Sins of the Father

Disclaimer: All characters presented in the fic are the property of
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 Four
Growing Bonds

​The rest of the holidays went by fairly swiftly for the two
Gryffindors, while, for Draco, they dragged on in slow motion as the
inevitable neared. Now that Madam Pomfrey had seen him awake and
interacting with Potter, he knew it was only a matter of time before he
had to face the rest of the school.


Weasley had returned
early upon hearing the news that the ‘boy wonder’ had, yet again,
miraculously survived another encounter with Voldemort; the final
encounter.


Surprisingly enough, Draco found that, despite
the hesitation he felt towards the hospital wing opening to others
besides him and the two Gryffindors, Weasley was welcome company. He
had developed an unspoken sense of gratitude and admiration towards
Granger. After all, she had been the first kind face he had seen after
months of abuse. Potter and he had reached an unspoken truce as the
young Gryffindor had, essentially, agreed to put the past behind them
and take him for where he was today.


Weasley- well he was an
altogether different story. Ronald Weasley was a textbook case of a
one-track mind. Hermione and Harry had tried to subdue him the first
time he entered the hospital wing, asking him to ‘let sleeping dragons
lie.’ But, true to every suspicion Draco had ever had of the boy, he
could not conceive of the thought that even Draco Malfoy was capable of
change.


Honestly, Draco didn’t blame him. He certainly
didn’t feel as if he’d gone through some great epiphany, unless you
included the one about his bastard of a father. No, he still held on to
the same ideals that he’d always clung to; the superiority of the old
pureblood families and the maintaining of Wizarding tradition. Yes, he
had accepted that Hermione Granger was an exceptional witch, one that
he was now bound to through a wizard’s debt. But one exception did not
make a rule.


Despite his personal understanding for
Weasley’s unrelenting position, it would be less than Slytherin for
Draco to pass up the opportunity to take advantage of the housemates’
disagreement.


“Harry, Mione’, you can’t be serious. Look, I
don’t care what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put him through. It’s Malfoy;
I don’t doubt but that he deserved it.”


Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry turned to face his best friend. “Come off it Ron,” he said. “Voldemort is dead. Voldemort is not coming back; I nearly killed myself to ensure that the world was free from Voldemort

for good this time,” he finished, nearly yelling at the absurdity of
someone still refusing to say the fallen wizard’s name. “And you are
right, this is Malfoy. Malfoy is still Slytherin, conniving, sneaky,
and a git. What he went through changed none of that. But, he did see,
first-hand the intricate web of deception that Voldemort cast in
recruiting his followers.”


“But Harry…” Ron started again, his voice nearly a whine.


“For
Merlin’s sake, Ron,” Hermione said, unable to contain her frustration
any longer. “Malfoy is a prat, that fact is well established. Harry,
here, has a hero complex; your obsession with Quidditch borders on a
mental disorder; and I, in the words of our dear Potions Master, am an
insufferable know-it-all. We’re not asking you to propose to Malfoy.”


“If
you did, I’m afraid I would have to decline,” Draco drawled, unable to
resist participating any longer. “I’ve never been one to go for the
tall, thick, and clueless sort.”


Harry and Hermione, having
grown accustomed to Draco’s sarcasm over the holidays, tried to stifle
their laughs, but Ron was clearly less than amused.


“I don’t know what you’ve done to… to…”


“I can understand your disappointment Weasley. Being passed over for Granger…”


Harry laughed aloud at that statement as Ron continued to redden, his fists clenched as if ready for a fight.


“Malfoy, that’s quite enough,” Hermione snapped, shooting him a look that showed that she was clearly not amused.


“You see ‘Mione, he hasn’t changed, even you can see that…”


“Oh,
do shut up, Ron, can’t you see he’s just winding you up,” she cut him
off, rubbing the temples of her head. She would be glad when Harry
returned to Gryffindor tower because trying to play referee between Ron
and Draco would undoubtedly prove to be maddening.


The next
few days were fairly uneventful, as Harry received permission from
Madam Pomfrey to spend time outside of the hospital wing, so long as he
promised to check back in every few hours so that she could continue to
monitor his condition. Hermione offered no protest when the Matron
requested that she continue to spend the majority of her time with
Malfoy.


Apparently, Snape was becoming more insistent on
seeing the boy and Madam Pomfrey honestly did not see any reason that a
meeting should be delayed any further, now that Harry and Ron had both
been able to spend extended periods of time in his company without
issue.


Hermione agreed that she thought there would be
little consequence in a meeting taking place, other than an
understandable hesitancy to cope with reality outside the hospital
wing, and promised to report back as soon as her suspicions were
confirmed or denied.


Her conversation with Draco about
speaking with his Head of House and returning to his quarters had been
very brief. She was initially surprised to see that he had apparently
thought about, and considered, the likelihood that his days in
isolation were drawing to an end. When she asked him how he felt about
it, his only response had been, “I don’t see how my feelings are
relevant. We both know that I can’t remain here forever.”


