Haunted

Hermione stumbled into the next room. She knew this should be an empty bedroom as Ginny had been there until recently when she’d moved into Harry’s room, much to her mother’s chagrin. There were only four rooms on the first floor; hers, a drawing room, Ginny’s and the bathroom they’d shared, located across the hall next to Ginny’s room. Hermione had already made her way around the familiar drawing room (due to the amount of time they took de-infesting it of doxies) and the bathroom. There was really no need for her to go into this room but she was too nervous to venture the stairs yet and she wanted to work on her skills some more. She didn’t want to be forever walking baby steps with her arms stretched out, flinching every time she thought she might hit something only to encounter nothing but air.

Ginny’d had an armoir to the left of the door. Taking tentative steps she located it and smiled, running her hand over the old wood. Next, there would be the bed and nightstand. Shuffling forward, Hermione felt confident that this time she wouldn’t let the discovery shock her. That was until she ran into something she didn’t remember being there and smashing to the floor.

“Shit!” she said, shook up. She wasn’t really hurt but she was angered. What in the world had she hit?

“Alright there, Mudblood?”

Hearing the voice Hermione gasped and scooted back, crab-like, towards the door.

“Malfoy!”

“Indeed. Having a little trouble finding your way around?”

“Not until you got here. Why are you in here? You have no business here!”

“I hate to break it to you but this is my room. You can clear off now.”

Her mind reeled. How could they do this to her? How could they put his room right across the hall from hers? “No. Find another.”

“I didn’t really have a choice. Now get your filthy self out of my room before you spread your germs all over it.”

Trying her hardest to glare in his direction, she started to push herself off the floor when Mrs. Weasley’s voice sounded from behind her.

“What in the world is going on in here? Hermione, dear, are you alright?”

The woman’s warm hands where suddenly under her arms, lifting her up and brushing her off unnecessarily.

“I’m fine. Just tripped over something.”

“Draco’s chair, dear, you knocked it right over.”

“How rude of you, Granger. Just got here and you’re already breaking my things.”

“I’ll break more than that if you don’t-,”

“Now, now, that’s enough of that. Come along, lunch is ready. Draco, do you need help into your chair?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Alright then.” Mrs. Weasley took her arm and turned her, walking her towards the kitchen. Hermione wondered why Malfoy would need help into his chair and why he would be sitting in it if he was supposed to eat lunch with them. Then she wondered why she cared.

She didn’t.

Hermione hated how long it took her to make it to the basement kitchen especially since she had to listen to Malfoy mutter about it the whole time.

“If I’m too slow for you why don’t you just go around?” she snapped.

“Because your fat arse is taking up the whole staircase!”

Mrs. Weasley intervened and Hermione bit her tongue to keep from retorting. When she finally reached the kitchen Ron greeted her, pulling her into a tight hug. Harry was next and they helped her sit between them so they could tell her about their meeting with Hagrid who was still working diligently on teaching Grawp English and recruiting the giants. So far he’d at least gotten them to not join Voldemort’s side.

“Harry, dear, will you pull out that chair at the end for Draco, please?”

Hermione scoffed. He was getting concierge service now? Lovely. Of course his rich little arse probably couldn’t handle being treated like an average human being. Knowing it would be better if she said nothing, she sat and thanked Mrs. Weasley when her plate was brought to her, her fork pressed into her hand.

Eating was still something she had to work on. She was required to use her hands to feel how much was on her fork and where to scoop it but she hated it, her sanitary side on high alert. She scrubbed her hands raw before and after every meal.

She heard Malfoy snort at her pathetic attempts to scoop some more Sheppard’s pie onto her fork but it quickly died and she figured Ron or Harry or both had given him a look. She knew they both wanted to help her, could feel the tension in their bodies for having to watch her struggle alone. But she refused to allow them to help. She needed to learn. Even though it sucked.

When lunch was cleared a whoosh sounded from the fireplace and Hermione waited for the greetings before she could figure out who had come. By the sound of it, Remus Lupin.

A hand clapped her shoulder making her jump.

“Sorry, Hermione. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s me, Reumus.”

