Catalyst

Disclaimer: not mine, no profits or ownership of any kind.




Hermione slept well that evening despite her guilt and misgivings regarding the situation and, more specifically, Malfoy. She woke with a resolution to do the proper thing and thank him for his assistance. She knew, despite her deep-seated mistrust of the man and annoyance with his arrogance, that she owed him a great deal, and that genuine gratitude was in order.

She sat down to write, selecting a piece of high quality parchment. She was aiming for a tone that was suitably formal yet genuinely appreciative. As such, she chose to omit all details of the event, referring instead to his “timely assistance in a dire situation.” She sealed the scroll and sent it off, hoping it would do the trick and assuage her conscience while avoiding actual contact with him.

* * * * * *




Draco Malfoy woke much later that morning and headed down to the dining room for breakfast. He found his parents already eating as he entered.

“There’s post for you in the hall,” his father informed him without looking up from his paper. “The owl arrived quite early this morning, and it wasn’t one that I recognized.” With this he finally put the paper down, arching an elegant eyebrow in question.

Draco shrugged and went to find the letter in question, bringing it back into the dining room with him to read, knowing that his father would want details. Lucius fancied himself some sort of lord of the manor and, as such, expected to be kept informed of all proceedings. In the years since his father’s release from Azkaban he had remained the same cool and forbidding presence, but no longer held the same danger. Draco had slowly realized that his father had no intention of following through with any of the implied threats that he made in efforts to intimidate and influence. The general public, however, had no idea of this shift, and remained terrified as ever of the elder Malfoy.

Even so, Draco generally deferred to his father out of respect rather than fear. He knew that the reason for the change had to do with what had been lost during his father’s imprisonment. Azkaban had not been kind to Lucius, and the Voldemort’s use of the Malfoy family as pawns during the war had shattered his perspective both of his own importance and of the Dark Lord’s cause. Despite appearances, Lucius was actually a very different man upon his release, and Draco greatly respected the pride and clarity with which his father reentered society. Neither apologetic nor antagonistic, Lucius simply arrived at the conclusion that he had been erroneous in his support of the Dark Lord. It had been much easier to see this once he had been on the other end of Voldemort’s wrath. Though he was, to all appearances, the same man, there was a sort of humanity at his core that he had allowed to play more of a role in his life in recent years.

Draco’s eyes scanned the parchment quickly, betraying no emotion, and he passed it to his father, deciding to simplify the process of relaying the information. Lucius read the document with cool gray eyes, looking completely unruffled. He set it down, looking up at his son.

“So Miss Granger decided to offer her gratitude after all,” he remarked, watching his son for a response.

“Apparently.” Draco was busy filling his plate with breakfast selections.

“She must have been feeling guilty for leaving without so much as a note.” Lucius’s gray eyes were trained intently on the younger Malfoy’s expression. “After you rescued her and protected her virtue, one would expect a nobler reaction from the honor-bound golden girl,” he commented dryly, noting the unreadable expression upon Draco’s face.

“It isn’t like I minded though, is it?” Draco replied. “I hardly wanted to become further entangled with Granger and her band of merry Gryffindor cronies,” he finished darkly.

“Her cronies?” Narcissa joined the conversation from the other end of the table. “I was under the impression that they were all followers of the Potter boy.”

Draco snorted. “Don’t let the aura of fame fool you, mother. Granger has always been the one to pull the strings in that operation. She’s got Potter and Weasley on awfully short leashes considering that she doesn’t sleep with either of them.”

Narcissa looked thoughtful. “What makes you think that she doesn’t sleep with both of them?”

Both Draco and Lucius looked scandalized. “Mum! That’s revolting!” Draco shuddered dramatically. “I never want to have a mental image of Potty or the Weasel in that sort of… activity.”

Narcissa looked as though she was considering further comment, but finally turned her gaze back to her plate. Draco and Lucius looked relieved at the reprieve and resumed eating.

“So you don’t mind imagining Miss Granger in that sort of activity, then? Is that it?” She had apparently could not restrain her curiosity as she asked her question with a wicked gleam in her blue eyes, betraying the innocent expression she had carefully constructed.

Draco threw his fork down dramatically. “I don’t want to imagine Granger in any sort of activity other than keeping far away from me from now on.” He glared at his mother fiercely.

“Of course, dear,” she replied sweetly, her tone of voice that of a mother speaking to a petulant child who was convinced of some ridiculous falsehood. “That’s quite apparent.”