Snape
had met with Malfoy to discuss his reentry into life within the school.
When he met with Madam Pomfrey and Hermione later to discuss his
observations, the two witches had been quite appalled to find that he
had used his skills as a Legilimens to get a better idea of what Draco
had suffered. He had refused to discuss the ils ils with Hermione
present, but had assured her that Draco’s swift recovery, both physical
and mental, was nothing short of miraculous.


With the start
of the spring term, the Seventh Years found three students that had
been missing for the majority of the first term rejoining them in
classes. Draco, as Head Boy, returned to his dormitory, everyone
involved thankful for that luxury which prevented him from having to
either abandon his house or risk further retribution from those that
still deemed him a traitor. It soon became evident that few Slytherins
thought it mere coincidence that his return immediately followed the
defeat of Voldemort and none considered that his absence was due to
abduction by said villain.


Draco, as expected, passed all of
the qualifying exams allowing him to complete the seventh year with his
class with no trouble. Harry was permitted to defer taking the first
round of exams as he had missed significantly less schoolwork.


After
about the first week of the new term, all involved had fallen back into
much the same routine as they had begun the school year with. Ron and
Draco still faced off at every opportunity with Harry or Hermione
pulling their friend back as Draco finished the confrontation,
typically pointing out the Weasleys’ poverty.


Both
Gryffindors had tried to convince Ron that he was simply perpetuating
the situation by responding to Draco, but of course, he would not
listen. Even further complicating the matter was that, with the defeat
of Voldemort, Harry had appeared to lighten up considerably, being much
more prone to outbursts of laughter. Unfortunately, these outbursts did
not exclude Draco’s wittier digs against his best friend.


Hermione
had left the Head Boy in their common room with his studies, fully
intent on retiring to her room with her journal. She fully intended to
take the frustrations she hagardgarding Malfoy and Ron out on paper
with her quill, since talking to her friend obviously had little
effect. As she sat on her bed and crossed her legs, carefully inking
the quill before bringing it up to the journal, the thoughts that had
moments ago seemed so urgent to put to paper left her head.


Deciding
to employ a tactic that she had learned years ago in her Muggle
education for creative writing, Hermione simply allowed her mind to
wander and the quill to move. After no more than a few minutes, she put
her quill down and cast a cleansing spell to remove the ink splatters
that had gotten on the bed. As she read the words, Hermione was
confronted with the feelings that had become more prevalent with each
passing day since Malfoy had woken.


Why do I feel this
bond between he and I? I can understand his comfort around me. I was
his rescuer; that is a wizard’s debt. It is ancient magic, unfailing
and perfectly reasonable. But why do I, the one who he is indebted to,
feel my own obligation; that of his protector. Even as I sit here and
write this, I do so ignoring the compulsion that calls me to watch over
him.


Hermione tore the pages out of the journal, setting
them in the vessel that was reserved for her most intimate thoughts.
Touching the tip of her wand to the torn pages and incanting ’Incendio’,
Hermione affirmed her determination to accept the truth as it rose with
the smoke, while doubt and worry turne ash ashes. As the last of the
flames died out, Hermione added the ashes to her container before
retrieving her Arithmancy book and supplies and returning to the common
room.


Tru her her word, Hermione decided to trust her
instincts, which had rarely failed her before, refusing to question the
reason behind her sense of obligation towards Malfoy. Their evenings
were spent generally in companionable silence, interrupted by the
occasional debate regarding their coursework.


Hermione
found that, now that she no longer bothered with the why’s of their
relationship, she rather enjoyed it. She had always enjoyed
companionship during study but had grown weary of the invariable
battles that would ensue when working with Ron and Harry.


Malfoy’s
discipline was similar to hers, though it was rare to see him poring
over his studies all evening. He tended to study and complete his
assignments as would be expd ofd of a diligent student, quick to point
out when Hermione had exceeded the requirements for an essay, before
pulling out a book to read.


It was on one of those
evenings when Hermione was well into her third foot of parchment for an
Arithmancy essay that only required two that Draco decided to break
their accustomed silent companionship.


“In the name of
Merlin, how is it that we’ve been working on the same essay, yet I’ve
finished mine over an hour ago? Sitting here listening to your quill
scratching against the parchment is becoming nearly as unbearable as
potting mandrakes.”


Hermione, her nerves already on edge as
she contemplated the amount of material she would need to cover in the
month left before the N.E.W.T.’s, slammed the quill down on the
parchment, a bit of ink splattering onto her cheek.


“You
know, Malfoy, not all of us were bequeathed enough Galleons to live off
of for ten lifetimes. I’m so sorry if the fact that I intend to leave
Hogwarts ready for whatever life has to throw at me is disturbing to
you. Perhaps it is best if I retire to my rooms.”


“Suit yourself, Granger,” Draco drawled nonchalantly.


As
Hermione exhaled loudly in exasperation and gathered her things, he
picked his book back up and returned to the page he had been reading.
Not until he heard the door to her room slam, echoed by what sounded
like something hebeinbeing tossed against the wall, did he let his head
fall back in frustration.