“I know your voice, Remus, no need to introduce yourself. How are you?” she asked, turning in her seat to try to look at him. He sat next to her instead and took her hand, letting her know where he was.

“Doing good, real good. Teddy’s sleeping through the night now.”

“That’s great! I bet you and Tonks are happy about that?”

He laughed. “Ecstatic. I can finally get a full night’s sleep. It’s the first time since Tonks got pregnant!”

She smiled and had to work to keep it there because she realized that she was never going to watch Teddy grow up. She would never know what he would look like or any of her friend’s children for that matter. She would never get to laugh and joke with them about the wrinkles they would all get in fifteen years or the grey hairs that would erupt in twenty-five. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from her mind she talked about Teddy’s new words and his first signs of being a morphamagus like Tonks. She smiled, thinking about his bright blue hair and how it was now changing colors with mood. Tonks was teaching him the color’s names every time he changed.

The rest of the day was spent with Harry and Ron until Ginny came back and told them about Lavender’s discovery. Now only had Dolohov been caught meeting with Croaker, but Borcharav as well, another Unspeakable who had just started work on their new tracking device for the Death Eaters. Remus and Tonks left to get some Aurors on the case and Ginny took Hermione upstairs to help her write a note to Neville who was out with Professor Sprout harvesting a very rare flower used for powerful healing spells. Hermione forced everyone to write when they were out doing things so as to keep track of happenings and for her own peace of mind. Now that would have to be delegated to someone else.

Dean and Seamus stopped by to see Hermione having caught word about what had happened. Hermione knew they meant well but it made her feel awkward to be visited as if she were on her deathbed. Finally, she kicked everyone out of her room and felt her way to her trunk where she dug around until she found what she was looking for. Pulling out the picture, she fingered the glass, knowing what it looked like. The two figures were unmoving. Clutching her parents to her chest, Hermione curled onto the floor and prayed she would wake up and this would all be a dream.

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Draco rolled his eyes as the older woman massaged his useless legs. Like it would do any good.

“-have to keep these muscles nice and warmed up...keep them in tip-top shape…be walking in no time…” she was rambling, unable to keep that trap closed for ten whole minutes. Draco let her get on with it, ignoring her when she asked him to try moving his toes or knees. He knew he couldn’t so there was no point in trying. Finally, she left, fluffing the pillows on his bed and asking him if he needed anything. Yeah, a bit of peace and bloody quiet. He wondered if he could start taking his meals in his room because he was tired of the rude stares and evil glances. They had to be kidding. All he had to do was lift his bloody sleeve and they’d be pissing all over themselves.

But one thing was clear to him now. He’d been brought here for a reason, he had a real mission now.

To make Granger’s life a living hell.

He’d nearly broken a rib laughing when she’d tripped over his chair but had wanted to surprise her, so he’d stayed silent, tears leaking from his eyes at the strain. She’d jumped a mile when he’d finally spoken and he knew it had been well worth it. He knew there would be no end to his amusement if he was to spend the rest of his days here making her miserable. She was the reason he was here in the first place.

Draco spent the next few days moving the furniture of the house and watching her run into them or trip. She would curse, run her hands over the item and memorize where it was only to have him lift his wand and put it directly back in her path. Then he would have to take his stupid chair as far away as he could before laughing hysterically.

Mrs. Weasley kept up the ridiculous ‘physical therapy’ insisting that it would help. He could hardly feel the pressure she used on his legs. It was like he had sat on them for too long and they had fallen asleep, only without the tingling sensation. They were just numb. He’d tried standing a few times only to crumple to a heap on the floor and, like Granger, curse and pull himself buck up onto that blasted chair.

Meal times (which he was told forcefully were not allowed to be spent in his room) were spent giving and receiving glares from whoever happened to be there. The only people who didn’t glare at him were the youngest Weasel, Mrs. Weasley, ex-Professor Lupin and the crazy haired girl who carried around his kid. Potter only did when he made fun of Granger, which happened to be most of the time. She held her own, however, and they kept things lively in the dull house.

Lupin came and visited him in his room that night, a week after his arrival, to give him some clothes and personal items and to talk about his options.

