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Consequences and Complexities	By : ckllsdam Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16322 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and canon situations belong to the Harry Potter fandom and JKRowling. Plot and OCs are mine. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
At half three in the afternoon, Lucius was reviewing the
day�s business receipts from Asia when he heard the chime announcing a call
over the Floo network. He was mildly surprised to see the distorted face of
Harry Potter requesting a moment of his time. The elder wizard invited the
young Auror-in-training to step through for a face-to-face conversation.
�Mister Potter, what can I do for you today?� he asked
mildly.
�Thank you for seeing me without notice, Mister Malfoy. I�m
a little concerned about something and I wanted to gain your perspective, and
possibly your aid.�
�If I�m able, you shall have it,� Lucius graciously offered,
gesturing toward an armchair for Harry's comfort.
�It�s about Hermione. None of us have heard from her in
several weeks and we�re worried about her. I know she�s busy and� preoccupied,
but it�s not like her to ignore her friends.�
Lucius� initial thought was to dismiss Potter�s concern as
so much rubbish, but the worried frown and the fact that the young man had
actually reached out to him for help
gave him pause. He thought for a moment � had he noticed any change in the
young lady�s behavior of late? While he was not one to examine daily
interaction at that minute level, he couldn�t deny that more than eight weeks
without contact to her closest friends was� out of character.
�I�ve not noticed anything particularly troubling, Mister
Potter, but there�s no doubt that you�ve known her far longer and better than
I. I know she has been singularly focused on her studies, apart from the time
she spends with Louisa. Perhaps that is the reason for her lack of contact,� he
surmised, reasonably.
Harry shook his head. �No, Mister Malfoy, it�s more than
that. We all recognize how busy she is and how challenging it must be to be
raising Louisa alone,� Harry began, failing to notice the vaguely affronted
moue crossing the other man�s face at his comment, �but it�s not like her to
ignore our owls and Floo messages. She�s� withdrawn and insular. That�s not the
girl I know.�
Lucius countered with some observations of his own. �I find
her to be a serious and studious young woman, and extraordinarily committed to
excelling in her chosen endeavor. Surely that is not unlike the Hermione you
knew at Hogwarts. My wife and I have been intimately involved with Louisa�s
care since her birth seven months ago, thus relieving Hermione of some of that
burden, but her studies are uncommonly demanding.�
Harry flushed at the thinly veiled rebuke but persisted in
expressing his concern. �Possibly Lady Malfoy has noted something in Hermione�s
demeanor; it�s not unimaginable that Hermione might confide more in another
woman than allow you to see her upset.�
�I�ll grant you that Hermione and Narcissa are closer, and
another woman may have the� sensitivity to recognize something we gentlemen
might miss. Would you like to speak with my wife, Mister Potter?� Lucius
finally offered.
�If it would not be too much trouble, I would very much like
to do that.�
With a nod, Lucius acknowledged and accepted Harry�s
request. �Tuppy!� he bellowed, waiting the two split
seconds until the little house-elf appeared at his feet. �Please find Mistress Cissy and ask her to join us here.�
Lucius offered the younger wizard a beverage while they
waited, but Harry declined. They spoke distractedly about the unusually cool
weather and the recently announced location of the next Quidditch World Cup,
this time to be hosted in Bulgaria. Harry noted with no small amount of sarcasm
that it would mean lots of extra attention for Viktor Krum. Both men, regardless
of the relatively cordial relationship that had developed between them, were
grateful when Narcissa appeared in the open doorway.
The impeccable manners of both wizards manifested
simultaneously as they rose in unison to greet the elder man's wife. �Cissy, Mr. Potter would like a moment of your time to talk
about Miss Granger,� Lucius informed her.
She extended her hand in greeting and Harry bent his head to
kiss the woman's knuckles, in keeping with the old ways. He knew such
formalities mattered to the Malfoys and she appreciated his show of respect.
�So nice to see you again, Mr. Potter. Won't you have a
seat?� she offered, perching on the edge of one of the great leather armchairs
that faced the hearth, her back straight and legs crossed primly at the ankles.
�What may I do for you today?� she inquired as both men made themselves
comfortable in chairs opposite her.
�I have been a little worried about Hermione and I hoped
that you might have some insight into what could be troubling her. We're in the
middle of May, and none of our friends have heard from her since late March,
despite sending her numerous owls and leaving messages over the Floo. It's just
not like her,� he avowed.
