Sins of the Father

Disclaimer: All characters presented in the fic are the property J.K.J.K. Rowling. I just like to play with them on occasion

Author's Note: Written for elementaldeity for the dmhgficexchange on livejournal.


Special Thanks: Terri, Inell, Zephyr and especially nakhash_mekashefah
for the wonderful feed back especially in the eleventh hour.

Chapter Three
New Allies and Old Enemies

In the two weeks leading up to the Yule Holidays, Hermione and
Draco fell into a comfortable routine. In her meetings with Professors
Dumbledore and Snape they had both agreed that, while he might not be
ready to rejoin the rest of the school, it was in his best interest
that they return him to some semblance of normalcy as soon as possible.

Their shared schedule, which had once seemed to be a curse
for the both of them, now proved to be a blessing for Draco. The
Headmaster had made arrangements for all of Draco’s professors to
formulate exams to test the material that they had covered during the
fall term. Professor Snape had been insistent in arguing that Draco
should be given every opportunity to graduate with the rest of his
class at the end of the term and Professor Dumbledore had agreed.


Hermione
had been flustered when she had been informed that she would need to
tutor Draco in the material that he had missed since the second week of
the term when he had been abducted. Yet, he had surprised her when they
began revising. She had assumed, throughout the years, that Draco had
been as successful in school as he had, largely due to his name. But,
as she began to review first the Charms work, figuring that the work
was fairly intuitive and simple, and then moved onto History of Magic,
she found that she had greatly underestimated his intellect.


Draco
Malfoy had an incredibly keen sense of recall. Hermione found that once
she introduced a new concept to him, she never had to revisit it. His
ability to apply the theory he had learned was also impressive.
Hermione found that they were able to cover the majority of the
material from the fall term before the Yule Holidays. Draco would spend
much of the day reviewing the texts, while Hermione would either sit
with Harry or do her own classwork. In the evenings, they would sit
together, reviewing Hermione’s old assignments or discussing the
material and how it was practically applied. The review sessions proved
to be mutually beneficial as they reinforced the information that Draco
was learning while affording Hermione the opportunity to review the
material, making sure that her understanding was concrete. She was
surprised to find that her time spent with him could even be considered
somewhat enjoyable.


He had proven to be much more
intellectual than she had given him credit for, demonstrating that,
while he had not spent his days locked away in a er oer of the library
or anxiously answering every question posed to the class, he could
still hold his own. In fact, though she loathed admitting it, Hermione
had a sneaking suspicion that had he chosen to spend his years at
Hogwarts in the same manner that she had, she might not have such a
firm holding as the top student in her class.


What had
been truly refreshing to see, however, weignsigns of the old Draco.
They still referred to each other using their surnames, that had never
changed, yet his temperament was softer. Gradually, though, as they
continued to review the coursework that he had missed, a fire arose in
him. This one was acceptable; it didn’t come with insults or slurs
attached, just a passionate defense of his opinions.


History
of Magic was a subject that often brought rigorous debate between the
two. Draco, a product of an elitist, pureblooded upbringing, often did
not see eye to eye with Hermione as they would discuss the social
atmosphere in relationship to different historical events.


It
was on the eve of Yule that they became engaged in a particularly
heated debate over what led to the Goblin Rebellion of 1612.


“Malfoy,
you are impossible. You dare call the Goblins actions savage and
reprehensible,” Hermione questioned, her fists clenched at her side as
she tried to contain her frustration at Draco’s extremely small-minded
view of the events that took place in the rebellion.


“Savage, reprehensible, barbaric…” he drawled, before turning to her and arching an eyebrow. “Shall I continue?”


“I cannot believe that you can sit here and say that with a good conscience. What would you do if…”


"Calm
down, Granger. I agree; the way in which the Goblins were treated was
reprehensible, yet, that does not excuse the massacre that they reveled
in under the guise of rebellion.”


"Draco," Hermione said,
straining to keep his composure. "Honestly. How would you react if your
life was not your own? You had no home to call your own. No say in any
facet of your life, not even that of the lives of your children?"


