Covered in Crimson

Previously…

With more determination than he could ever recall, he took to his feet and moved briskly toward the cottage’s front door. He grasped the handle, hesitating for only a fraction of a second. As he turned the knob and wrenched the door open, he heard yet another sob and whimper come from the bedroom where his victim had relived her ordeal.

Was she calling for him? Did she need him? Was it more cowardly to stay, or to go? He would let her decide.

“Draco.”

He stopped cold, but didn’t close the door. The wind whipped through the small sitting room, immediately dropping the temperature by ten degrees. Draco listened again, to see if she was still calling for him or if his imagination had conjured up someone to need him, someone to care whether he stepped into the storm to meet his death.

A whimper. A sob. Another sob. “Draco.”

After what he’d done to her, what she’d remembered through her nightmare barely minutes earlier, what could she possibly want with him? It seemed that his fate, for the moment, had been derailed. He closed the door firmly, glancing back at it over his shoulder as he walked toward the bedroom where she still wept quietly.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tone clipped but not unkind.

“Wh..wh..where were you going?” she stammered.

“Who says I was going anywhere?”

“I heard th…the door,” she accused. “Were you planning to leave me here?”

“Why would I do that?” he hedged.

“How should I know?” she asked, now sounding more angry than upset. “I heard you open the door.”

“Well, I’m here now. What do you want?”

“Nothing specific. I just didn’t want you to leave me,” she admitted, murmuring just above a whisper.

“Why not? After what I did to you, what you dreamed about, I’d imagine you wouldn’t mind at all to see me in my grave,” he suggested to her.

“Draco, we’ve been through this a half dozen times. I hate what you did to me, and I can’t say that I trust you after everything that’s happened. But I don’t want to see you dead. I still think someone else has been in control of your actions, and frankly, I’m not capable of taking care of myself right now. The truth is that as much as I hate to admit it, and as selfish as it may be, I need you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Quite. I haven’t been able to take more than two steps, Draco,” she reminded him.

“Hmph. I guess,” he replied, not revealing anything.

“Draco?”

“What?”

“Why were you going outside?”

He shrugged and swallowed hard, having no words that could answer her without baring more of his soul than he was willing to do at the moment.

“You know I’m not going to give up until you tell me, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Then why don’t you just get it over with? You know how persistent I can be.”

“Like a bloody dog on a bone,” he mumbled before his brain could edit his mouth. Though he couldn’t have said why, he found himself hoping that it hadn’t been loud enough for her to hear.

“Dog or not, Draco Malfoy, there is nothing that I don’t get once I put my mind to it.”

Oops.

“I didn’t mean that literally,” he tried to walk back the crude comment.

“You’ve called me a lot worse than that in the ten years we’ve been acquainted, Draco. I’m not offended by a commonly used metaphor. Now, spill.”

“I’m…I’m not ready to have that conversation with you, Granger.”

“Why not? We’ve talked about everything from attempted murder to accidental orgasms. What could be more awkward or uncomfortable than that?”

“Please, Granger, I’m not going to discuss life and death issues with you right now.”

“Life and death?” she asked. She looked at him and processed what he’d said along with what she’d heard, words like “grave” and “death” that had fallen so easily from his lips. Then the penny dropped. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“Can’t be serious about what?” he sneered, ready to deny any accusation she tossed at him.

“You were going to commit suicide,” she stated firmly. “You were going out in the storm to freeze to death.”

His lack of response and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he gulped audibly told her what he’d refused to say.

“Why?”

“If that was what I was going to do, why would you care?”

“Because you’ve made me care!” she shouted angrily. “I don’t want to, but I do, because I can’t hate someone who’s been manipulated and twisted about as badly as you have. I won’t pretend to like you, because I probably never will, but you made me care because you’ve showed me a hint of the man you could have been if someone hadn’t deliberately screwed with your psyche for years. And he’s a man I could at least respect. He’s not the coward who would run away from his problems by offing himself in the middle of a blizzard. Draco, you can be that coward, or you can be the man you could have been destined to be. It’s time to make your choice.”

He stared at her in shocked silence. How had she peeled away his layers so easily? He gaped at her, unable to formulate words.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” she challenged.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” he answered, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed.

“Draco, please look at me.”

