6. An Introduction

NEW Note: So the part where Hermione runs and throws open the closet to look at the fancy dress robes makes me CRINGE. Same with her giggling. Ew. But moving on… I don't love that Draco eavesdrops. What was I thinking? Oh, and then they're talking about how much the robes cost? This chapter alone might be what kept me from updating for so long… I've been holding onto this chapter for awhile because it makes me cringe, but I decided to just upload two chapters at once and skim right by!

Inside, the house was beautiful. There was not a hint of decay or even dust anywhere. Hermione looked at Draco, wanting to comment, but she saw that he looked sad.

"This is my refuge," he said without emotion. "We are now in the foyer. Drawing room," he said, pointing to the room on their immediate left. There was a couch, a few chairs, and tables. "Dining room," to their right—the large table was covered with parchment. He led them farther; they walked down a small hallway toward the back of the house. "Kitchen and small eating table through there." He pointed., "Wash room, bathroom, sitting room." He indicated each room in turn. Next they ascended a staircase at the top of which was revealed a short hallway. "Potter, your room's on the right, Granger, yours on the left. Mine is at the end. Bathroom on the right for you two. Any questions?" he asked, turning to face them.

Hermione had a lot of questions. She noticed that each room was simply furnished, with no extravagance, and it did not fit with her image of Malfoy. But she also noticed that while they were only simple furnishings, they were also of the highest quality available. Why would Malfoy have such a small house? And in the middle of nowhere? Where were the servants, and the grounds, and gardens, and all the other trimmings of wealth?

Before Hermione could pose a question, Harry shook his head to indicate he had none and went into the room designated for him. Hermione then went into hers. It had a bed, dresser, desk, small bookshelf and a lamp. Draco followed her in.

"I know you didn't have time to get anything for yourself, since you didn't know about all this like Harry did. I tried to think of things you might need; there are some robes for you in the closet, if you want. I hope they fit." Hermione looked at him skeptically, then set her bag on the bed. She walked around the room, taking a closer look at everything. She was thankful the room wasn't dressed in green and silver. Instead the bed linens and curtains were a dark blue and the walls a pale grey. There was a window; she pulled back the curtains and looked out to find that her room faced the cliff edge and the stormy waters of the Irish Sea.

"Where are we?" she asked, mesmerized by the constant motion of the water.

"Wales," he answered.

She nodded, then turned her attention to the bookshelf. It contained mostly wizard fiction, tales of high adventure. There were some educational books, and she smiled as her fingers ran across the title, Hogwarts: A History. On the second shelf, she was surprised to find a small selection of Muggle titles, mostly classics, and most of which she had already read.

Hermione stood up and looked at Draco, who was standing in the door frame, watching her.

"I will have dinner ready in an hour," he said, and turned to go.

"You will have dinner ready in an hour?" she asked, amused at the idea.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Wait, are you telling me you are actually making it yourself?" she asked, unable to keep the question locked away.

"Stranger things have happened," he answered.

"True; for example, I'm standing in your house and I'm not hexing you."

He gave a small smile and said, "And for that, I'm thankful. I'll alert you when dinner is ready." He turned around and passed out of sight.

Hermione sighed and then, because she had been dying to do so, ran straight to the closet and threw it open. Inside were about eight sets of robes in an array of colors. She gasped, and reached out to touch the emerald green set. It felt like water, it was so smooth; it reminded her of Draco's cloak, which she had kept for the month he was in prison and then returned. The robes were of the highest quality money could buy, and she had no doubt he had the money.

Quickly, as if afraid someone might see her, Hermione rushed to the bedroom door and closed it, then put a locking spell on it. She then returned to the closet and pulled out the emerald green robe. She was a woman, after all, and beautiful clothes simply begged to be admired, and what better way to admire them than in a mirror while on said woman's body? She giggled and changed into the robe. Then she frowned when she realized she didn't have a mirror. She solved the problem by Conjuring one.

While admiring her reflection, she couldn't help but think it must be nice to be used to the rich things in life. The robe was light, as though it were made of air. It wasn't cumbersome in any way, and it seemed made specifically for her, fitting perfectly in every place.