Draco nodded, satisfied, choosing to ignore her tone. Lucius glanced at his wife, suppressing a smirk, and briskly changed the subject.

* * * * * * *

Things had begun to settle down for Hermione as she moved past her ordeal. She wouldn’t have to testify and she had appeased her conscience by writing to Malfoy. While she certainly had residual feelings (she doubted the helpless feeling would ever fade, and she was still torn between clashing emotions when it came to Malfoy) she had begun to move on and felt lighter than she had in days.

It was Ginny’s birthday and the entire Weasley clan (and honorary members) had gathered at the Burrow for a celebration. Hermione found the chaos that surrounded the little house comforting. Family members of three different generations filled each room and Hermione made the rounds, greeting everyone in turn. She came upon the kitchen to find Harry and Mr. Weasley being subjected to a lengthy tirade, guilty expressions upon their faces.

“Really,” Mrs. Weasley was bellowing furiously, “grown men creating a disaster of this degree! I’ve come to expect this sort of behavior from you, Arthur, but really Harry, you too?” She turned her stern gaze to Harry.

He shuffled his feet and looked mournfully at her, his green eyes wide and innocent. “I had no idea Molly. Growing up with the muggles, I never learned things about cooking in the wizarding world,” he finished, looking saddened by the memory.

Molly Weasley softened instantly and clucked sympathetically, immediately retracting her statement and bustling about the kitchen trying to clean up the disaster, while Harry and Arthur exchanged smirks. Hermione took in the scene before her. Blackened pots filled the tiny room, their contents charred and crusted to the surfaces. Raw ingredients lay spilled about and Hermione could swear that she detected the scent of gasoline in the air. She looked suspiciously at the two men who looked quite a bit happier now that Molly was setting things straight and beginning anew with fresh ingredients.

“What did you do?” she asked quietly from beside Harry.

“Oh, hello Hermione,” he replied brightly. He went on in a softer tone of voice, “Molly asked us to keep on eye on things while she nipped out for a few things she was missing. Arthur was interested to see if it was possible to, er, speed things along,” he finished cryptically. “Had a good day?” He looked eager to change the subject.

“Yes, actually,” she replied with a smile. “I’m feeling much better. I sent Malfoy an owl this morning.”

He looked concerned. “Why?” he asked cautiously.

“Just to thank him,” she replied. “Is that a problem?” she asked rather snottily.

He looked relieved. “No- it’s marvelous actually. Very thoughtful of you. I was worried that you were still worked up about the other stuff.”

“Well I won’t say I was happy to hear the things he said about me, but I suppose in his own way it’s an expression that he would rather me not meet some tragic fate, which is actually sort of nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” answered Harry, looking uncomfortable.

“I know, it is weird. No need to get excited though. It isn’t as though he actually wishes me well or anything. Not directly wanting someone to get attacked or murdered is hardly a declaration of friendship, and he still obviously hates me, so how much has really changed? I just don’t have to worry about him trying to kill me the next time a chance arises.”

“I guess,” said Harry, now looking confused. “Although he did actually save you, didn’t he? I mean, he didn’t just ignore it or leave it to someone else to help you, so that’s not exactly the same as just ‘not directly wanting you to be attacked or murdered’, is it?”

“I already thanked him, Harry,” she snapped, enraged. “What do you want me to do, offer him my firstborn child?”

Harry looked startled. “I just thought that you should…”

“Well I’m not going to, so just drop it. I owled him, I’m sure that he considers that sufficient and so should you.” Her chin was lifted defiantly as she swept from the room, leaving a bewildered looking Harry in her wake.

Behind him, Arthur cleared his throat pointedly. Harry turned and looked at him, eyes wide with confusion. Arthur smiled at him ruefully and Molly smothered a laugh.

“Oh Harry,” she began, giggling slightly, “you ought to know better than to try reasoning with her when she’s got that look about her.”

He shrugged helplessly and the corners of his lips turned up slightly. “I was only going to say that it doesn’t seem like he hates her anymore. Somehow I don’t think that she wanted to hear that anyways.”

* * * * * * *


Hermione arrived home to find an owl waiting for her, fluttering impatiently outside her window. She quickly opened it, allowing the bird entrance and taking the parchment from its leg and unrolling it. Her dark eyes scanned the letter quickly, narrowing into slits as she finished reading and tossed it aside. The imperious looking owl suddenly fluttered nervously and turned for the window, only to be stopped by Hermione’s stern glare. He hooted nervously under her gaze.