He shook his head, too humiliated to face her now.

“Draco, why did you come back?”

“I thought you needed me,” he mumbled.

“And you were right. I do need you. But why did you think that, and why did it stop you from going?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought that if you needed me, it would be worth sticking around.”

“Is that the thinking of a bad person? Would a murderous bastard care whether an injured person needed help?”

He shrugged with one shoulder, and finally sat on the bed, his energy reserves having deserted him.

“That you consciously made the decision to worry about whether or not I needed you should tell both of us everything we need to know about the truth of your character. Don’t pretend to be a coward, Draco, because you’re really not. And killing yourself is the coward’s way out.”

“But I don’t know how to live with what I’ve done, Granger. To you and to countless others that I can’t even remember. It makes me sick, to think that I won’t ever have any idea how many people I’ve killed or…assaulted. Wouldn’t it only be fair that my life is forfeited in exchange for what I’ve done?” He seemed to be pleading with her to tell him it was alright to escape his problems permanently.

“Draco, there are only two things you have to remember. First is that we’ve been at war for nearly five years. Nearly everyone who’s involved has taken lives, me included. I don’t like that I had to do that, but I’ve learned to live with what was required of me. Second, you’ve apparently not been in control of your actions for quite some time because of the potions that you were fed. How would that be any different than being under the Imperius curse? What’s not fair is that someone decided to use you against your will as a killing machine. What’s not fair is that the life you should have had was stolen from you. What would be fair, what would be right is not for you to take your own life, but to live it the way you would have if you hadn’t been drugged and manipulated, and to do something to atone for what’s happened. That’s what would take strength. That’s what would be courageous.”

He listened passively as Hermione made the argument in favor of his life. That almost made him feel worse, after how egregiously he’d harmed her. He recognized in her the younger girl who’d fought for house-elf rights, and worried over Buckbeak’s fate. She would always be a champion for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. Is that how she thinks of me? That idea was somehow comforting, but he didn’t know why.

“What if I’m not that strong? What if, underneath it all, I really am just a coward?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t think that’s the boy your mother raised. If what I’ve seen of her is any indication, she’s a fearless woman. Would she have raised you to be anything other than a reflection of her?”

“But there’s my father to consider. No one calls him brave; everyone thinks he’s nothing but bluster. Maybe I’m more like him,” Draco suggested.

“Did you ever stop to think that, like you, he wears a mask? Maybe there’s more to him than you know. The only way you’ll ever find out is to survive this crisis and go back to your family. Learn about who you could be without the influence of potions and spells,” she offered.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he relented. It might be interesting to see what kind of man he could become, if only he could stay out of Azkaban, a prospect about which he was not terribly optimistic. There would be nothing left to salvage after a few months there; he’d certainly be better off dead.

“Just promise me you won’t do something stupid like that again.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he told her honestly.

“Come on, Draco. You’ll get through this. I’m certain. You just need to give yourself a chance. If I’m willing to do that for you, why shouldn’t you do it for yourself?”

His “okay” was barely audible, but he’d said it.

“Good,” she acknowledged. “Listen, it’s still the middle of the night, and it’s freezing. Get under the covers and try to get some sleep.”

“Are you sure? You kicked me out not thirty minutes ago. Do you really want me back here?” he challenged.

“It’s fine, Draco. I’ve had time to calm down, and I'm really alright,” she soothed.

He rose to turn off the light he’d flicked on earlier, and then settled back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling from his supine position for long, silent minutes.

“Granger?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“I’m scared.”

“Me, too, Draco.” She reached out and tentatively patted his cold hand twice, offering all the comfort she was capable of giving to the desperately lost young man.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Draco awoke the next morning, it was still snowing heavily, though the wind seemed to have abated somewhat. He peered out the window and estimated that nearly a half meter of snow had accumulated on top of the ten centimeters they’d had the night before. This had to be one of the worst snowstorms in recent history. The clouds still looked heavy and threatening; there was no telling how much more precipitation might fall.

He quietly moved to the loo to relieve himself, careful not to awaken Hermione. He doubted she’d had much more sleep than he had. He hadn’t really heard her tossing and turning, but her breathing was not the slow, rhythmic sound of a person in slumber. They’d both had a lot to think about, apparently.