Just as she did a little twirl in front of the mirror, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she said, then instantly panicked, thinking it could be Draco.

"Uh, Hermione? It's locked." It was Harry.

"Oh, right." She removed the locking spell. "Come in now."

He turned the knob and let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

"Wow, Hermione, you look—wow."

"Thank you, Harry! Isn't it amazing? This robe, I mean. And there are more; they're all amazing. I've never seen anything like them."

Downstairs, Draco was working on dinner. He'd taught himself to cook after moving out on his own. He didn't take on a house elf because he didn't want anyone else living there, even despite the loyalty of a house-elf, so he had been forced to learn to care for himself. It hadn't taken him long; he was a quick study. It had surprised him how easy daily household chores were, and he wondered why those of a similar station as his family required house elves for so many menial tasks in the first place. Then he looked around his small home and realized that there was no way a person would have the time to clean a house the size of his parent's and get anything else done as well.

Draco heard a series of doors opening and shutting and concluded that either Harry or Hermione had gone to visit the other. Certainly they would talk, and he was curious as to what they would say about him. He wanted to hear. And—why not, really? It was his house, after all. He flicked his wand and with a crisp, 'Circumduco' was able to hear what his guests were saying.

"Me neither," he heard Harry say. "He had me pick them up."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know. Just in case, he said."

"They're just—I've never seen or felt anything like them."

"Tell me about it. If it hadn't been for the fact that I could see myself holding them, I wouldn't have believed I was. I'd never even heard of the shop he sent me to, and it was in Diagon Alley. I thought I knew every shop there! But it was upstairs, above the street. Very—" Draco didn't know what Harry did, but Hermione chuckled. "You had to knock and be admitted by a maitre d'."

"Sounds like the kind of place only the very richest can go. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a surcharge included for breathing their air."

Harry laughed. "From the look of the place, I wouldn't either."

"So, do you know—how much?" Draco smiled as he stirred the slowly simmering pot.

"No way. There weren't any price tags—trust me, I looked. The woman who helped me said it had been taken care of, and I didn't ask because, well, I got the feeling that if you asked for the price, you'd be asked to leave the shop."

"I don't understand why someone would want to shop somewhere so stuffy. I'd rather go to a place where the people are nice and helpful. I imagine the people who shop there regularly probably never ask for a price. They just hand over the Galleons once the total is rung."

"I can only imagine it's a whole lot of Galleons."

"When did you get them?" asked Hermione.

"Two weeks ago."

"But Malfoy was in prison."

"I know. I guess he'd arranged it before."

There was a small silence. "So, he must have been expecting me."

"Something like that. I don't really understand it all. We haven't had a chance to actually talk about a lot of this. He must have done a lot of work before coming to the Ministry."

"So he was planning on all of this. He was planning on you coming here, and even… me."

"It looks that way. Though I'm not completely sure why he wanted you here."

"It bothers me. A lot. I mean, he's got books I love on the bookshelf, and these robes. He must know how much I despise him; why would he go to all this trouble?"

"I don't know. It's strange."

There was more silence. Then Hermione spoke again. "Harry, you did marry Ginny, didn't you?" Draco smiled.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"You know, for her safety and all that. She wanted to tell you, but I insisted we not. We've loved each other for years, and staying apart didn't change that. Nothing changed that, nothing would ever change that. We realized we could either spend our time apart or spend it together. We chose together."

"But you live alone. I've been to your flat, and no woman lives there."

Draco laughed.

"I know. She lives with her parents. Don't you think people would have asked questions if Ginny suddenly stopped living at home?"

"You really took care to make sure no one suspected."

"I had to. I couldn't risk anything happening to her." Harry coughed lightly. "I love her so much, Hermione. I miss her every day we're not together. And now, I won't see her for months."

"You'll get through it, and so will she. I'm really happy for you two." Draco heard Hermione sigh.

"Thanks. And don't worry, Hermione, there's someone really wonderful just roaming around out there, waiting to meet you."

"You think?"