Draco
opened his mouth to reply but was interrupfromfrom the other side of
the room, "I imagine that even Malfoy, here, might go savage," a hoarse
voice whispered.


Forgetting their debate, Hermione sprang up
from the bed and crossed the room. "Harry, oh my god, you're awake,"
she said, throwing herself across his chest as tears spilled from her
eyes.


Harry chuckled weakly, groaning as he brushed
Hermione’s curls out of his mouth. “It’s nice to know I was missed but
I’d hate to survive Voldemorty toy to die suffocated beneath my best
friend’s hair.”


Hermione smiled, wiping away the tears in
her eyes. “Oh Harry, I’m sorry, it’s just we were so worried,” she
said, biting her lip as she resisted the urge to throw herself on him
again.


“I missed you too, ‘Mione,” Harry smiled at his
friend before turning his head to the side. “Although, it looks like
you’ve been keeping some… interesting, for lack of a better word,
company. Where’s Ron?”


“He’s going to be livid, but his mum
insisted that he and Ginny come home for Hols as they weren’t allowed
in to visit,” Hermione paused, as she turned tentatively to Malfoy
before looking back at Harry. “She didn’t want them moping around. He
wanted to…”


Harry’s shoulders fell a little, but he
continued smiling. “That’s all right. You’ll just have to owl him and
tell him to get his sorry arse back here straight away. So what’s the
git…” Harry started, looking at Malfoy before trailing off as he met
Hermione’s warning gaze.


Glancing at Malfoy, Hermione felt
somewhat afraid that he would crawl back into the shell that he’d just
so recently shed, but was met instead with a surprising fire, one that
clearly still viewed Harry as a rival of sorts. Sighing, Hermione
launched into an explanation of coming across Draco in the final
battle; surprising herself as she emphasized the atrocities he’d seen
in an effort to inspire a truce of some sort between the two.


Harry
looked over at Malfoy, studying him as if looking for a sign of proof
before speaking, “So, I take it that you’ve given up on an illustrious
career in murder and mayhem?”


Ignoring Hermione’s huff of
protest, Harry continued, “Look Malfoy, I’m truly sorry for what you’ve
gone through, if Hermione’s accounting is accurate. But I won’t lie, if
that’s what it took for you to realize what a monster Voldemort is, I’m
glad,” Harry paused momentarily before adding somberly, “both for what
you endured and the fact that you survived.”


The atmosphere
was filled with tension as the severity of Harry's words hung in the
air. Hermione looked back at Draco. The urge to shield him from the
ugly truth in what her friend had said was almost unbearable.


As
she turned, with narrowed eyes, to scold her friend, Draco's calm voice
surprised her. With a muttered, "Likewise, Potter," Draco managed to
follow Harry's lead in putting seven years of hate behind them.


The
morning of Yule was truly a joyous occasion. While the gift exchange
was not a part of the morning’s celebration, Hermione ensured that any
present she might receive were sent to her room to be opened in private
as no one had expected Harry’s recovery or imagined that Draco would
receive anything. The two Gryffindors were more than satisfied with
spending the day in each other’s company.


Madam Pomfrey
had indicated to Hermione that Harry was welcome to stay in the
cordoned off section of the hospital wing to rest as Malfoy appeared to
have become acclimated to his presence. And so two two happily sat
around chatting, Hermione anxious to fill him in on what he’d missed,
namely, Luna finally managing to pin Ron down. Harry laughed heartily
at the idea of ’Ron falling victim to the lunacy that is Lovegood,’
ignoring Hermione’s chastising when it came to talking about the
younger witch.


Having forgotten about the other party in the
room, both turned their heads sharply as a too familiar drawl sounded.
“I don’t know, I think it makes sense. It will be nice for Weasley to
finally associate with a female he can keep mental pace with. Merlin
knows he couldn’t keep up with you,” he smirked, as he winked at
Hermione, his features gentling into a smile.


"Well, call me
a Slytherin, but I do believe that Malfoy here has manago mao make a
joke, without malice even," Harry grinned, as he and Hermione erupted
in a fit of hysteria.