Draco made a trip to the kitchen for another glass of water, hoping to speed the purge of the insidious potion from his system. He wished in vain once more for a cup of tea. The thought, however, did not go entirely unrewarded. He placed the largest pot in the sink and filled it with water, then positioned it on the stovetop and turned on the burner. As long as he didn’t allow it to boil, he reasoned, he could have warm water for bathing. He guessed that Hermione might appreciate that too.

About five or six minutes later, tiny bubbles began to form at the edge of the pan. Draco gingerly dipped in a finger and determined that it was indeed warm, but not scalding. This will do nicely, he thought.

He carried the pot to the bathroom and set it on the countertop. Stripping off his jumper, jeans, and socks, Draco dipped an edge of the towel he’d reserved for himself into the warm water and wrung it out so that it wouldn’t drip. He cleaned his body as well as he could, and dried off with the other end of the towel. He dressed quickly as the warmth from the heated water dissipated. He dumped out the remaining water and quietly returned to the kitchen, setting the pot aside for Hermione’s use later.

He added a couple of logs to the dwindling fire and stood near the hearth to absorb as much heat as he could. A few minutes later, he heard Hermione stirring in the bedroom, and went to the closed door to see if she needed assistance.

“Granger,” he called from the hallway, “do you need a hand?”

“Yes. Come in, Draco,” she invited.

“You want to use the loo?”

“Please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Like I’d really refuse you, Granger,” he smirked. “I have to sleep in that bed too.”

“Hey, don’t be a git. I’m just trying to be polite,” she retorted.

He snorted in reply, but moved to lift her from the bed. “How would you feel about a warm wash-up?” he inquired.

“Are you trying to tell me something, Draco?”

“Well, now that you mention it….”

She sighed in mock indignation, giving him a light punch to his shoulder.

“Hey! I just offered to do something nice for you, and you’re beating me up.”

“Just returning the favor, Malfoy.”

Though there was no real malice or accusation in her tone, he winced at the reminder.

“Seriously, Granger. I heated up some water on the stove, and I thought you might like to clean up a little with something other than frigid tap water.”

“That’s actually very sweet of you, Draco. I’d like that,” she observed as he settled her into the bathroom.

“Think you’ll be okay in here by yourself for a few minutes?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. I’ll just be in the kitchen then. Back in a few…” he noted as he closed the door behind him.

A few minutes later, he returned with the pot of warm water he’d promised. “Granger, can I open the door, or do you need a minute?”

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Twisting the door knob with a full pot of water in hand proved to not be a simple task. Draco didn’t want to waste the warm water, nor did he want to spill it and make the floor slippery. He also didn’t want to put the pot down as it was quite full, and any unnecessary movement was causing lots of sloshing, which could lead to minor scalding if he wasn’t careful. Ah, the dilemma. “Uh, Granger?”

“Yes?”

“Is there any way you can open the door? This pot is heavy and I don’t want to splash.”

“Um, I think maybe I can. It’s only two or three steps at the most. Hang on,” she instructed.

He heard rustling and grunting behind the door, and called out to her, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, hold on a sec…”

He held his breath for a moment while she continued to make noise on the other side of the door. He released it when he saw the handle turn and heard the door creak on its hinges.

Hermione took one step backward to allow him to enter the room, bracing herself against the wall. She looked a little pale and strained, but didn’t appear on the verge of collapse.

Draco set the pot on the counter and turned quickly to take her arm. “Are you alright? How many steps did you take?” he asked with concerned interest.

“Uh, four, I think.”

“It wasn’t too much?”

“No, I think I’m alright,” she smiled in satisfaction. “I walked, Draco!”

“Yes, you did. Congratulations, Granger,” he praised, a twist of his lips showing that he was pleased with her progress. “Do you need me to stay while you get cleaned up, or do you want some privacy?”

“I think I’ll be alright, as long as you stay nearby just in case I need you,” she requested.

“No problem. I’ll just hang out on the bed for a bit.”

He listened to the sound of Hermione’s off-key humming and the faint splashing of water against the metal walls of the large pot. He heard her wince a couple of times, which caused him to cover his face with his hands in shame. A few moments later, he noted the sound of the water being poured down the sink’s drain, followed by a light rustling of clothing as Hermione dressed. He anticipated her summons, and stood at the door just seconds before her voice rang out. “Draco, I’m done.”

