he hoped was a polite manner. He glanced around at the pictures on the wall, but none of them were moving, eyes dead. It was creepy, he decided.

"This? Oh, it's just the game against Man U – I don't always watch football, but this is a game I try not to miss each year." He laughed. "Hermione thinks it's cracked, of course."

Draco tried to follow the flow of the game, and he could definitely see the goal nets and some passing, but it all seemed rather perplexing. "Is the ball enchanted to change directions like that?"

"Enchanted? No, it’s a regular ball. That's just the skill of the players, kicking it so that it changes direction." Mr. Granger looked at Draco. "Do you play sports?"

Well, at least it was something of a conversation, Draco thought. "I used to play Quidditch – er – we use our hands for that one. And brooms."

Hermione's mother returned from the kitchen, arms crossed, watching the two of them for a moment, a thoughtful look on her face. Draco fought the urge to squirm. "You were in the same year as Hermione, correct?"

Draco darted a glance in her direction, afraid to meet her gaze. "Yes."

He didn't want to elaborate further, but of course Mr. Granger took that meagre answer as an opening to continue questioning. "Oh? Are you friends with our daughter?"

There was no way to avoid the truth on that one, especially if Hermione had talked about it with her parents. "Actually, we were usually at odds, growing up." Which at least left open the possibility that things had changed since then. Of course that was hopefully the goal.

Hermione's mother gave a terse nod. "Were you involved in this war that was going on?"

Draco flushed. "Yes, I was." Please don't ask, he added silently. When were Harry and Hermione going to finish their bloody talk and get down here?

"Fighting on Harry and Hermione's side, then?" Mr. Granger asked. They had to have noticed the guilty flush on his face, Draco reckoned. They were both staring at him now, with caution, rather than friendliness. He scratched at the back of his neck where the heat prickled and itched.

"No," Draco admitted quietly, fixing his gaze on some invisible point in the distance, feeling small and vulnerable. He felt like being ill; the fear was suffocating him. But there was nothing for it. "I was on the wrong side. But there wasn't much choice for me. They would have killed my parents if I hadn't cooperated."

"As our daughter feared for us," Mrs. Granger said quietly. Draco wasn't sure if there was an accusation in there, or understanding.

Mr. Granger nodded sadly. "War is a terrible thing." Both of Hermione's parents had gone slightly pale at Draco's admission, not surprisingly. Draco wondered how much about the Death Eaters they had been told. He startled visibly when Mr. Granger put a hand on his knee. "But I see you're with Harry now, so you must have known it was wrong, the side you were on."

Draco swallowed. His heart felt as if it was lodged in his throat. It was just an innocent question; they meant nothing to him, Hermione's parents. But he found himself wanting to impress them just the same. The truth was, he had known. He'd known, and he hadn't done anything about it. "Yes." He shuddered. "I knew it was wrong even before the moment the Dark Lord killed one of our professors from the school right in front of me."

There was a horrified silence for a moment, where nobody spoke. One of the little people on the 'telly' kicked the ball into the net, and then there was a great deal of shouting and cheering. Mr. Granger groaned and turned it off. "They always win." He looked at Draco. "You're too young to have tales like that. Did your parents survive the war? It's over now, right?"

Over for some, Draco thought with a pang. "They're both alive." He had a feeling they would ask more if he didn't continue. "They're in prison." That was about all he wanted to say on that subject.

Another uncomfortable silence met this statement. Well, this was going just swimmingly, Draco thought with a pang, just as Mrs. Granger decided they'd chatted long enough. "What are they talking about up there? Hermione! Dinner's going to be ready soon!" She gave Draco an apologetic look and returned to the kitchen.

Mr. Granger sighed, rubbing his hands on his trousers. "All I have to say is I think they expect too much from you young wizards and witches, if they expect you to be fighting their wars for them. I guess it's the old 'great powers, great responsibilities' thing, hmm?" At Draco's blank look, Mr. Granger chuckled. "I take it you didn't see that movie."