Narcissa struggled to bite her tongue. It almost felt like
Potter was accusing them of not properly caring for Hermione or looking out for
her well-being. Her perfect posture stiffened further. �I speak with Hermione
at least twice every day, Mr. Potter, and I can assure you that she is in good
health and good spirits. You must realize that she's terribly busy with her
studies and spends every spare moment either on her schooling or tending to
Louisa. I'm sure that her lack of contact with you and your friends is simply
incidental to her very full schedule.� While she didn't want to alienate the
young man, Narcissa would not allow him to besmirch their care of the young
woman.
�I'm certainly aware of her many commitments and
responsibilities, ma'am. I'm quite sure you and your husband are doing
everything you can to make her comfortable and to ensure that she has what she
needs. But I've known Hermione since we were eleven years old and she's always
been ridiculously busy and over-scheduled. What she's never done before is
ignore her friends, regardless of how many hours she works. That's why I'm
worried.�
�Did you stop to think, Mr. Potter, that Hermione�s circle
of acquaintances has changed somewhat in the last few months? She now has a
daughter, and Lucius and I spend a great deal of time with both of them. Her
priorities have shifted, and she has a new... family that cares for her and her
daily needs. I held her hand when she gave birth, and I have come to think of
her as my own daughter. I eat breakfast with her every day and dinner with her
at least five times a week, and we love Hermione as much as you do.� Believe me when I tell you that I would know
if something was bothering her.� When Narcissa leaned back ever so slightly,
she seemed to realize how passionately she'd spoken and flushed in
embarrassment at the revealing nature of her pronouncement.
Lucius said nothing, but watched intently as Harry's jaw
dropped at the conclusion of Narcissa's diatribe.
She'd staked their claim on Hermione as one of their own; he was awaiting
Potter's reaction with bated breath.
�I see,� the younger man responded quietly. �Are you telling
me that Hermione is cutting her friends out of her life?�
Narcissa swallowed as she realized the impact of what she'd
said. �I'm sorry if I intimated that, Mr. Potter. It wasn't my intention and I
don't believe that's the case. I just think that Hermione has found other
priorities for now, and when things begin to stabilize, you'll probably hear
from her more frequently. In the meantime, you should know that we are doing
our best to ensure that she and Louisa are happy and content. She will
reconnect with you when she's ready.�
While she hadn't really meant her words to sound like a
dismissal, Harry had apparently heard them as such, and he rose from his seat
looking for all the world as though he were a child whose favorite toy had been
taken from him. �I understand. If you'd be so kind as to tell Hermione that we
� her friends � were asking after her, I'd be most grateful. Thank you for your
time,� he said, walking forlornly to the Floo.
After Harry had disappeared into the roar of green flame,
Lucius lifted an eyebrow at his wife in silent question.
�She needs to bond with us. We're her family now, and if
they are constantly influencing her, she'll find it harder to stay connected to
us,� Narcissa asserted.
Lucius sighed heavily. �I appreciate your desire to keep
Hermione and Louisa close, love, but I fear you've made a tactical error in
your strategy.�
�What do you mean?� she asked, sounding suddenly unsure.
�If Hermione feels we are trying to isolate her, she'll
rebel and pull away from us. We want her to want to be with us, not to feel
manipulated or coerced into it.�
�But I was telling the truth! She's fine! You know how busy
she is with studying; it's all she can do to finish her homework and spend a
few minutes with Louisa before she falls into bed exhausted. I don't want her
to have the additional pressures of having to entertain her friends.�
�So we take the pressure away and allow her the pleasure of
her friends' company without the stress.�
�How do we do that without releasing control of the
situation?� she asked sheepishly, although she felt the answer bubbling up
already.
�Sometimes if you squeeze too tight, the bird struggles in
your grip. A gentle hold is often much more effective,� he admonished.
�Narcissa, please, are you a pureblood society witch or not? You hold a small
gathering, invite all her friends, do all the work, and let her enjoy it. It
will be a great way to demonstrate to her that we care about her beyond her
role as Louisa's mother, and it will appease her friends' concerns so that we
can... manage her social calendar more effectively.�
�I'm letting my possessiveness of them interfere with my
better judgment, aren't I?� she asked.
�Yes, dearest, I fear you are. If we want her to be bonded
and endeared to us, we need to ensure that we don't smother her. She must want
to be part of our family of her own volition, or what we've planned will simply
not work. There must be intent on her part for the magic to take hold,� he
cautioned.