Draco opened the door and reached for her with an outstretched hand which she took without hesitation. “Would you like to try to walk to the sitting room, or shall I carry you?”

“I think I’ve got a little more energy left, but I’d appreciate it if you would just support me.”

He took her other hand and walked backwards as she haltingly stepped into the sitting room and made her way toward the sofa.

She settled into place with her legs stretched out while Draco went to retrieve a couple of pillows and his cloak. He helped her situate the pillows for comfort and elevation, and gently laid the heavy wool garment across her lap. “That ought to keep you warm until the room heats up.”

“I can’t believe how cold it still is. Usually the temperature starts to moderate a little in March, but we’ve had two snowstorms in three days. It feels like mid-January.”

“I’m probably going to have to go outside in a couple of hours for logs. I added a couple when I first got up, but there are only about five or six left. That will likely only take us through the morning,” he estimated.

“Maybe the snow will let up by then,” she offered.

“I’m not going to hold my breath,” he replied. “Have you actually looked out the window? It’s practically a white-out.”

“We’ll be okay for a few hours, though. Just wait and see.”

“Not much else I can do,” he stated, dropping into the armchair to take advantage of its proximity to the heat.

“True enough.”

They were silent for several minutes, having exhausted that line of conversation. Neither seemed ready or willing to talk about the proverbial elephant in the room. Draco’s aborted suicide attempt would remain unexplored for now.

“Hungry?” Hermione broke the quiet.

“A little, but I can wait if you think we should.”

“Same here. It’s probably better to wait another hour or two to keep our meals more evenly spaced.”

“That seems sensible. My stomach is only grumbling. It hasn’t reached a full-out growl yet.”

“Fine, that’s the plan, then,” she concluded. “Maybe I can help a little since I seem to have regained my ability to stand.”

“Don’t worry about that, Granger. You’re still pretty weak, so you should rest as much as you can. Besides, I don’t mind doing the cooking. It actually feels like I’m accomplishing something,” Draco admitted.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Another silence spanned another several minutes.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Hermione inquired.

“I’ve felt worse, I’ve felt better,” Draco hedged.

“Any headaches or shakes?” she pressed.

“A dull headache. My muscles are a little shaky. I am cold, though. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Have you been drinking your water?”

“Regularly, and pissing like a racehorse, thank you very much,” he snarked.

“Well, I didn’t need to know that,” she countered, though she wasn’t really all that offended.

He shrugged and turned his lips into a half grin.

“Do you think it’s helping any? With the withdrawal symptoms?”

“I couldn’t say for sure, but I’ll go with a ‘yes’ for now.”

“That’s good.”

More silence. The crackling of the fire and the occasional howl of wind were the only exceptions.

“You said you were cold. Do you want your cloak?” she moved to lift the article of clothing from her lap.

Draco huffed in exasperation. “Keep it. I’m fine. If I’m too cold, I’ll get a blanket from the bed. Can’t you just sit quietly?” he asked with some annoyance.

Hermione shrugged. “I’m not too good at that, apparently.”

“No shit,” he drawled.

“It’s just that there’s nothing else to do. No books to read, no music to listen to, no television to watch. I’m bored, and you’re the only so-called entertainment available,” she teased, hoping he would take it as the joke she intended.

Draco snorted a laugh.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“I wish we had a game to play.”

“If the chessboard I found a couple of days ago had any pieces to go with it, we could’ve done that.”

“I’m not so good at chess, anyway,” she confessed.

“Then it would have been a great delight for me. I’d have wiped the floor with you,” Draco declared.

“You’re good at chess?” she prompted.

“Very. I’ve been told I have a strategic mind,” he boasted.

“And yet someone was intent on using you in the basest way possible,” Hermione observed.

He shrugged. “Who knows why people do what they do?”

“What else are you good at?” she wondered, thinking to get the man talking about things that might boost his flagging self-esteem, his earlier suicidal thinking as evidence.

“I’m a pretty fair flyer. I think it’s probably because of my build being so lean. Less wind resistance,” he explained.

