Chapter 34: The Rise and Fall of Relationships 7 Jan.
Molly padded down the stairs and headed to the parlor to check on Hermione. As she rounded the parlor door, she stopped in her tracks. Draco and Hermione were on the couch together; his arms were wrapped around her and she seemed comfortably nestled within them. The sight was dumbfounding.
Her thoughts went immediately to Ron.
Merlin’s beard, he’d murder Draco on the spot if he saw this. She looked into the hallway, her eyes darting in both directions, but she was alone for now. She turned back and found she couldn’t stop staring at the couch. The two of them slept together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Molly rubbed her temples- she believed Hermione’s explanations, but nothing in front of her made any sense. This was definitely
not the Draco Malfoy they all knew.
Sighing, she walked back toward the staircase and opened the kitchen door. She began to pull out pots and frying pans, eggs and bacon. She grabbed an apple from the counter and poured herself a glass of milk, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the door flung open.
“Hold it right there!”
She screamed and knocked over her milk as Mad-Eye pointed his wand level with her head. He quickly lowered it when the face and the scream before him did not belong to the Death Eater’s kid. “Where’s the boy? Have you seen him?”
Molly was still recovering from the misplaced attack on her life, and she scowled as she drew her own wand to clean up the milk. “You scared the kneazels out of me, Mad-Eye! He’s in the parlor with Hermione. They’re both asleep.”
Mad-Eye wheeled himself around and stomped out of the kitchen. Then his head popped back through the doorway. “Uh, sorry there, Molly,” he mumbled and was gone again.
Molly shook her head and grumpily refilled her empty glass.
****
Damned if the woman wasn’t right. There he was, sleeping like a ruddy baby. What the hell was he doing? Who the hell did he think he was? Oh no; this kid wasn’t getting off that easy.
Mad-Eye thunked his artificial leg across the parlor floor and stopped just in front of the sleeping teens. He really didn’t want to wake Hermione or her parents, but the little rodent’s sweet dreams were officially over. Dumbledore said to wait until morning and, guess what? It was morning.
He tapped Draco’s forehead with his wand repeatedly until the boy opened his eyes. Wincing, and more than a little annoyed, Draco jerked his head away. “What?!” he snapped, whispering so as not to disturb Hermione.
“Get up. Nap time’s over, boy!” replied Mad-Eye in a low growl.
Draco glared at him. “In case you haven’t noticed,” he said quietly, “Hermione is sleeping, and I’m not about to disturb her. So I suppose you’ll just have to wait.”
Suddenly, the tip of Mad-Eye’s wand was digging into Draco’s temple. “Her parents are here- no one needs your sorry behind. Now get up or my wand may just slip; even a small
Crucio to the temple isn’t a pleasant experience.”
Draco’s eyes widened in serious fear at Mad-Eye’s threat. “
You’re barking mad,” he breathed as he began to sit up.
“Yep,” replied Mad-Eye gruffly.
Draco slowly moved himself out from under Hermione’s body, eliciting a soft moan and the gripping of his arm. “Shh, it’s alright. Just sleep,” he whispered, gently removing his arm from her grasp. He stood up and faced Mad-Eye. “If she wakes up terrified like she did last night and I’m not here to fix it, it’s on your head,” he said as bravely as he could.
“You’d better just worry about
your head, sonny,” replied Mad-Eye as he grabbed Draco by the collar and shoved him out of the room.
Mad-Eye dragged his captive down the long hallway and into a small room, the kind that may have been used as the Black Family’s drawing room. He tossed Draco unceremoniously into a chair in the corner of the room, and stood over him. Draco’s stress level began to climb quickly.
“Now I don’t have the time nor the inclination to listen to your rubbish, sonny. We’re gonna get to the truth and we’re gonna get to it now.” He pointed his wand directly at Draco’s forehead and the boy cringed, not knowing what kind of torture to expect.
Instead, he felt as though he’d been blasted back in his chair by his own brain. He could feel Mad-Eye inside his head, ruthlessly uprooting his memories and digging through his past. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the images the Auror was unearthing.
He was five, and his father had backhanded him for spilling his milk…he was seven and his Aunt Bella killed that fox in the backyard…he was ten and his parents were having a terrific fight about him…he was twelve and he disappointed his Father yet again, when Potter caught the snitch and he didn’t…he was fourteen and his Father used the Cruciatus Curse on him for the first time…
He was gripping the sides of his chair so hard his hands were cramping. Sweat was pouring down his face and his whole body was rigid. He couldn’t even try to hold Mad-Eye back; it was as though his feeble Occlumency skills were made of wet paper. He felt like his head would explode, and now Mad-Eye was approaching the memories he’d come for.
Hermione was on the floor at his parent’s feet… he was watching his aunt casting the Cruciatus Curse…he was holding down her arm as her blood dripped from his fingers…Hermione was screaming as he himself roared “Crucio”…he and his aunt were breaking her ribs…he was curled in a ball in his room, sick in his stomach…
Just what Mad-Eye needed to convict and condemn him. But then came memories that Mad-Eye didn’t anticipate.