�And it won't matter that the bond doesn't specifically
include...� she wondered again.
�No, it won't,� he replied with confidence and decisiveness.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Draco was dripping with sweat. It was an uncommonly warm day
for late May, and brutally humid. He'd come to realize that living so close to
the ocean had both its benefits and its consequences. The oppressively heavy
air was definitely in the negative column. Working in a kitchen made the
problem that much more pronounced. He wouldn't complain, however, since he'd
finally been given an opportunity to try something that truly sparked his
interest and curiosity.
Six weeks earlier, the Grapevine's owner had pulled him
aside at the end of a long shift waiting tables and told him that it was time
for a chat. Draco had been desperately nervous that he'd done something wrong
until Bob Goutro had eased his concern with an easy
smile and a hand on his shoulder....
�Relax, kid, everything's fine,� he assured the young
wizard. �I've been talking to a couple of the people in the kitchen and they
tell me you've been hanging around asking a lot of questions. Tell me what's
going on.� His calm and open manner relaxed Draco immediately.
�Well, Bob, I guess it's just that I find the process of
putting together a recipe rather interesting. It reminds me of the, uh,
chemistry classes I used to enjoy in school.�
�So what do you want to do about that?� the elder man
asked.
�I'm not really sure, but I find it relaxing to prepare
the ingredients and then watch the results when they're combined to create
something so fundamentally different from the pieces unto themselves,� he
explained. �I have to admit that I've been thinking about maybe learning more
about cooking, possibly even becoming a sous chef
someday.�
�Is that so?� Bob noted with a broad grin.
�Uh, yeah,� Draco affirmed. �I've been making my own
meals at home when I don't eat here, and I haven't had too many disasters.�
Draco paused for a moment while Bob laughed aloud. �Since it's so much like po... uh, chemistry, with measuring ingredients and such, I
understand many of the basic principles. I need to learn technique and how to
combine components so that they actually taste good.�
Bob stared at Draco for a moment before placing a hand on
the young man's forearm. �Draco, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you
to promise that, if I'm wrong about what I'm thinking, you'll just forget what
I said. Okay?�
Draco gulped. �Ah, sure.�
�Are you a wizard?�
Draco's eyes went wide with surprise, though not fear. He
thought he'd been exceptionally good at hiding any hint that there might have
been something slightly... different about him. There was that last little
slip, though, when he'd nearly said �potions� instead of �chemistry.�
�I guess the answer to that depends on how you define
'wizard,'� Draco replied.
�Pretty simple, I'd say. Does magic, has a wand, casts
spells, brews... potions. That's what you were going to say, wasn't it?� Bob
challenged, without any heat in the confrontation.
�How do...� Draco seemed unable to formulate which
question he wanted to ask.
�We're in Salem, Draco,� he scoffed. �You're not the
first wizard to come through here, nor will you be the last. Besides, although
I'm not a wizard, my wife is a witch, and I do mean that in the nicest way,� he
added with a smirk not unlike one that Draco might have issued in his cockier
days.
Draco flushed, not knowing what he should say, if
anything, about the circumstances that had brought him to Salem. What if Bob
decided to fire him because of his past? For now, he'd... obfuscate, and he'd
figure out the rest later.
�I, uh, don't have a wand (on me, he silently added), nor
do I cast spells (at work), and I don't do magic (in public), so I guess the
logical conclusion is that I am not, in fact, a wizard,� he answered. Nothing
that he'd said was technically a lie, at least for the last sixteen months,
though there was something in him that wanted to cross his fingers behind his
back, in one of the world's oldest known physical talismans. He'd only used
magic a small handful of times since the right had been restored to him three
months ago, and only when doing something the Muggle way was not possible.
�Whatever you say, Draco. I'm sure you have your reasons
and I won't invade your privacy, but don't sweat it, kid. If there is any
wizard in you, it'll make you a better chef because of the way you guys work
with potions. You can do one shift a week in the kitchen with the head chef to
start, and we'll see how it goes from there.�
Bob rose, followed quickly by Draco, and the two men kept
eye contact for a moment. �By the way,� the restaurateur said, �he's a wizard,
too.� With that, he left the room, ensuring that a dumbfounded Draco could do
nothing but stand there agape.