He really hadn’t meant to get her
so riled up. He had honestly tho tha that the off-handed comment was
perfectly allowable as both she and Potter had behaved very rationally,
not expecting him to transform into something that went against the
very fiber of his being. It wasn’t as if that were the worst comment
she had heard him make, yet this was the first time she’d snapped at
him. Perhaps, whatever it was that was drawing the two of them
together, was affecting her as much as it was him.


Snapping
out of his thoughts as he heard her storm down the stairs, he watched
her as she left; the feeling of emptiness he had been trying to ignore
whenever they parted company came over him again. He settled back and
tried to bury that feeling yet again but knew that it would not happen
when he realized he had spent the past minute trying to read a single
sentence.


Resigning himself to the fact that it was time
for them to discuss, or at the very least acknowledge, the strange bond
that they seemed to have formed over the past few months, Draco
returned his book to his dormitory and left the Heads’ quarters.
Bypassing the library, Draco headed to the rear staircase located off
of the main hall before making his way up the stairs.


***


Hermione
had tried to continue the essay she had been writing upon returning to
her room, but was unable to concentrate. Every time she began a task,
she would feel that same draw, making her feel obligated to be with
him, to comfort him. Despite the sarcasm and smirk that he had
reclaimed, she knew that he was still haunted. Hermione had fled to the
Astronomy Tower, not wanting to run into any other students or be
easily found.


She opened the book that she had brought
with her. Not the Arithmancy text needed to complete the essay that had
become the point of their contention, no, she had brought her beloved
journal; her emotional waste basket, the only tool that had proven
effective of exhausting all of the emotional and mental anguish from
her system so that she could function.


Absently running the
fine feathers of the quill across her jaw, Hermione tried to mentally
separate the strands of thought to isolate those that had her in such
turmoil. Ever since he had rejoined the schools population, since he
and Harry had formed their eerie, comfortable camaraderie, her entire
sense of balance had been thrown.


Whenever she looked into
those eyes that called to her from across the room, the Great Hall,
even through the doors to her private quarters, she could see the
humility that had surfaced in him. It was true that, despite his hurt
and subsequent healing, he had managed to reclaim that air of
confidence that deemed him worthy of Slytherin house, yet, he had been
freed of the burden of the arrogance that had made him the bane of her
existence for six years. Alone with her thoughts and journal, she could
not deny that she now found his assuredness aping,ing, where it had
once been appalling.


Hermione sighed as she hugged the
journal close to her chest, jumping as a clap of thunder sounded in the
distance. She found the oncoming storm comforting, as if the gods that
controlled such things were joining her in her inner turmoil. She gazed
up hazily as the storm clouds rolled in, her body straightening as a
familiar chill and urgency come over her. Turning slowly, she was not
shocked to see Draco standing at the apex of the stairwell.


\"You\'re
not the only one who feels it,\" he offered slowly, as he crossed the
room to sit down next to her, his hands folded awkwardly in his lap.


Draco
had felt the bond that was growing between them since he first awoke in
the hospital wing, something inside of him breaking at the sight of her
in tears over Harry\'s bed.


He hadn\'t wanted to admit that he
wanted her by his side but it was becoming harder and harder to deny.
Even as he had lain silent, he had found that when he desired her gaze
strongly enough to see the depths of emotion her eyes could offer, he
could will her to look at him.


Hermione closed the book carefully, looking up into his eyes, not bothering to clear herself of the tears that had formed.


\"What is it?\"


Draco
paused. He couldn\'t answer that question; not completely, not yet. He
hadn\'t even eliminated all of the possibilities. Of course, he had his
suspicions, his fears. They had surfaced while he was in captivity.
Malfoy lore, told at family gatherings, came to mind as he tried to
will himself the blessed escape into death. But he was so young. No one
under the age of seventy had been affected in twenty generations. No,
he couldn’t answer that question yet. He would need more time. Having
no verbal answer to her query, Draco took her hand in his. Looking into
her eyes he raised her hand to his cheek, turning slightly to kiss the
inside of her palm.


With that single act, Hermione felt the
dam that she had so carefully constructed to ward off the emotions,
give way to months of cracks and dents. Burying her head against his
shoulder, Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and decided that
she would worry about what had drawn the two together tomorrow.


They
sat that way, in the silence that had become comfortable for the two,
for a long while. Unwilling to move lest they dislodge the blanket of
content that had settled around them, they simply sat; the beats of
their hearts regulating to the tempo of the rainfall outside; the rise
and fall of their chests lulling them both towards slumber.


“Draco,” Hermione spoke timidly, looking up into his face, unable to read his expression.


He
winced at the sound of his name. It was an unreasonable request, but he
felt as if he would be perfectly content to simply be near her like
this, no words exchanged, just being. And so he didn’t respond, save
raising his hand to the back of her head to lay it back against his
chest. ‘Just a little while longer,’ he thought, hoping whatever bond they held was strong enough to convey the desire.


Hermione
sighed. Her legs and backside were aching. Deciding to give him a few
more minutes, as it was clear that he did not wish to leave yet, she
nestled her head against his chest, raising her hand to move the curls,
which had slipped into her mouth.