Draco reclaimed his perfected smirk,
though his eyes betrayed it with laughter as he replied, “The day
anyone calls you Slytherin, is the day that Father Christmas invokes
the spirit of Grindelwald.”


The rest of the morning was
spent in lighthearted banter. Draco, behaviore ore like himself than
Hermione had seen thus far. She was truly amazed that, despite their
troubled past, it took Harry to bring him out of his self-imprisonment.
Far more amazing was the fact that the two seemed to be getting along
fairly well.


No, they weren’t behaving remotely as
friends. In fact, to the untrained observer, they might have appeared
to be acting just as they had at the start of term, seizing every
opportunity to bait the other. But Hermione knew better; Harry’s body
language was relaxed, his fists unfurled- very unlike other
confrontations between him and the Slytherin, where she, often times,
had to physically restrain him. And Draco -, she couldn’t put her
finger on it but she could feel it. There was a sense of calm about him
as well, one that she had never seen before; no, something had
definitely changed.


Although they were unable to join the
others who had remained at Hogwarts over the Holidays for the feast,
the house-elves spared no detail in what was sent to the hospital wing.
Hermione didn’t notice Draco’s momentary silence as they Apparated and
Disapparated with the food and decorations, but was relieved when Harry
was able to extend a verbal assault and coax a reaction out of him,
pulling him back to the present.


The verbal warfare at the
table extended well past the end of the meal. Hermione shook her head
as she compared each offensive to one of Ron’s beloved chess pieces;
animated to deliver very convincing damage, but ultimately harmless.


Laughing
as she opened the window to intercept an owl, she commented dryly,
“Perhaps I should ask Professor McGonagall about becoming an Animagus
with the form of an owl. Obviously that’s what it takes to get you two
to shut up.”


“Who’s it for, ‘Mione,” Harry asked, as he stood to walk over to where she was unfastening a parcel.


“It’s for me,” Draco replied stoically, recognizing his father’s owl.


Hermione
instinctively moved to cross the room towards him but froze as he stood
to meet her. It was the first time, since they had returned to
Hogwarts, he had left his bed for a reason other than to relieve
himself. He had even taken to cleansing himself magically over
showering and changing.


Too stunned to do otherwise,
Hermione allowed him to retrieve the parcel from her lax grip as he
crossed to the far side of the hospital wing and sat on an empty bed.
Looking up at Harry as he shrugged his shoulders, Hermionntalntally
chastised herself. ‘Did you think he would stay in bed forever,’

she asked herself as she considered Harry’s enquiry as to what the
package could be. Contemplating which one of his dorm mates might have
sent the package, Hermione turned suddenly towards Draco.


Startled by her sudden movement, Harry cast Hermione a questioning glancforefore following her eyes.


“What’s
wrong with him, ‘Mione,” he asked, startled by the pale wizard sitting
rigidly upon the bed. He was holding a small jewelry box. “What’s in
the box, Malfoy?” Harry asked, walking over to stand behind him,
accepting the box as Draco wordlessly held it up.


Hermione
joined the two wizards on the other side of the room and peered inside
of the box. Lying on a bed of red velvet was a pair of cuff links
surrounded by three ribbons. The ribbons were the most delicate pieces
of cloth that she’d ever seen. They were the color of emeralds- a
brilliant green, with a luminescence running through them. Upon closer
examination, flecks of w-gol-gold cloth could be seen woven through the
fine satin material.


Hermione reached in to straighten one
of the cuff links that was turned on its side. She snatched her hand
back as movement caught her eye. Slithering from one ribbon to the next
was an enchanted silver serpent, no - basilisk she noted on closer
examination. It was an understated accent to the ribbons, as they were
quite thin themselves, but noticeable once the light hit the flecks of
emerald used to demarcate their eyes.


Harry removed a cuff
link after noting Hermione’s hesitation. A deep green lacquer covered
the golden accoutrement, small accent diamonds completing the ‘M’
monogram in the center. Looking down at Malfoy, realization dawning in
his eyes, Harry laid his hand on the boys shoulder and spoke softly,
“I’m sorry Malfoy.”