“With all the chocolate you supposedly eat, it’s a wonder how you stay so skinny.”

“I’m not skinny,” he answered, apparently affronted.

“You’re not unattractive, Draco. It’s just that most women seem to prefer their guys a little…beefier.” Why the heck did I say that? What a twit I am!

“Whatever. New topic, please,” he sulked.

So much for elevating his self-esteem, girl, Hermione chided herself. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to insult you.”

“It’s not like I have much in the way of romantic prospects anyway. My reputation isn’t exactly stellar, and the only women who’d be interested in me are either Death Eaters or their daughters. I’m not a prime catch for a respectable woman.”

“Is that what you want, Draco? To have a relationship with a respectable woman?”

“I don’t have any idea what I really want, Granger. I still don’t even know who I really am. How can I know what – or whether – I have anything to offer to someone?”

“It might take a little while for you to rediscover your true nature, and to come to terms with your past, but I can’t see any reason that you wouldn’t be able to find someone someday.”

“Granger, even if it can be proved that I’ve been Imperiused, or controlled, or whatever by potions and spells, who is going to want to be with a man who has tortured and killed for years? My dating pool will be severely limited. Regardless of the reason, there’s too much blood on my hands.”

“Because if you were Imperiused, it wasn’t really you doing those things. Any magical person knows that it’s nearly impossible to refuse those compulsions, especially under long-term conditions. The responsibility lies in the hands of whoever cast the spells and administered the potions. The Wizengamot recognizes that, and every witch or wizard I know does as well.”

“Gee, Granger, who are you trying to convince? A bloke might think you had an interest,” he teased.

“Not on your life.”

“See?”

“But that doesn’t mean that someone else wouldn’t. You and I, Draco, are like oil and water. We just don’t mix well, no matter how you stir it up.”

“You’re right about that. There’s way too much negative history and bad blood between us.”

“But it wouldn’t shock me that we could build a cordial relationship someday. We do have some things in common, and we are well-matched intellectually. We could be pen pals, or book buddies someday,” she suggested, not entirely facetiously.

“Are you serious?” he scoffed at the prospect. “What we have in common is the ability to annoy the other to distraction, and to argue about anything and everything ceaselessly. And what the dickens is a ‘book buddy’ anyway?”

She shrugged. “Arguments can be mentally stimulating. I have very few friends who can keep up with me in a debate; you’ve always been able to do that. And a book buddy is someone with whom you can discuss literary works that you’ve both read. None of my friends are particularly enamored of reading, and it seems that you are.”

“Then there’s what I did to you added to the mix.”

“Someday, Draco, I will probably be able to forgive you for that, especially if what we think is true can be proved. I’m sure I’ll never forget it, but I hope that I can get beyond it. I hope that you will be able to do that too.”

“What would help me to get beyond it is to find out who did this to me and why. I promise you this: if I find out who did this, I will make them pay.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help you figure out who that is. I wouldn’t mind a shot or two at him myself.”

“Why? It’s not like they did anything to you.”

“Oh, no? I told you yesterday, I blame them more than you for what you did to me, and I mean it.”

“If I could just pinpoint exactly what it was or when it happened, I might be able to figure it out. I just can’t…” he trailed off, thoughts whirring in his head.

“Can’t what?”

“I was going to say ‘remember,’ but I’m not sure that’s true,” he answered, mental strain creasing his brow and his eyes glazing with distraction.

“Are you? Remembering something, I mean?”

“I’m not sure, but I think maybe I am.”

“Take your time. Stop if your head starts to hurt more.”

He shook his head. “I’m alright. I think this is important, and I’m willing to try. Just give me a minute.”

Draco sat quietly in the chair, shifting his position slightly every few moments. He seemed to be battling with how to reconcile what he was picturing with what his assumptions had been. He closed his eyes and lightly massaged his temples, not so much to relieve pain as to keep his focus.

He broke the silence suddenly, his head whipping up to make eye contact with Hermione. “You know how I said earlier that the only thing I truly craved was the truffles?”

“Sure.”

“And I said that I’d always had them either in a gift package from my mother or at the manor.”

“Right.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate.”

“No?”

“Merlin, if this is true…” he breathed.

“What?” she wondered, anxious to hear what he’d speculated.