"Of course. Someone who will really appreciate you for who you are, and respect you. And I'm afraid to say, he'll have to be smarter than you. I mean, look at Krum, and that Thomas guy. Not the brightest crackers in the box. You were too bored; there was no challenge."

"I guess you're right. Know anyone like that?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I may… but the jury's still out on that."

"Oh, really? Harry Potter, you'd better tell me right now!"

"No way. What if I'm wrong? I can't mess around, here."

"And it's in your hands? That is a frightening thought, Harry."

"I am simply looking out for your best interests."

There was a brief silence.

"You know, Harry, if Malfoy knew about you and Ginny, Voldemort probably did too."

"Well, I'm not worried about that."

During the hour under the Vow, Draco had assured Harry that Voldemort didn't know about him and Ginny. Draco had learned of it by absolute chance and never had a reason to divulge the information to his Master.

"Speaking of Ginny, does she know about this plan?"

"No, not completely. She knew I was going to leave, but not when or why."

"Poor thing. And Ron too. Why isn't he here with us?"

"I had to choose; I couldn't bring you both. And Ron's still somewhat recovering from his injuries, even though he says he's fine. He wasn't really fit to join us."

"Malfoy's orders?"

"Yes, and it made sense. The fewer people, the better."

"So you chose me."

"In the end, I knew, if it came to it, you would let me go. Ron wouldn't. And I'm really glad you decided to join us. Imagine just me and Malfoy alone in this house."

"You seem to get on well enough."

"That's because we called a mutual truce. We'll see how long that lasts." Thanks, Potter, Draco thought, then added the fusilli to the boiling water. "I'm glad I've got someone to talk to."

"Me too. But what about him?" Draco nearly dropped the knife he was holding. "Who does he have?"

After a moment, Harry's voice returned. "Well, he has his owl." Draco scowled and resumed his chopping, at a more furious pace.

"Harry! You can't talk to an owl."

"Sure you can. They just don't talk back." Hermione might have said something he couldn't hear, but he wasn't sure. Then Harry continued. "He has us, I suppose."

"Something tells me he would prefer the owl, Harry. We're not exactly people he would choose to spend time with, as evidenced by the fact that he never has, and he has always been horrible to us, especially you, in the past. This is just too weird. Can you believe we're talking about Draco Malfoy? I'm sure we've stepped into an alternate universe or something."

"I know. Straight out of Trelawny's crazy book. It's been… an interesting month, to say the least."

"Wait," said Hermione, sounding anxious. "How has all this been arranged? You never went to see him."

"Code. He put a code in everything you wrote from him."

There was silence, and Draco imagined to himself that Hermione was staring at Harry, mouth and eyes gaping at him. He wasn't far from the truth.

"He put a code into what I wrote." Her tone was full of disbelief.

"Yes."

"But—how? I mean, he had nothing with him, no way to write. And he gave me all the information in alphabetical order. How could there have been a code?"

"There was. He gave me the key that first day."

There was a pause.

"Wow, he's smart," she said, and Draco laughed out loud.

"Wicked smart," Harry agreed. They then turned to things that didn't interest Draco, so he turned off his ability to hear them. After half an hour, he listened in again.

Hermione was speaking "—and what about his island? Does he really have an island?"

Huh. They were talking about him again.

"I don't know, he seems pretty insistent though."

"But who can afford to actually buy an island?"

"Well, he can."

"Oh. Right. But still." There was a brief silence. "I want an island." Draco smiled.

"You should have one," said Harry.

"News flash, Harry. I know my parents had more money than the average Muggle, but they didn't leave me nearly enough to buy an actual island."

"You don't have to buy one. Just go find an empty one, claim it, make it Unplottable, and, you know, put it under the usual anti-Muggle security charms."

"Oh, Harry, that's brilliant! You could have one too!"

He laughed.

"Mmm. Something smells good. Now shoo, I want to change before dinner."

Draco then cut off his listening and took the sauce off the burner. Harry and Hermione came downstairs just as he removed bread from the oven. Hermione stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, an amused look on her face.