In retrospect, Draco thought, he should have known that the
head chef wasn't a Muggle. He'd always thought that it was the man's
larger-than-life personality, but with hindsight always being perfect, he
realized that he'd probably sensed his magical aura. It didn't really change
the way they interacted, but it altered Draco's perception of the man and gave
him some degree of comfort that he could learn from someone who would
understand him on another level. Draco had decided, however, that he wouldn't
deliberately reveal his heritage; if it somehow slipped out, so be it, but he
wasn't going to deliberately tip his hand.
Since the day Bob had cornered him, he'd progressed from
working one shift a week, during the first two weeks of the experiment, to
working three. The other two were still on the floor as a dinner shift waiter,
which he'd decided was harder on the body versus the kitchen work's challenge
to his mind.
Marcel Janeford, the Grapevine's
Head Chef, had readily taken Draco under his wing, teaching him the proper
knife skills and techniques for chopping, slicing, mincing, cubing, and
filleting. He'd made his young protege practice over
and over again with vegetables and, once their mutual secret had been
discovered when an exhausted and distracted Draco had thoughtlessly called a
pot a �cauldron,� conjured facsimiles of fish, chicken, and beef. Marcel had
pronounced Draco's skills �adequate� after nearly sixteen hours of drilling
over the course of two days, attributing the young man's ability to several years
of preparing potions ingredients. He'd moved next to explaining and
demonstrating the fundamental techniques of sauteing,
deep frying, boiling, searing, broiling, braising, roasting, and simmering.
Promises of learning the secrets of perfecting the five great sauces kept Draco
engaged and focused.
�We're only scratching the surface here, my boy,� Marcel had
told him, rubbing his hands together gleefully. It seemed that the sometimes
temperamental chef relished the idea of mentoring a young one interested in his
profession. �You've got to learn about herbs and spices and soup stocks and
cuts of meat and dairy products and...�
At that point, Draco had raised his hands, if not in defeat,
at least in supplication. �I get it � there's a lot to learn and I'm barely a
babe when it comes to cooking.� He reluctantly had to admit that there was much
more to this than he'd ever considered when he'd made simple grilled chops or
scrambled eggs for his own meals. He hoped that he'd not bitten off more than
he could proverbially chew.
Marcel had assured him that he was learning quickly and, at
the very least, meeting his expectations about the pace of his progress. It was
then that the man had offered Draco a full-time position in the kitchen as an
apprentice sous chef. Draco had accepted without
hesitation; his days waiting tables were over, and he was positively buoyant
over this new development. The shift in his mood had not gone unnoticed.
�Do you know how much... lighter you seem these days?� David
Roy needled at their appointment that morning.
�I think I do, Doc. I'm really relishing all the learning
I'm doing at work. I feel like I'm truly accomplishing something.�
�The last few weeks have been quite momentous for you. How
does that make you feel?�
�You mean with the other issues?� Draco clarified, waiting
for the therapist's nod of affirmation. �I think it's all helped, and I can
tell you definitely that I haven't had a nightmare in at least two months. Not
being sleep-deprived is a good thing.�
David had chuckled and acknowledged Draco's observation with
a nod. �So, what one thing has been niggling at you most these days?� he
wondered.
Surprising the therapist, Draco answered without hesitation,
�My heritage.�
�What do you mean by that? Tell me more,� Dr. Roy encouraged.
�Several things, actually. I told you a couple of weeks ago
about Bob finding out about me being a wizard, and then Marcel had me working
so hard that I actually spilled the beans and called a stockpot a 'cauldron.' I
can't say that I was completely shocked to find out that Bob figured me out or
that Marcel was also a wizard � after all, Salem is one of the oldest wizarding
communities outside of Europe. But I guess what had me... uncomfortable about
the whole thing was whether they'd find out about my background. About my
crimes,� he admitted, his expression strained. �That got me thinking about the
long-term costs of the things that I did, and what the Malfoy name means to
people.�
�What do you think it means?� David pressed.
�I think it's different depending on which Malfoy you're
talking about and which faction you're asking. It feels like, as much as I've
been pulling my life together here, things are going to be much more
complicated once I go back to England.�
�Well, we both know that your parents have done an awful lot
to reclaim the honor of the family name, and I'd bet that they've been pretty
vocal about you not being responsible for what happened.�
�I guess that's true, and my trial was certainly all over
the wizarding news. But that's not what I'm really worried about. It's more
about trust. How will I ever be truly trusted by anyone back home?� Draco
worried aloud. �It's not the first time this has come up, but I'm almost
half-way through my sentence now. The closer I get to going back, the more
anxious I am about whether I'll be accepted by anyone but my family.�
�Yeah, I've heard the argument before, Draco. The Dumbledore
faction won't believe you really were bespelled and
the pureblood fanatics will think you're an incompetent wuss.