"I've never been invited inside a Muggle's house before," Draco answered. He wondered what a 'movie' was and whether Harry would want a contraption like that 'telly' in the Manor. It might be interesting to see more of this strange world. Educational, as Hermione might put it.

At that moment, Draco noticed Harry and Hermione appear on the stairs. Mr. Granger stood up, and Draco took the opportunity to stand as well, needing something to do with his excessive nervous energy, and also not wanting to face Hermione sitting down. She seemed to be rather surprised at finding Draco and her father together, but gave Draco a nod. "Draco." It was stiff, but civil. She was inspecting him closely, as if by staring at him hard enough, she'd be able to read his mind.

Draco nodded back at her, too tired to play games, too stressed to pretend anything but how uncomfortable he felt. "Hermione." He glanced over at her father. "We were discussing football. And the war."

Harry chuckled. "That sounds like an interesting combination." He looked concerned about something, chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

Mr. Granger rescued the situation. "If you all would like to sit down in the dining room, your mother says that dinner is almost ready." He began heading there, allowing them to follow at their own pace. Harry went ahead, but Hermione stopped Draco before he could follow.

"You do look different – at least different from how you looked a year ago. Harry says you've changed." Her dark brows drew together, brown eyes boring into him. "Have you?"

Draco swallowed. Probably of all of Harry's friends, he feared Hermione the most. "I'm here, aren't I?" The implication was clear enough. A year ago he wouldn't have set foot in a Muggle house to have dinner. He wouldn't have been associating with Harry Potter either.

She nodded slowly, her eyes not leaving him. "You're here. But then, you've always looked out for yourself, haven't you? Using Harry to get what you want wouldn't be much different."

Ouch. That one stung, actually. Draco frowned, ready to tell her where to stuff her ideas-- but he needed more allies, not more enemies. "I never asked Harry to do anything. Ask him yourself if you don't believe me." He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, then realised that it would expose the scar on his wrist. Hastily, he put his hand back down, but he could already tell Hermione had seen it. Her face had gone closed, unreadable.

Hermione gave a long sigh. "Just . . . tell me this. What is Harry to you? If this all works out, and you are freed, are you going to continue talking to him? Be his friend? Be honest with me here."

He was hardly going to tell her his hopes, or his fears. So she was one of Harry's friends; what right did that give her to pry into things that weren't her business? "He's . . ." Draco began, but he had to think. He realised he had no idea what the true answer was to that question, so he couldn't even think of a suitable reply. Hermione was probably expecting him to say something like 'a means to an end' by her attitude, but, of course, he wasn't going to say that. It also wasn't true. What was true, then? He was aware of her waiting for an answer, and the fact they would soon be missed in the dining room. "I don't know exactly," he finally retorted, taking another step towards the other room before she blocked him. "But yes. I'm going to keep talking to him. I--" He'd been about to say I like him. But since when had that been true? He certainly hadn't liked much about Harry Potter before. He scowled. "He's not as much of a git as I thought he was," he finally said. And I'd miss talking with him, he added silently to himself, amazed that it was also true. He'd actually miss Harry. "We are friends," he concluded, because it was true, and it was advantageous for Granger to know that it was true.

"Hermione?" Harry peeked his head around the corner, frowning when he saw the two of them. Draco wondered what they must look like; Hermione all but had him pinned against the wall.

She nodded to him. "Just a moment; we'll be there." She shooed him off with a small wave of her hand, and took one last look at Draco. "Just know this. If you hurt him . . ." A dark look crossed her face, and if Draco hadn't already been against the wall, he would have taken a step back. "I'll make you pay for it." With that, she turned and headed into the dining room. Draco released the breath he'd been holding.

He entered the dining room to find Harry standing by the doorway, waiting for him. The Grangers were all seated, but Harry gave Draco a little encouraging smile, touching his elbow briefly, almost in caress. Draco longed to duck his head against Harry's chest and just take refuge there. Instead, he mustered up a smile of his own and went to sit down.