"I just had to see for myself. Draco Malfoy doing actual work. Besides the work of bullying first years, I mean."

"Very funny," he said.

"Need any help?" she asked with a superior air.

"No, I have everything under control. I am capable of doing this, you know."

"If you say so." She and Harry sat down at the table to wait for the food, talking quietly. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Malfoy with potholders in hand, moving around the kitchen. When he had placed all the food on the table, he poured them all a glass of wine and sat to join them.

Hermione eyed him warily and took some food on her fork, but she hesitated before putting it in her mouth.

Draco looked at her. "If I had wanted you dead, I would have killed you before cooking a meal for three, thereby saving myself the effort." Then he took a bite to show her he had, in fact, not poisoned dinner. Hermione rolled her eyes, but started eating.

Dinner passed in awkward silence for the most part. Hermione tried asking questions about his plans, but Malfoy refused to answer, saying she would get her answers soon enough.

"Why not now?" she demanded.

"Because I don't want to tell you now," he said simply, resuming his meal.

After dinner, Harry went to his room, and Hermione offered to wash the dishes. Draco let her and disappeared. Washing dishes was one of Hermione's favorite household chores. There was something quite satisfying about making something go from dirty to sparkling, and the old fashioned Muggle method provided the most satisfying, especially with really dirty pots. Ginny called her a freak for enjoying dish washing so much, but she couldn't care less.

Finally, when all the dishes were clean and dry, Hermione gave them a satisfied nod. She didn't want to go to her room yet, so she explored the lower floor a bit until she found a door leading outside. She opened it and, stepping through it, found herself on a decent-sized porch. Half of it was covered, and below the cover was a picnic table. On the uncovered portion was a big porch swing that looked as though a person could comfortably sleep there. It was attached to a large wooden beam that formed a right angle with another wooden beam running to the porch floor. Near the swing were a couple of outdoor chairs and a small table. The entire porch was enclosed with a fence and rail, and there was a little gate that opened to allow exit from the porch into the back garden, which went for fifty feet or so and then dropped out of sight.

Hermione stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. She could smell the salty sea air, and she closed her eyes, letting the wind from the ocean blow through her hair. She took a deep breath and let the wind drive her thoughts away until she was completely relaxed. Once relaxed, however, she became aware of another presence and looked around her. Malfoy was watching her from the covered end of the porch; she shivered and looked away. He stood and walked over to her, and her heart quickened. He took off his cloak, the one she'd taken from him when she had deposited him in Azkaban, and wrapped it around her. She nodded in thanks, but was too nervous to speak. He smirked and returned to his seat.

Hermione walked to the railing. Though the only lights shining were the moon and the stars, she could still see the waves rolling toward the cliff far below. The water appeared black, but also alive; it crashed endlessly on the rock face, providing a constant background noise that soothed her nerves and led her toward relaxation. She noticed Draco stand and join her at the railing, though at the opposite end of the porch.

"Why are you doing all this Malfoy?" Hermione asked. It was in her nature to be curious, and to ask questions. Everything about that day seemed surreal to her. She had started at work, doing her normal work things. Then she'd gone to visit Malfoy, only to find out that he would be getting out soon. They had a disturbing conversation where he told her that he had been waiting for her in her parents' house, with the intent to kill her, but he hadn't. Then she'd seen him completely differently after she returned to speak to him. The image of him in that little room, looking nearly broken, along with the image of him in Harry's office, haunted her.

Then Harry brought her to Wales, of all places, to meet Malfoy and join him in a secret crusade against Voldemort. The most obvious question that had been running through her mind that evening was, why would he betray everything he'd ever believed in and done in his life to accomplish the destruction of his Master? Surely Harry had to suspect some sort of trap, but he seemed to accept Malfoy completely. This led her to think about what had passed between the two men in Harry's office. It must have been fantastic to have convinced Harry so effectively. However, she was not privy to that information, and so she did not have such a sure trust in this man, this Death Eater.

"I have my reasons," He said in a tone that was casual but stern.

"So are you ever going to tell anyone?"