“You remember how a couple of days ago I said that my Aunt Bella would be someone who might want to control me? And I rejected that possibility.”

“Yes.”

“I’m rethinking that. I just recalled that, especially early on, she was often there when I ate the truffles at the manor. And I think that she gave them to me directly at least once, but possibly more often.”

“Do you remember when?”

“Yeah, and if what I remembered is accurate, it was pretty twisted.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but I think I need to. It’s beyond disgusting.”

“Draco, you know I won’t judge you for it, especially if you were under her control.”

“Merlin, it makes me want to puke,” he groaned, running his fingers through his hair and tugging at it in handfuls.

“Well, your aunt is an… unbalanced character.”

“Please promise me you won’t ever share this with anyone, no matter what,” he pleaded.

“Draco, with everything that’s happened between us in the last few days, being indiscreet about our conversations is the last thing either of us needs to worry about,” she said pointedly.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“So?”

He shuddered and took a deep breath. “It was the night I took the Dark Mark. Before the ceremony with the Dark Lord, she put me through what she called a ‘ritual cleansing’ that was very… sexual in nature. I got very angry that she was touching me that way and I talked back to her. She gave me some truffles to calm me down. And they worked immediately. It was like being given a tranquility potion.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that, Draco.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Are you saying that she… sexually molested you?”

His face was beet red. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“Yeah.”

“Draco?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you alright? Are you getting a headache?”

He glanced up at her from his slumped position, eyes going wide. “No.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“Does that mean that maybe you’re over the worst of it? The potion is wearing off?”

“I hope so.”

“You probably shouldn’t take any chances, though. Keep drinking the water.”

“Yeah.”

They both fell silent again for a few moments, though Draco’s breathing seemed a bit rough and labored.

He was building himself up into a massive explosion and Merlin help the woman who was its cause. “I’m starting to think it was her all along,” he seethed, standing to pace the small sitting room. “How could she do that to me?” he murmured under his breath.

Hermione wasn’t sure what she should do, but it was clear that Draco was working himself into a lather. Perhaps it would be best to keep her thoughts to herself for now.

“I’ll kill her. With my bare hands, I’ll rip her head off,” he threatened.

“If you like, I’ll help.”

His head whipped around and he momentarily looked surprised to find another person in the room. “Thanks, Granger, but this one is all mine.”

“Glad to leave it to you, but I appreciate the intent.”

“Why would she do this?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“There is no greater fanatic for Voldemort than your aunt. She’d do absolutely anything for him. I think that since she had no children of her own to give him, she decided to offer you.”

He was stunned speechless. He’d never have imagined that.

“But I wasn’t hers to give,” he argued, unable to reconcile what Bella’s twisted thinking might have been.

“You were of the same blood. To her, bloodlines are everything. Never mind that Voldemort is a half-blood, it doesn’t fit with the rhetoric. She found the closest blood she could give him. Pure and perfect, in her eyes. She gave you to his service without a second thought, because in her twisted logic, it was the only thing she could give him that rivaled her own service.”

“How do you come to those conclusions? You don’t know her that well, do you?”

“No, not directly. But I’ve talked with Andy, and she told me stories about how when they were younger in the first war, Bella tried to recruit her to become a Death Eater even though she was barely fifteen. And she apparently kept trying to get pregnant so that she could give a child to Voldemort to use as he wished. I’m just extrapolating.”

“It’s a bit of a stretch, but I can understand how you’d get there,” he allowed. “But how would my parents have allowed it to happen?”

“They probably didn’t know the extent of her desire or the lengths she’d travel to achieve it. Didn’t you say something about your father not allowing you to get the Dark Mark when you first asked?”

“That’s true. I asked again when I turned sixteen, and we talked about what happened then. It was Bella who sponsored me, as my blood relat…” he trailed off, the impact of what he’d just said hitting him like a ton of bricks. “Shit.”

“Can’t disagree with you there.”

“Merlin. My own aunt.”

“Can you think of anyone else who would have a better motive? More access? The skill to pull it off?”

“Other than my parents? No. No one.”

“What about her husband?”

“Rodolphus? What about him?”

“Do you think he could have been involved?”