“Wait,” she told him through gritted teeth. “I’ll be sending a reply.”

She sat down at the table, grabbing a sheet of parchment and a quill and dashing off a quick response, muttering under her breath.

“Here,” she flashed a dangerous smile at the owl, “take this to him.”

The owl flew away as quickly as possible, crashing into several objects in his hurry to exit the flat.

Hermione sat back down at the table and her gaze fell upon the parchment once more.




Granger,

Much as it warms my heart to receive your obviously heart-felt thanks, I must prevail upon you to make several things clear. I, unlike Potty and the Weasel, have never harbored a desire to play the noble hero, nor do I wish for recognition now that the role has been forced upon me. That said, as I have been unwillingly dragged into the situation, I shall expect you to exercise better judgment in the future to ensure that you find yourself in no more “dire situations.” A novel idea, I know, but it just may have merit.

DM

Hermione tossed the letter down. She could her his aristocratic drawl, dripping with sarcasm as he condescended to her. Blinding fury spurring her into action, she marched to the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of floo powder. She threw it in, sticking her head in and shouting for Malfoy Manor.

A moment later, she was greeted by a tiny house elf. “Yes, miss?” The creature looked terrified at her furious expression.

“I need to speak with Draco Malfoy,” she requested grimly, too angry to bother with the usual pleasantries she typically extended to house elves. She waited impatiently as the elf scurried from the room. Long minutes later, Malfoy sauntered into the room.

“Granger,” he greeted her blandly. “What an unexpected pleasure,” he continued in a tone that suggested it was anything but a pleasure to find her scowling face in his fireplace.

“How dare you?” she hissed at him. “What gives you the right? You’ve no call to condescend to me like that!”

He looked bored. “I see that your alleged gratitude has reached its limits. Truly, I do see your point. It was indecent of me to suggest that you exercise basic caution in your future interactions.”

She could feel her blood pressure rising, “Lower the wards. I’m coming through.” Her head disappeared from the fire.

He rolled his eyes and took his wand out, murmuring the necessary incantations to allow her passage. Moments later, a very flushed and disheveled Hermione Granger came stumbling out of the fireplace, her dark eyes glittering with anger.

“What is your problem?” She was shouting now. “Why did you even help me if this is your attitude? You obviously hate me, you take every opportunity possible to remind me of what I almost brought on to myself…”

“I never said that you brought it upon yourself,” he interrupted her, stalking across the room, stopping inches from her. “I would never suggest that.” His voice was low.

Tears pricked at her eyelids. “You didn’t have to say the exact words. It’s obvious that’s how you feel about it.” She was horrified to hear the tremor in her voice and she held up a hand, stifling his objections. “You can stop now. I know what I did, but I’m the one who has to live with it, not you. So please, just let it be!” Angry tears spilled over and she folded her arms over her chest protectively, her petite frame made even smaller by the stance. “I was just so upset. I felt like if I could find someone, anyone, that wanted me, it would have to make me feel better.” She was mumbling now, ashamed, but for some reason wanting him to understand.

He sighed, his features softened slightly. He had no idea why she would have thought herself unattractive, but guessed correctly that now was not the time to address such concerns. “Granger, you can’t honestly believe that you were the one in the wrong.” He patted her awkwardly, finally caving at the sight of the weeping female and pulling her to him, wondering at the bizarreness of the situation. “No one was at fault but Nott. It’s true that you are far too trusting and I won’t apologize for telling you to exercise better judgment and more safety precautions. However, none of that places any blame on your shoulders. My intentions were to ensure that you would not be placed in that position again.” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more ill at ease. The history of interaction between the two of them could not have been any stranger. She had always infuriated him, even more so lately, though for different reasons. He hated recalling her weeping and shattered form the night of the attack. Now, holding her as she sobbed once more, he couldn’t help but tighten his arms around her, attempting to soothe the tormented young woman. It was so bizarre- that he should be her rescuer after their turbulent history, and that they should now be in this position, shouting until she collapsed in his arms. Draco pushed all logical thought from his brain and surrendered to the very un-Malfoylike urges he was having, stroking her back lightly and holding her to him as she wept.


A/N: Please read and review! Thank you to the charitable poople who have been doing so- it makes me ridiculously happy to get reviews- and it definitely helps, so I really appreciate it!