I call bullshit on both, kid.�
�Huh?�
�Seriously. First of all, I think you'll find that most
people have really short memories. They'll have moved on from what happened at
the end of the war because they're all trying to forget the ugliness and
rebuild their own lives. Second, from what you've told me, it seems that
Dumbledore's people trust him pretty completely. If he tells them that you
really aren't a bad sort, they'll believe it. Finally, why do you give a shit
about what the pureblood faction thinks, anyway? You don't really believe all
that crap, so it shouldn't have any real impact on what you do with the rest of
your life.�
�So, you think I'm worrying about nothing?�
�Well, maybe not 'nothing,' but I'd guess that there's only
a handful of people who would really give you any grief. Don't spend your
energy on that crap. Focus on what you want and what you'll do to get there.�
Draco sat back in his chair and contemplated the Healer's
advice. While he would have liked to believe that he could just dive back in to
a normal life, he was skeptical that it would be as easy as David Roy seemed to
think. He shook his head subconsciously, but the slight movement did not go
unobserved.
�Draco?� Dr. Roy prompted at his patient's apparent unease.
�Why are you so worried about this?�
The young blond blew out a breath, making a sound not unlike
a small child blowing spit bubbles, and he flushed and laughed slightly in his
embarrassment at the immature expression. �I want a real life when I go home
and I'm afraid I'll never have that,� he confessed, his voice just a mere
whisper. With slightly more confidence, he added, �I know I've done a lot of
good work here with you, but it's going to be so hard to convince everyone that
there's something decent about Draco Malfoy.�
David eyed the man intently, considering what he'd say to
help him pull himself out of his sudden funk. �On what do you think a man is
judged, Draco?�
�His actions, I'd say, and his words.�
�Okay, not unfair at all. Which is more important?�
�I was always under the impression that actions spoke louder
than words, I guess.�
�What actions?�
�Uh, any of them. All of them.�
�Past actions?�
�Of course. They make up your reputation.�
�Current actions don't count?�
�Sure, I guess they do. But people view the present through
the lens of the past.�
�How long does it take for something to be a 'past action,'
then?�
�Uh, once something is done, it's in the past, I guess.�
�So what you do today is tomorrow's past?� David confirmed,
and noted Draco's nod of reluctant agreement. �What do you think people
remember more quickly, the distant past or the recent past?�
Draco shrugged. �I suppose it's easier to remember things
that happen more recently than things from further back.�
�So if you start creating a new 'past' for yourself, with
the actions that you take today, what would that mean?�
�Look, Doc, I see where you're going with this, but I'm
here, and everyone I know and care about is six thousand miles away. They
aren't going to see, or know about, what I'm doing today, and tomorrow, and the
next day. They only know the fucked-up boy that I was.�
�Draco, we can never control how we're perceived by others.
The only things we can control are our own choices and how we view ourselves.
If you spend all your time worrying about everyone else, you'll lose sight of
the work you've done to build yourself back up from the bottom. If you focus on
you, and how you can make yourself proud of your accomplishments and soothe
your conscience, the rest will take care of itself. I promise. You've made so
much progress in so many areas; you need to give yourself credit for what
you've achieved. It's no small feat.�
The two men had parted company with reminders about the next
day's Roy Family Outing to the ballpark, to which Draco had been invited. He
certainly hadn't developed the kind of passion the Roys
had for the game of baseball, but he undoubtedly relished the time he spent
with them, finding the family a welcome and heartwarming shift from some of his
own childhood influences.
While Draco wasn't entirely convinced, he'd come to trust
the Healer's opinion and perspective; maybe he'd give the thought a chance to
take root. He couldn't deny that hopeful beliefs led to more positive actions
than defeatist ideas. He'd seen evidence of that in his incremental progress at
the Grapevine. He'd been rewarded in large and small ways by his solid job
performance and his demonstrations of eagerness and interest.