“If she did it, he was in the thick of it with her. He’s at least as… enthusiastic as she is. He’s also very skilled with potions, maybe more so than Bella. The two of them working together would be a formidable force.”

“And it appears they were immensely successful for several years.”

Draco grew quiet and brooding, thinking about the damage that his insane relative had wrought on his life. It would take some doing to process this.

“I think I need a little time on my own, if you don’t mind. I’m going to rest in the bedroom for a little while.”

“I understand. I’m here if you want to talk,” she offered.

“Thanks,” he replied, genuinely appreciative of her willingness to help, though he had no intention of taking her up on it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had remained in the bedroom for a couple of hours, emerging silently to make lunch for them when his stomach began to grumble uncomfortably.

They’d eaten without speaking, and he retreated once more to the bedroom after adding the last of the logs to the fire. Two more hours had passed before he’d rejoined Hermione in the sitting room, but he still wasn’t ready to talk. By then, Hermione had succumbed to her own boredom and drifted off to sleep.

Draco looked outside to note that the snow had finally diminished to flurries, and he opened the door quickly to grab a few logs from the porch. The fire was in danger of going out if he didn’t add some wood to it soon. He added two logs and stacked six more near the hearth so that they would dry.

Hermione slept for a long while and Draco concluded that her short walk that morning had taken a great deal more of her strength than she’d been willing to admit. He’d let her rest. He still needed time to come to terms with what he’d discovered earlier in the day.

By the time both of them were awake and aware again, it was time for dinner, and Draco prepared their meal once more. When they were done, he joined Hermione in the sitting room once again, still not terribly talkative, but feeling slightly less morose. They shared a little meaningless conversation about how boring it was to eat the same things over and over again, and lapsed once more into peaceful quiet.

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing briskly against nearly four days of stubble on his cheeks and chin. It’s itchy, he thought absently. What I wouldn’t give for a razor.

“What?” she nudged.

“Oh, nothing. Just had a totally non sequitor thought.”

“Which was…?”

“That I would love a shave.”

“Yes, that’s definitely one out of nowhere.”

“My beard is getting itchy, and it’s annoying.”

“Your beard is so light-colored that I hadn’t even noticed it.”

“Well, it’s there, and I’d rather it not be.”

“Can I ask a dumb, yet personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Do wizards use a razor like Muggles, or a wand to shave?”

“Most wizards use a straight razor, but you can use a wand in a pinch. Why?”

“Just curious. I never thought about it before.”

“Well, how do witches get rid of the hair on their legs?”

“We usually use a potion that sort of dissolves it.”

“Wow. Okay. Never thought of that. Does it burn?” he wondered.

“No. It sort of… tickles.”

He shook his head, amused both at the concept and at their odd turn of conversation.

“It was nice to wash up with warm water this morning, but I have to tell you, I would give my left arm for a nice hot shower with lots of sudsy soap. And shampoo. My hair feels disgusting.”

“You’re not the only one. I’d relinquish half my family fortune for a hot shower, and maybe just a little more heat. The fireplace is a help, but this isn’t like the magical kind that really radiates warmth throughout the whole building. And we don’t have a lot more wood on the porch.”

“I know. It just isn’t the same as the fireplaces in the Hogwarts common rooms. Or heating charms. They work pretty well, too.”

“Yes, well, no wands, no heating charms.”

“If I could only figure out why the furnace won’t start…” she wished.

“Yes, that would be a good thing,” he agreed.

“Maybe we could walk through the start-up process one more time.”

“It’s up to you. I’m really just following your lead on this, so I’m at your mercy.”

“Let me think for a minute,” she suggested, and closed her eyes to mentally take each step that she could think of for getting the heat going.

“We have electricity.”

“What?”

“Electricity, you know, power for the lights and appliances?”

“Oh, have I been saying it wrong? I thought it was eckeltricity.”

“It just didn’t seem worth it to correct you.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, you’re not the only wizard who’s made that mistake. That’s what Ron called it too.”

“Now I’m really sick.”

“Shut it. He’s not that bad a person.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow in amusement. It seemed there might be more to that statement, so he decided to nudge her just a little. “Not that bad?”

“We had a brief relationship that didn’t really end well.”

“No kidding?”

“No. I still think of him as a good friend, but my eyes were definitely opened about some of his less… endearing qualities.”