He was healing her wounds…cleaning her face…he was killing his aunt’s creature…he was on his knees, the broken pieces of his wand before him…he was comforting Hermione, taking responsibility, begging her forgiveness…his father was choking him…his mother was slapping him…Snape was talking to him…his father was fondling Hermione…he was attacking his father, burying him…he was rescuing Hermione… he was kissing her…he was shielding her from his aunt’s Killing Curse, he was racing in the car…he was terrified she might not make it.
As swiftly as it began, Mad-Eye’s mental assault ceased. The Auror looked at Draco in shock; the boy was telling the
truth. Mad-Eye sat down on a nearby chair with a plunk, and pondered what he’d just seen. He finally managed to say, “You’re still not as innocent as you claimed, but…you saved her.”
“I told you that.” Draco’s voice was a strained whisper. He was drenched with sweat, shaking from the memories, his muscles cramping from how tightly he’d contracted them. He had the splitting headache to end all headaches. He pitched forward, throwing his head between his knees, and panted.
“I’ll admit, you’re more than I thought you were; you’ve gone through some hell, young man,” said Mad-Eye quietly. Draco stayed where he was, not saying anything. Mad-Eye stood up with some effort and left the room, pausing to give Draco’s shoulder one heavy pat. It was another half an hour before Draco would move.
****
The entire house was waking up. Harry ambled down the stairs. Remus and Tonks were dressed and ready for breakfast. Molly had already begun frying up the bacon and eggs. Arthur was sweetly helping his wife by setting the table.
Tom yawned sleepily as he moved slowly through the doorway. Arthur immediately asked him, “How is Hermione?”
“She’s all right, as well as can be expected. We had to get Draco in the middle of the night; she was having a nightmare and kept calling for him. Thankfully, he settled her down right away. He wasn’t there, though, this morning. Hermione’s only just woken up, and Jean is with her.
“Well, I’ll make them both a plate to eat in the parlor,” said Molly.
“Draco is down the hall.” Everyone turned to Mad-Eye. “He’ll need some breakfast too, though I don’t know if he’ll keep it down right now.
Tonks moved closer to the old Auror. “Why is that? What did you do to him?”
“Calm down, Nymphadora. I didn’t hurt the boy.”
Tonks counted to ten in her head; he was always going to call her
that. “Then what did happen?”
Mad-Eye sat down, and everyone followed suit as Molly doled out the bacon and eggs. “I used Legilimens on the boy to get the truth from him.”
The room went silent. All eyes were on the Auror now. Tonks held her breath. “And?”
“And he was telling the truth.”
Gasps went around the table. Molly stopped with the frying pan still in her hand. Mad-Eye went on. “He’s not as squeaky clean as he wanted us to believe, but he definitely had a change of heart and rescued Hermione.”
“And I am extremely grateful to hear that news.” Dumbledore stood in the doorway, a smile of relief blossoming on his face. No one had even heard the wizard come in, and no one was surprised at that. “I always knew he had it in him.”
“You did?” asked Arthur. “With all the evidence to the contrary?”
Dumbledore smiled again. “Across the years, not
all the evidence was to the contrary. He was always so controlled by his family, and every so often I would catch him trying to break away from that control. I am pleased to see he has finally succeeded.”
There were many smiles of relief at the table, but not all. Arthur was frowning, and Harry was downright glowering. He spoke up. “But, Professor, how are we supposed to forget everything else he’s done?"
Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Harry. Kindly he spoke. “No one has asked you to forget, nor is forgetting truly possible. However, you must not disregard recent actions simply because they contradict actions from the past. People
can change, Harry.”
Harry didn’t disagree with Dumbledore, but neither did he agree. He just lowered his eyes and concentrated on his eggs.
Molly held out a plate. “Would you like some breakfast, dear?”
The old wizard smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps later, if there are any leftovers. Though with your wonderful cooking, that seems unlikely. No, I believe I need to spend some time with a young man sitting down the hall.”
****
Draco looked up slowly as the door to the drawing room opened. He was surprised to see who stood there.
“May I come in?” asked his Headmaster. Draco nodded.
Dumbledore sat down in a chair facing Draco. “I heard the good news. You rescued Hermione.”
Draco snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, it’s a shame no one could believe me until my mind got ripped to shreds.”
A pained expression crossed the professor’s face. “I wish you hadn’t have had to go through that, Draco. But you can surely understand why it is so difficult for those here to believe your story.”
Draco huffed, but didn’t argue the fact.
“I’d like you to tell me what happened. Perhaps there are some things you’d like to get off your chest?”
Draco stared at Dumbledore. How did he know
everything? He shuddered at the “things” to which the professor was referring.
Dumbledore noticed his reticence. “You have nothing to fear from me, Draco,” he said gently. “I’ve found that owning up to something can release you from its grip.”
Draco hung his head. “But maybe I shouldn’t be released.”
Dumbledore leaned forward. “Now, now. How is punishing yourself for the rest of your life going to help at all? Hermione isn’t dwelling on the past. She believes in you."
Draco cringed morosely. “Perhaps she shouldn’t. Perhaps it’s foolish to believe in me.”