The small goals that he'd set for himself had started to pay
dividends. He'd had two promotions and was learning a true profession, one that
could serve him well in either the Muggle world or the magical. Everyone had to
eat, didn't they? And even if he was only feeding himself eventually, he'd
learn how to do it to the best of his ability. He smiled at the memory of his
first venture in a kitchen, so many months ago and so far away. SPAM and beans
were an inauspicious beginning, but their successful preparation had spurred
the tiniest hope when he'd been at the lowest point in his life. His desperate
need to take care of Hermione in that frigid cottage might have led to
something that allowed him to build a decent life, regardless of how he was
viewed by the people who had known him at his worst.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
�Surprised� didn't quite cover it, Hermione thought. When
Narcissa had told her to keep Saturday evening free for a little dinner, she
hadn't expected to see half a dozen of her closest friends arriving through the
Floo in Lucius' study. Beyond her undeniable shock, Hermione had to acknowledge
how deeply touched she'd been at the effort the Malfoys had made to give her
the precious gift of time with her friends.
They'd even made themselves scarce and had seen to Louisa's
needs and comforts for the evening so that Hermione wouldn't be distracted by
anything but good food and warm conversation. Narcissa had arranged for a
casual dinner that included lots of finger foods and free-flowing libations. It
wasn't long before peals of laughter and the buzz of excited conversation could
be heard ringing through the air.
Lucius stared pointedly at his wife, refusing to say aloud
what his expression clearly intimated.
�I know, you were right,� she admitted sheepishly, taking a
pause to sip at her Remy Martin. �It is rather nice to hear young people
enjoying themselves, isn't it?�
�It is, dear,� Lucius acknowledged quietly. �I'm just
chagrined that Draco isn't one of them.�
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Kate Roy, PhD, MH 3^rd Class, peered over her
reading glasses at her patient. She'd finished reviewing the notes from their
last session just as he stepped into her office. �Good evening, Draco. Have a
seat,� she offered with a smile.
�Dr. Kate,� he returned with a nod, selecting his favorite
armchair near the picture window.
�How are you this afternoon?�
�I'm well, thank you. Enjoying my day off,� he noted.
�That's good. The boys wanted me to tell you how much they
enjoyed you joining us for the game on Tuesday. They've been talking about it
non-stop for three days,� she added with a chuckle.
�It was my pleasure. Thank you once again for inviting me.�
His words were cordial and appreciative, but his manner was agitated and
fidgety.
She waved a hand, silently communicating that no thanks were
needed, and opened their session with a broad question, hoping that he'd feel
comfortable enough to quickly share what was troubling him. �What's to be our
topic today? Anything that you want to discuss?�
Draco focused his attention on the floor between his feet,
causing Kate to conclude that her assumptions that there was something niggling
at him was not unwarranted; this was a behavior that had repeated itself
several times. The deep blushing and painful reticence had lessened somewhat
over the months, but it seemed clear that he would never come to a point where
he'd be truly comfortable talking about his sexuality.
�Am I truly so odd?�
The question seemed a bit non sequitor
and Kate had no choice but to ask for clarification. �In what way?�
�That I don't go chasing after everything � or really
anything, I guess - in a skirt.�
�Why do you ask?� she began, and quickly amended her
comments with a qualifier, �And recognize that I'm not confirming your
assertion.�
�Bob keeps trying to fix me up with different girls and he
looks at me strangely when I refuse. I think he's starting to think I'm gay,�
he explained.
�What do you tell him?�
�I just politely decline.�
�Without further explanation?�
�Right. I guess I just don't know how to put him off without
insulting him.�
�Why don't you tell him the truth?�
�What truth? That I'm pining over a girl who will never have
me?� he asked morosely.
�Well, that's not exactly what I meant, but something that
acknowledges that your not currently in the market
for a relationship.�
�I don't think he's hinting at 'relationships' per se; more
likely he's thinking that a bloke of my age wouldn't mind having it off now and
again.�
�And why wouldn't you want that?� she pressed, for what
Draco probably saw as the millionth time, already anticipating his consistent
answer.
�I won't put myself into a sexual situation that isn't part
of a relationship, not after everything that I did. And the only woman I want a
relationship with is thousands of miles away, and not just in a geographic
sense.�
�Are you really that committed to wanting her and only her?�
�More's the pity, isn't it?� he
replied with an undignified snort.
Kate resisted her desire to sigh aloud. Her patient had
undoubtedly made much-needed and deserved progress, but he was stuck at a
plateau. His guilt over the crimes he'd committed had only been assuaged to the
point where he wasn't punishing himself daily by withholding his own basic
pleasures. The idea of connecting physically with another person was anathema
to him, and the therapist was convinced that it was only partly due to his
unfounded fear of reverting to the sadistic beast he had been under his aunt's
horrific influence. He was emotionally in a relationship without the benefit of
actually having a partner.