“Draco, I know this must be hard for you…”

“Cut the crap,” he said. “Get on with it. What do you want to talk about?”

Lupin looked at him as if he wanted to call him out for his cross words but he ignored it instead. “We need to know what you are willing to do at this point. You’ll forgive us if we are a bit weary taking you in because of what happened last time.”

Draco thought back to the day after the Battle of Hogwarts at the end of his sixth year, the battle he’d had the pleasure of bringing about. He remembered the pain that had ripped through him as Snape killed Dumbledor, the only man willing to extend a hand to him. Snape had dragged him through the halls of the school and out into Hogsmead, fighting to keep him safe. He’d nearly broken down then, knowing his options were spent. His family was going to die and he would be marked a traitor. They would torture him, slaughter him…it was told Fenrir would have first dibs…

But Snape had slapped him hard, had pulled him into a side-along apparition to a dingy kitchen in a dark house and left. He’d spent hours there, alone, crouched in a corner, wand out until his godfather had returned with his ex-Professor. He’d explained the situation. His family wouldn’t die and he had a choice. He could stay here, at the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, were it would be safe. Or, he could go back to his parents and spend his life fighting. He had chosen the Order at the time, knowing he didn’t want to end up like his father, caught in a web of deceit and hate. He had only partaken in one mission and he had failed miserably.

He had spent the summer there, helping when he could, giving them important information when he had it. And watching Granger.

Gods, he’d watched her do everything. She seemed to be in a million places at once. He had envied her energy and respected her multi-tasking abilities. It hadn’t been long before he was spending the nights with his hand down his pants and her face and pert little body on his mind. She was stuck there like some disease. How it had happened, he didn’t know.

Then it came, the letter. His father had written him. They had his mother, that monster had his mother and if he didn’t go back, she would die. He’d left that night without looking back. He’d never given the Order a reason, they didn’t need one. He’d done what he needed to do and had saved his mother’s life. He would not regret his actions, even when Snape told him the turmoil they’d been in at his treachery. It didn’t matter. He’d simply been playing a game, hiding out. He knew where his life was, he had carved it out years ago by following his father’s lead and he would continue on.

Now, it didn’t matter. His mother was dead anyways, his father a sick bastard so far up Voldemort’s arse he couldn’t see the light of day. And here he was, a cripple because he’d seen her mahogany hair on that battlefield with that damnable cup in her hands. There was no way she could have known the curse that was bestowed upon it after Voldemort had figured out they were on his trail. So he’d gone after her, his heart in his throat and now he was back to where it had all began in the first place. There was no going back now, no reason to either. They would kill him for his betrayal and he didn’t care. Now it was the Order or death, and he was too young to die.

“I’m not going to run this time. There’s nowhere to run to,” he laughed bitterly.

“So you are agreeing to stay here under our terms?”

“Yes.” He knew that’s what Severus wanted. His godfather was the only person in the world now who cared what happened to him. He had been angry when he’d gone back in the first place but had supported him, even helped him gain the Mark. Woo hoo.

“Draco…we can’t trust you yet. You’ll be under watch. You and Hermione will be staying here until you recuperate. We can’t be here at all times so alarms will be put up. You are too much of a threat now. Do you understand why we are taking these measures?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t say anymore. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to do anything but wait this damn war out and go his own way. Maybe he’d learn French in his spare time and move there when this was over. Until then, he would just mold in this dirty old house.

“We expect you to contribute. You will be assigned chores. Your room is your own, we don’t care what you do with it as long as things are not growing in here that can spread to other rooms,” Lupin said with a smile, as if the joke would somehow lighten the mood. What was it with old people? Did you suddenly hit thirty and think lame jokes could make things all better? If so, he was croaking it before thirty.

“That being said, we also expect you to work on your legs. Madam Pomfrey said they still have your brain signals but we will need to teach you how to walk again. Molly has said you’ve been very un-helpful in this department. Madam Pomfrey will come in once a week to check on your progress and to work with you for a while. Please, do not give these ladies any grief. They have enough of it as it is.”

With that Lupin took his leave and Draco leaned against his headboard. Gods, he hoped Potter found that last Horcurx soon.

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XOXO

RynStar15