"Maybe," he said. Then he turned to face her. "Tell you what, Granger. In thirty years, come visit me on my island. Bring me a chocolate cake with a single cherry on top, and I will tell you then."

"What?" said Hermione, incredulously.

"You heard me."

She shook her head, chuckling. "You are weird, Malfoy."

"Weird?" he said, puzzled.

"Yes, weird. Chocolate cake with a cherry. In thirty years." She turned back to look at the churning water.

"Granger, I'm hurt!" said Draco, putting a hand to his heart and feigning a look of shock before turning to look at the sea with her.

Hermione ignored him. She continued watching the water until her eyes lost focus and her thoughts strayed to other things. If Malfoy hadn't been there it would have been perfect. But maybe it was anyway, despite him.

Draco couldn't help but stare at her. She stood perfectly still facing the ocean, the wind whipping through her hair. His cloak billowed out behind her, as did the dress she wore underneath it. She looked like something out of a painting, one of those forlorn maidens who stands in the middle of a field of flowers, holding a few in her hand that she had picked, and looking wistfully in front of her but not really seeing what was there . There was something else in the maiden's mind that drew her attention.

He was mesmerized. Her expression was calm and free and there was a sense of peace that radiated from her, a peace that had always eluded him. She appeared free of worry, anxiety, and fear, despite all that she had seen, all that she knew about the world. Even his presence on the porch wasn't able to disturb her. Draco was envious of what she had, but curious as well. Was it something you could learn, something that you could explain? He didn't think so, but how did she have it? Her parents were dead, by his hand, her friends in mortal danger every moment of every day, she was in a job she hated, yet she could look like that despite it all. She could still look as though there was something inside her that none of the sorrow and pain could touch.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. He immediately regretted speaking when the perfect peace in her features was shifted just infinitesimally so that worry was once again visible.

She sighed and moved away from the railing. "You, actually," she said, sitting in one of the chairs.

"Me?" he asked, surprised. How could she think of me and still look like that?

"Yes. You're a mystery, Malfoy and I love a good mystery."

"Don't get it in your head to try and figure me out."

She seemed to consider him for a moment before speaking. "But there's so much to see. One minute you're on top of the world; you're pompous, arrogant, confident, carrying yourself like you've not a care in the world. And the next, you're broken, shattered, hollow, plummeting toward the earth in a tailspin. And then, to my surprise, you're silly, almost giddy, like earlier today. You're shallow, yet you can be as deep as that water out there. You don't seem to want companionship, yet you're incredibly lonely."

Draco shifted uncomfortably at her detailed and intricate examination of him. The weight of her words threatened to push him under those ever-raging waves. In an effort to lighten the mood and avoid talking about himself, he said, "What's a tailspin?"

Hermione chuckled, thinking it funny that of all things he could say, it would be that. "Okay, well do you know what an airplane is?"

"Yes," he said.

She was surprised. "Well, there are small planes, for two or more people, but not for carrying large numbers. They were used in Muggle wars to fight each other in the sky and to drop bombs on the land below. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes, Granger, I'm familiar with Muggle wars and bombs."

"Well, if the tail of the plan got shot off, the plane would dive toward the earth, spinning as it fell."

Draco nodded, understanding as best he could. "Sounds about right."

"So, I pegged you," she said, smiling mischievously.

Oh, he hated feeling so exposed. He was reminded of when she said she'd pegged him in Harry's office. Well, sure, she had written a summary of him. But there was much more to him than her description; there was something behind every word she said that worked together to form a narrative of him. His entire life, every decision he made, influenced the person he had turned into. And he would continue to change; he'd already changed a great deal, and she had no idea about any of it. Maybe she never would.

"Yes," he said quietly, "You've formed a snapshot image of what I am. Congratulations. But you know nothing about me." His voice and his anger grew as he spoke.

Hermione's smile quickly faded. "I never presumed to say I know you."

"Well, like I said, don't get it in your head that you want to." He saw her struggling to find something to say. He smiled sadly. "I've got you pegged as well, Hermione. Good night." He left her to the wind, the waves, and her troubled thoughts.