“Well, that’s just… priceless.”

“Enough. Let’s get back to what’s important.”

“I don’t know, this seems pretty important to me. Granger doesn’t think Weasel walks on water any longer. I have to respect that, I think.”

Hermione just rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore the topic. “Anyway, we have electricity. We have fuel. We’ve located and set the thermostat. We’ve made sure the switch is in the ‘heat’ position. What could I be missing?”

“You said power, fuel, thermostat, heat. Did I get everything?”

“Yes. I think so,” she answered automatically, but something he’d said niggled at the back of her brain. She thought about it for a moment, but didn’t note anything of significance. “Say that one more time,” she requested.

“Power, fuel, thermostat, heat.”

“Power, fuel, thermostat, and heat,” she repeated. “Power, fuel, thermostat, heat.”

“Right.”

“Oh, my God. Could it be that simple?” she asked rhetorically, looking at Draco as though the dawn had just broken after a month of night. “Power, Draco.”

“Yeah, the eckeltricity. I mean elec, what was it?”

“Electricity. But there’s more than one way to think of power. It’s not just the power, it’s the switch!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“But we flipped the switch to the heat position yesterday,” he argued.

“No. Not that switch. The main switch for the furnace. If the heating system hasn’t been in use for awhile, they may have shut off the main switch. It has to be turned on or the furnace won’t start.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense. Where would this switch be, and what would it look like?”

“It looks just like a regular light switch, but it’s usually got a bright red plastic frame around it, like the white one on the wall over there,” she observed, pointing to the wall plate that he’d used earlier.

“So if I can find this main switch, and turn it on, we might be able to get the furnace started?” he confirmed his understanding.

“Yes.”

“Where should I look?”

“Try the entrance to the basement. It’s often on the wall heading downstairs. If not, look on the furnace itself.”

He rose immediately to look for the red switch plate and found it seconds later in the hallway heading into the basement. “I think this is it. It says ‘Burner’ on it.”

“Yes! That’s it! Flip it to the ‘on’ position.”

He did. And the furnace roared beneath his feet.

“Yes! It started,” he announced, smiling broadly.

Hermione matched his grin with one of her own, and expressed her satisfaction with a job well done. “I knew we could figure it out,” she professed. “I just wish we could have done it sooner.”

“No use worrying over it now. It’s sorted and we’ll be toasty warm in no time.”

“So even if we’re low on wood, we’ll be fine. From what you said, there’s more than enough fuel in the tank for at least a week, maybe more.”

“And sleeping shouldn’t be a problem now, either, Granger. I’ll take the smaller room, and you can stay in the larger one.”

“Oh, thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Does this mean that we’ll have hot water, too?” Draco asked.

“It should. If you described the setup accurately, the furnace powers the water heater. By morning, we should be able to have hot showers and properly wash the dishes.”

“Thank Merlin.”

An hour later, Draco had helped Hermione settle into bed and had taken some of the linens for use in the smaller bedroom. He’d left her with the quilt and his heavy cloak, and she proclaimed that she was comfortably warm.

He took one of the towels and tucked it into the window sash as best he could to minimize the draft from the crack that ran from one edge to the other. Satisfied that he’d blocked it reasonably well, Draco stripped off his jeans and jumper and climbed into the small bed. It definitely wasn’t as comfortable as the one in which Hermione was resting, but was certainly a great deal better than sleeping on the sofa. He’d make do.

It had been an exhausting day, and despite the many hours that he’d spent alone in contemplation, he’d had very little sleep. It took only a few minutes for him to drift into slumber.

In the room down the hall, Hermione was also feeling drained and exhausted. She’d not told him that there had been a renewed flow of blood from the tear in her vagina. It wasn’t a lot, but that it had started again concerned her. She thought that she probably shouldn’t have tried to walk as much as she had earlier in the day. She’d have to be especially careful in the next day or two, and if the bleeding hadn’t stopped by then, she would tell him.

Sleep came quickly, but it was not peaceful. She tossed and thrashed in vivid dreams, not of Draco’s attack, but of her imagination’s conjuring of events in the outside world. She awoke with a start in the middle of the night, scared and alone. In that moment, she missed his presence beside her. That thought was the most frightening of all.