At that, Dumbledore let out a chuckle. “Are you calling Hermione Granger a fool? Surely you’re not implying that Hermione is
unintelligent.”
“No! No, of course not!” He protested but at the same time, felt an uninvited smile break through his disgruntled countenance. Hermione Granger unintelligent? The very thought made him want to laugh.
“So then, it is logical that you are someone worth believing in. Now, believe in yourself and own your choices. Remember, you’ll find no judgment here from me.”
Draco sighed. Could he really tell him? He said there was no judgment, but he didn’t know what Draco had done. How could anyone not judge, not refuse forgiveness, not condemn? He realized he was more afraid of the old wizard’s rejection than telling him what happened in the first place.
He took a deep breath. Dumbledore was right- he had to confess to someone, or it would eat him up until there was nothing left. So Draco
chose- to do the right thing.
“All right, Professor. I don’t even know how to say the things I have to say.”
Dumbledore smiled. “I find that the beginning of the story is a perfect place to start.”
So Draco began his story. The first part, about the Snatchers, was relatively easy. Then it was downhill from there. He had to tell what he did. He had to say it out loud. And doing so might just crush him. His breath got shakier the closer he came to his part in Hermione’s torture. Finally, there was nothing left to say, no way to circumvent the truth- he had come to it.
“…then my aunt told me to take out my wand. I didn’t want to, that’s the truth, I swear! And I was scared, and sick to my stomach about it. I’d never done anything like that before.” He clasped his hands tightly in an attempt to keep them from shaking so badly. “Then, my aunt was talking to me, telling me things…and then I
wanted to hurt her.”
He put his head in his hands, unable to even show his face to the Professor. He fought back the tears as he continued. “A-and I said it. I
screamed it. And I couldn’t stop. She was screaming, and hitting her head against the wall, and I didn’t want to stop, I didn’t…” A few sobs escaped his lips. “And they were so proud of me. And the worst part is that I was proud of myself. I felt bloody ten feet tall, like I’d really achieved something. My Father was proud to call me his son. And I wanted that, I wanted it so badly, I didn’t care about anyone else. I didn’t care about her.”
He stopped and completely broke down. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have
hurt her? He’d spend the rest of his life protecting her to make up for it, if he could ever make up for it. He felt Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder, strong and steady, a pillar for him to lean on. But he didn’t deserve a pillar. He was despicable- hadn’t the Professor heard anything he’d said?
“I broke her ribs, one at a time! I held her arm while my psychotic aunt carved that word into it. A word I called Hermione all through school! And maybe I didn’t want to do those things, but I didn’t hold back. I didn’t stand up for her. I was too much of a bloody coward to go against my aunt! I hurt her, I helped to damn near kill her! And I’m
sorry, I’m so sorry. I want to go back and change it all, but I can’t. I have to live with what I did to her. But that’s not the worst part.
She has to live with what I did to her.”
And he was overcome. He didn’t even remember when he’d fallen into the Professor’s arms, sobbing like his heart would break into the old man’s chest. “I’m just so sorry…so…sorry.” He couldn’t say anything else.
Finally, his weeping subsided and he was able to sit up of his own volition. Dumbledore held out a handkerchief which Draco gladly accepted. He felt ashamed, and wrung out, and oddly…
lighter. Like a weight had been lifted from him. He didn’t understand how talking about such terrible things would actually make him feel better. He looked up at the Professor, his tear-stained face searching for answers.
Dumbledore’s eyes were misted over as well. He leaned forward and held Draco by the shoulders. “You’re wondering why you feel better. Have you heard of the expression, ‘confession is good for the soul’? It’s true. You’ve now shared your pain with me, so you no longer carry all of it. And because I choose not to let it affect me in a negative way, I don’t carry it either."
"Draco, I’ve watched you grow in the shadow of your family for the past five and a half years. You have experienced more in your sixteen years than anyone should in a lifetime. You’ve had it so very hard, and you could have turned out just as heartless as some of the members of your family. But you didn’t. You chose not to follow that path; you chose the frightfulness of the unknown rather than the crystal-clear fate planned for you. You’ve had your eyes opened to the truth. And you
chose, Draco. You chose to do the right thing.”
“Remember: it is not our abilities that make us who we are; rather, it is our choices*. And it is because of those choices that you are worth a great deal. I believe in you, Draco. I always have. Now it is your turn to believe in yourself.”
Draco listened to every word from the Professor’s mouth. Could it really be so easy? To simply believe in himself for the first time, believe that he was capable of goodness? It was a foreign concept to him, and difficult to wrap his mind around.
“But what about everyone else? How will they believe in me? Why should they?”
Dumbledore smiled. “Just continue making the right choices and they will.”
“And what if I don’t know what the right choices are,” he admitted, embarrassed.
“You have more friends here than you know. They will help you make the right choices,” replied the old wizard. And with that, he stood up. “Now, Molly has made a delicious breakfast. I think that we should help ourselves before it’s gone.” He offered his hand to Draco, who accepted it gladly.
Draco paused for a moment. “Thank you, Professor, for…everything,” he said with utmost sincerity.
Dumbledore beamed a wide smile. “Yes. I believe
now you can thank me.”
*Dumbledore's line, not mine 