Tapping

Draco walked sedately behind them, ignoring Kevin’s occasional rapid movements and listening to Hermione’s voice to direct him. The museum was not overly crowded that afternoon, and he was able to navigate without assistance. He realized he must have looked odd, wandering around the exhibits. The drugs in his system were keeping him calm, although he knew he’d have to pop another tab or two at dinner. He had no objections to medication, he just hated being sedated into near-unconsciousness. And the nasty little side effect of this particular anxiety drug was more than he wanted to accept. Today’s outing was important enough to warrant it. Ron could forgive him a few days sans libido.

Hermione looked back at him periodically. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself, but neither did he appear to be miserable. Rather, he had an attentive look.

“Is there anything else you want to see?” she asked Kevin.

“No,” he said. She took his hand.

“So shall we get some dinner, then?” Draco asked. Hermione looked back at him again.

They were led to their table by a woman with an obnoxious voice who spoke to Kevin as though he were an infant. Draco made certain to stare in her direction as much as possible. He knew it made people uncomfortable. When Hermione got up to use the restroom, he picked up his water glass and took two of the little pills. He didn’t want her to see, although if someone had asked him why he could not have said.

“What are those?” Kevin asked.

“Medicine,” Draco told him.

“What for?”

“Sometimes I get panicky when I’m in crowded places,” Draco said. “These keep me from getting scared.”

“Oh.” Kevin picked up one of the crayons that the hostess had given him and started scribbling.

Such a strange boy, Draco thought. Or do all children change subjects so abruptly? He wasn’t certain.

Hermione came back and sat down. After a moment’s silence, Draco spoke.

“Would you read the menu for me?” he asked.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, embarrassed.

“Honest mistake,” he said, smiling.

Kevin looked up from his coloring.

“I thought blind people could read with their fingers,” he said.

“Some people can read Braille,” Draco said. “I never learned.”

“Why not?”

“It was too hard,” Draco admitted. “My fingers aren’t very sensitive.” Ron might disagree, he thought, allowing himself a small smile.

At Hermione’s prompting, Kevin looked at the childrens’ menu. Draco was momentarily surprised that the boy could already read, but with a mother like Hermione he knew he shouldn’t have been. She read the regular menu over for Draco.

When their food arrived, Hermione was surprised at the adroitness with which Draco ate. He seemed to know where every speck of food was on his plate. Hermione wondered if she could even keep from stabbing herself in the face, were she in his position. He asked leading questions of Kevin, who seemed happy to have a new audience. He had recently started morning school, which Hermione felt a necessary supplement to what she taught him at home. She couldn’t teach him how to make friends in their living room.

Draco never took his eyes off Kevin, even when he was eating. A conversational benefit to his blindness, he had found. People thought he was paying attention to them more closely than they might otherwise. Kevin was too young to analyze such things, but Hermione wasn’t. She didn’t know if it made her uncomfortable or not. So much about Draco made her feel slightly ill at ease.

That was her real reason for asking him to limit his visits. She would like nothing better than to tell Kevin who his father was; his new friends at school, with their normal families, were starting to inspire questions that she couldn’t easily answer. But whatever she told herself, Draco still made her discomfited. Even before the fateful night when Kevin was conceived, she hadn’t known how to relate to him. If he had remained a loyal Death Eater, she could have continued to hate him as she had in school. But he followed in his mentor’s footsteps and became a valuable asset to the Order’s operations, forcing her to reevaluate.

Hermione realized she had drifted away from the conversation, and Kevin was asking her a question.

“Mum?”

“I’m sorry, dear. What was that?” she asked.

Draco looked at her and she shivered. His eyes had once been very beautiful. Through the haze of scar tissue she could still see a hint of that, like looking through frosted glass.

“He wanted to know if we were still going for ice cream,” Draco said.

“Oh. Of course.”

“Are you finished, Hermione?” Draco asked.

She looked at her plate.

“Yes. I’ll flag down the waiter.”

The young man who had waited on them set the bill in front of Draco, and when Hermione tried to take it he put his hand down on top of it.

“Allow me,” he said, smiling sweetly. She let go and he pulled his wallet out of his jacket. Hermione watched in fascination as he ticked his finger down the row of cards and selected one.

“Don’t you want to know how much it is?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He felt for the card slot and slipped the card in. “Although I will need your assistance to sign the receipt.”

Hermione shivered slightly as they walked out onto the street. It had been raining while they were inside. Kevin was immediately attracted to the new puddles, and she reined him in gently.

“So where will we go to fetch this fine fellow some ice cream?” Draco asked.

“There’s a nice little place near our house,” she said. “Right by the underground station.”

Draco nodded. He offered her his elbow, and she took it hesitantly.