At the sound of Harry’s voice, Draco
coughed his disbelief. “I’m quite convinced that you feel that my
father’s death will be a great loss to society, Potter,” he drawled. He
flinched as Hermione sat next to him and replaced Harry’s hand with her
own. “It might be hard for you to believe, but I’m not sorry to see him
dead. His years spent in servitude to that lunatic, the constant
pressuring that I follow in his footsteps, I resented that all of my
life. But the one thing I always admired about my father was his power;
his confidence and strength. To see him cower before an idiot like
Fudge and openly betray all that he had ever taught me, that is when he
ceased to be my father.


“Do you know, when I was first
captured, I still held on to the lessons that my father had taught me
through the years. n’t n’t say that I hated him, but I was prepared to
do whatever the Dark…” he started before correcting himself, “Voldemort
asked of me, even if it meant killing my own father.


“It
wasn’t until Rookwood explained to me how inconsequential I was to
Voldemort that I hated my father. He involved my mother and me in
something so perverse, something that cared little of intentions or
loyalties against our own will; and, in a singular act of desperation,
showed how little he valued either of our lives. He had to have known
it would come to this…”


“Draco, what do you mean?” Hermione enquired. “Voldemort is dead, whatever happened to your parents…”


Draco
snapped at her, his eyes full of fire, “Do use your head, Granger. No
battle ends cleanly. Every sympathizer with the losing side would have
to be wiped from the face of the earth in order for that to happen.
Augustus Rookwood survived the final battle, didn’t he?”


Hermione’s mouth gaped as she looked up at him. “We… we couldn’t find his body. But, how did you know?”


“Because,
Hermione,” he began, “he is the one who sent me this present. I can
smell his stench upon my mother’s prized ribbons.” Draco’s face
struggled to maintain his composure as the memory of his mother,
sitting in her quarters while the house-elves braided the ribbons in
amongst her fine hair, flashed before his eyes.


“But…Gods, Draco- I mean, I know they were your parents, but they betrayed him. It can’t be easy, but at least it is over.”


Draco
fingered the locks of hair that he had removed from the box before
handing it to Harry. “It’s far from over,” he stated softly. “This is a
charm that my mother had fashioned when I was born. It was to afford me
certain protections so long as it remained at the place of my birth.”


Hermione
tentatively reached for the charm, examining it carefully when he
surrendered it to her outstretched hand. It was a cluster of about
fifty hairs. They were very fine and fair, much as she imagined his
hair had been at birth. Clasping the hairs together was an intricate
braid of different herbal flowers, peels, and root shavings that had
been bound together and preserved with magic.


As if
answering the question that was running through her mind, Malfoy began
to identify each ingredient that went into the charm. “Bergamot peel,
to preserve the Malfoy Beauty; Chamomile, aids in maintaining ones
composure; Damania, ensures that one recalls the privilege of carrying
the Malfoy name.”


Harry stifled a cough, but Hermione and
Draco’s attention remained affixed on the item. “Garlic, to ensure goodalthalth; Ginseng, because a Malfoy must always be alert and prepared;
Dandelion, to ensure that the blood remains pure; all banded around a
thin sprig of oak, to carry on the strength of the Malfoy line.”


Harry
considered the charm’s meaning, noting Draco’s darkening eyes. “Okay
Malfoy, so your mother’s charm is no longer effective as it has been
removed from the Manor. But that’s just a protective charm, right? So
long as you’re in good health and here at Hrts,rts, you’ll be fine. Now
that Voldemort is gone, the Ministry is bound to round up the last of
his followers.”


“Potter,” Draco responded exasperatedly,
“You have no idea how far- reaching Voldemort’s arm was. They will not
stop until they feel that my father’s sins have been atoned for, not
until the last of his seed has fallen.”


Hermione shook her
head, “No Draco, Harry’s right,” she countered, passing the lock of
hair back to Draco. “You’ll be safe here until graduation, at least.
And, in all likelihood, the last of the Death Eaters will be rounded up
by then.”


Draco silently nodded, not wishing to fight the
calculable optimism of the two Gryffindors. Though he willed his face
to relax and convey his acceptance of their reasoning, his eyes
remained dark as Rookwood’s words resonated in his mind, the sins of the father.