Kate began to wonder whether there was anything else she
could do to further his healing. If he had reached the point where he could
deal with his physical urges in a mature and healthy way, and had made an
unshakeable decision to be faithful to his heart, there was little more she
could do than be a supportive ear for him. Maybe that was enough; it might be
time to have that discussion fairly soon.
�Draco, I know there's absolutely nothing I can say to you
that will sway your thinking on dating someone who's not 'Her,' but you should
recognize that your boss is only doing this because he likes and cares about
you. He sees your loneliness and he's doing the only thing he can think of to
try to ease that for you. You're either going to have to give him an
explanation that you're comfortable with, or you're going to need to accept
that his view of who you are will be inaccurate. It's up to you to decide which
option is... least distasteful.�
He stared at her blankly, mulling the options she'd
outlined. �I can't say that I really care if someone thinks that I'm gay; it
just happens to not be true. The downside there is that if he comes to that
conclusion, I could see him trying to fix me up with blokes instead of girls. That'd
be even odder to deflect than the current flow of females,� he observed,
laughing mirthlessly. �I suppose I could tell him that I have a girl back home,
but then he'd probably wonder why I'm so far away for so long.� Draco rose and
began pacing. �One lie compounds with another and another, doesn't it?�
�It doesn't seem to me that you've really lied to him;
you've withheld information. I know that's splitting hairs from a moral
standpoint, but everyone is entitled to their privacy to some degree.�
He turned to face Kate again. �There's one thing I could
tell him that would probably halt things pretty effectively, but it would also
mean that I'd have to acknowledge that I am, in fact, a wizard, just as he
suspected.�
�And would that be so bad? He seems to not have a problem
with the concept.�
�I guess not. He seems to be operating under that assumption
anyway, even though I technically denied it.�
�So, what do you think you could you tell him that would do
the trick?�
�That I'm affianced to someone back home and the betrothal
contract requires faithfulness. That's not uncommon in the wizarding world, and
I think he'd buy it. It's not true, but it's the closest I can come without
making the situation worse,� he concluded, shrugging with indecision.
�So then what's the explanation for you being here?� she
challenged.
�That's the part that I have no earthly clue how to deal
with,� he admitted. �I'd really rather not tell him that I'm here in exile for
my horrific crimes. I'm sure I'll come up with something that's close to
believable.�
She glared at him, scolding him silently for his
self-recriminations.
�What? It's the truth,� he pushed back.
�Barely. And you know it. Don't start playing that game
again, Draco. You're past that.�
�Apparently not,� he muttered under his breath, staring out
the window.
�What's going on with you today? Did something else happen
that you haven't shared with me?� she probed.
He was silent for what felt like hours, but was really just
seconds. �I thought I was getting better. I told Dr. David just a few days ago
that I hadn't been bothered with nightmares in weeks, and that was true, until
last night.�
Kate swallowed the concern that bubbled up for the young man
she'd come to care about; she remained impassive and professional as she nodded
at him. �And?�
�I had one. A bad one.� His voice was a shaky as his hands.
�About?�
�Her.�
�I see,� she quietly acknowledged. �Will you tell me?�
�I'd rather not relive it, but if I don't get it out, it's
going to consume me whole.�
�Okay. Take your time. Sit down for a minute and take a deep
breath.� She watched as he complied, the slightest tremor still visible in his
limbs. �Close your eyes. Breathe again. And again.�
He followed her instructions and felt himself calming enough
to begin speaking.
�It started out quite pleasantly. We were sitting together
in a parlor, and chatting. I was playing with a curl of her hair and she smiled
at me. I leaned over to kiss her and she responded to me, running her fingers
up my arm to caress my shoulder....�
Draco shivered when her delicate touch met the bare skin
at the base of his throat. He leaned forward, taking her with him to rest
against the arm of the settee, settling his weight lightly atop her smaller
form. His kisses became more urgent as he trailed his hand along her hip,
grasping tightly as his thumb made gentle circles over the sensitive spot where
her thigh met her lower abdomen. He heard her moan in appreciation and chuckled
low against her lips in response. He moved his hand along her shoulder when she
wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging them closer together. Their tongues
entwined urgently, sharing the taste of the rich red wine they'd both been
sipping minutes earlier.�
Draco's hand ghosted along her ribs, reaching for the
soft mound of her breast. He gently kneaded and stroked as she gasped into his
open mouth, hot breath coming quicker with each heartbeat, and he noted her
sharp intake of air when his thumb grazed the peaked nipple. He felt cool air
on his chest and finally noticed that she had begun to release each ivory
button on his cream silk shirt from its fastening. The chill dissipated as her
hands massaged from clavicle to waist, freeing the fabric from the restriction
of his trousers. His own hands had not been idle; the jumper she'd worn now
rested on the floor beside them. He grasped both of her hips and tugged them so
that they were flush with his own. He relished her gasp when she felt his
rigidity, obviously ready for her.