Once Harry took his seat, Mrs. Granger served the food and they began eating. Mr. Granger asked Harry how he'd been getting on, and if he'd be returning to Hogwarts with Hermione. Harry replied that he would, and added, with a nod at Hermione, that he'd be seeing the Headmistress soon about Draco returning as well. Draco sat and tried to pick at his food. It tasted perfectly fine, but his stomach was in an uproar, and he feared if he ate more than a morsel, he would be sick. It was too much stress too soon. He didn't even know what to be any longer, how to act. Mrs. Granger asked if he was all right, and he nodded tersely, and said that he was fine. He didn't think anyone believed it, but they left him in peace. And for that, he was grateful.

The talk turned to other things, things which were apparently of concern to Muggles but that Draco knew nothing about. To the best of his understanding, the Grangers’ impromptu move to Australia had caused a few problems with patients who attended their 'dentist' offices (and here Mr. Granger went on about Harry's teeth and asked a series of questions about how wizards took care of their dental needs).

Draco nibbled at his food and caught Hermione watching him more than once. He tried to ignore it, wishing the meal would be over soon and that he could just go back to the Manor to hide and sleep away the exhaustion that was settling over him, when he heard the conversation turn back to the war.

"So tell me, Harry. Was Ron exaggerating when he told us that it was your actions that basically ended the conflict? He said you killed someone?"

Harry flushed in embarrassment. "Well, not precisely – the wizard threw a killing curse at me, and when I defended myself, the curse rebounded on him and killed him instead. But yes, that ended the war. And Ron and Hermione played important roles too – they helped me destroy these objects that were making this evil wizard invincible. I never would have been able to do it without their help." He glanced over at Draco, with a soft look that suddenly made Draco feel safer and more secure. Elated, even, though he didn't know why. "Draco's mother actually helped as well. She lied for me at a critical moment." He smiled. Draco blushed.

Mrs. Granger blinked in surprise, glancing over at Draco, who did his very best to try to be invisible. "But I thought – didn't you say both your parents were in prison?"

Draco glanced at Harry, begging him with his eyes to answer for him. He saw a flicker of understanding, and Harry nodded. "They are – but his mother will be out in a few years." He chewed on his lip a little. "They, ah, were pretty deeply involved with the other side. But they didn't really fight in the final battle." Harry smiled again, and it felt like it was just for Draco. "Draco refused to even answer the dark wizard's call that night."

Hermione glanced at Harry, and for a moment Draco was sure she was going to bring up the whole Fiendfyre incident. But she kept her tongue, nodding to herself and taking a bite of corned beef. It seemed, Draco had been spared.

"Wow," Mr. Granger said, looking at each of them in turn. "I have a feeling there's more, but I don't think I want to know about it." He glared at Hermione in particular. "It sounds like it was dangerous."

Hermione didn't answer. The topic was avoided for the rest of the meal, which suited Draco just fine. Instead, they asked innocent questions about Hogwarts and magic in general, and he even managed to make a few quiet answers. But for the most part he just shifted the food around on his plate and let Harry do the talking.

At the end of the meal Harry offered to help carry dishes to the kitchen with Mrs. Granger, and Mr. Granger returned to the couch, leaving Hermione and Draco alone once again. Draco stared at his hands in his lap and waited for more warnings and lecturing. He heard Hermione sigh.

"You did really well, all things considered. I wish you'd trust me a bit more to tell me things. But I suppose this sort of thing is going to take some time." She stood up, as Harry returned for more of the plates. "Thank you both for coming over."

Draco stood as well, more than ready to leave. She perplexed him. "Thank you for having us," he said politely, because he did know how to be polite. The Muggles were still confusing creatures. But they weren't completely awful, he'd decided. There was something about Mr. Granger that he almost liked.

Harry looked from Hermione to Draco, and something in him seemed to relax. He gave a bright smile. "Told you he's changed. We'll see you around."

They finished clearing the dishes together, and then took their leave. The moment the door closed behind them and Draco was alone with Harry again, Harry pulled him in for an embrace. Draco clung and tried hard not to cry. It was almost frightening, how much he was starting to need this. "I am so proud of you," Harry whispered.

It made the whole evening worth it.

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TBC

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