He levered his body just enough to allow his hands to
skate along her thighs, under the modest linen skirt she'd worn. They were
soft, warm, trembling under his touch. He couldn't help but to reach for the
center that seemed to beckon him; he could smell her arousal as much as she
could feel his. He was desperate to touch her, taste her, bring her, or he'd go
insane. His long, slim fingers probed and stroked, finding the spot that made
her squeal when he brushed it firmly. Lips, tongue and teeth nibbled at her
ears, neck, shoulder.
Draco leaned back on his heels and unbuckled his belt,
flicked open the button and unzipped his fly. He smiled when she looked
wide-eyed at the length that threatened to burst through his black silk boxers.
He made quick work of the tiny pink satin knickers that barely covered her sex
and felt welcomed and wanted when her knees parted and arms opened to accept
him into her embrace. One finger, then two, teased at her opening and ensured
that she was fully ready for him. He leaned forward, steadied his length in
hand, and guided his organ to her entrance. A sharp thrust ensured that he was
fully encased in her depths, and he stroked his length in and out, in and out,
building tension and rhythm that caused him to pant with labored breaths. His
hands found her arms, her shoulders, her neck, and he squeezed, cutting off her
access to air. He moved faster and faster, finding his pleasure as she
struggled for breath. He recognized the reddening of her skin and her feeble
attempts to fight him off. He kept going until he found his release and she had
stilled, silent and struggling no more.
�And then I woke up, soaked in sweat and screaming for her
at the top of my lungs,� he confessed, staring once more at the floor between
his feet.
Kate needed a second to formulate what questions she would
ask and what observations she might share. This was... a bit of a setback, but
she didn't want to make more if it than it was, nor alarm Draco beyond where he
already obviously was.
�There's always another monster, isn't there? And he's me,�
Draco whispered.
�No, Draco, you're not a monster. Your distress alone is
proof of that. And don't forget that the dream began in a very loving, tender
interaction. You've been in therapy long enough to know that you can't control
the content of your dreams to any real extent,� Kate responded. She paused a
moment longer before continuing, eyes suddenly flashing and meeting his as she
recalled a conversation they'd had very early in his therapy. �You told me
months ago about one of your memories. From the cottage. You were fighting the
potion's influence � the time you heard the voices compelling you to 'finish
her off' while you were actually trying to save her.�
He nodded, still reluctant to drag his gaze from the knot in
the oak floor where his attention had immediately refocused. �I remember,� he
mumbled, squeezing his eyes tightly as he recalled the moment nearly a year and
a half earlier when his fingers had, for just a few seconds, rested against the
creamy skin of Hermione's neck.
�It's sounds to me like this was a combination of a dream
and a relived memory. What do you think about that?� she asked, trying to keep
her tone light and unconcerned.
�I suppose that's possible,� he acknowledged, �but why would
they converge that way if there isn't some evil tendency in me?�
�Why wouldn't they? It's a nightmare, not a premonition. You
woke up screaming in terror because the thought of hurting her horrified you,
certainly not because you were excited or pleased by it.�
He snorted and mumbled something under his breath.
�Draco, you know better than that,� Kate scolded. �What?�
�I said that it was a quicker erection killer than a cold
shower.�
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. �I have no doubt.�
She closed her notebook, indicating that their session was coming to an end.
�And that's more proof that you're not the evil bastard you apparently think
yourself to be. Your reaction to the nightmare wasn't sexual release; it was
horrified, anxious, and concerned. You shouldn't be worried; I'm definitely
not. Trust me, Draco, if you had something to be anxious about here, I'd be the
first one to tell you. I've never lied to you and I'm sure not about to start.�
Draco sighed, deep and long. �I know. There's probably no
one on the planet that I trust more than you and Dr. David,� he admitted
without hesitation. His next thought was introspective and solemn. �I suppose I
still have some work to do on trusting myself.�
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Consequences and Complexities