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Atonement	By : absumoaevum Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13720 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor to I make any money from this story. These characters are JKR's, I just play with them.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
I just wanted to say how excited I am for the next few chapters. I hope you like reading them, because they've been quite a roller coaster for me to write.

Also, it probably doesn't interest you to know, but I'm going to tell you anyway: It's my birthday today!

Chapter 21

Matters of Blood and Connection

"Hermione, wait!" Draco was running down the basement corridor outside of the Hufflepuff common room, headed for the stairs that led up to the Entrance Hall.

Hermione rounded on him, and her anger was radiating from her in waves. He thought he would drown in her fury. He'd never seen her so angry. "Leave me alone, Malfoy! And stop calling me that!"

"What? Your name?"

"Yes. You don't get to say my name. You've lost that privilege!" She turned the corner, and Draco ran after her, desperate to catch her.

"What did I do? Please! Come back! Please, Hermione!" Draco was on the stairs now. Hermione was almost at the top.

She didn't turn around. "Stop! Just go away!"

"No!" he shouted, emerging into the Entrance Hall, deserted apart from themselves. "No, I'm not going away. Tell me—"

"You know! You know what you did!"

"You're killing me with this girlspeak. Just tell me what's—"

"Girlspeak?" Hermione stopped halfway up the marble staircase and glared down at him. "Is that what- Just some girl now? Talking gibberish?"

Draco didn't stop. He climbed the steps up to her, reaching out for her, desperate, afraid. "Hermione- no!" He grabbed her arm. She tried to wrench it away, but he held tight. "Wait! Just hang on a minute—"

"Let go of me!" she spat at him. Her eyes were on fire. "Get lost and stay lost, Malfoy."

The marble beneath their feet was melting. They were falling through it. He pressed her against his chest, fearful of losing his hold on her. Together they slipped through the stone and into a vast darkened room.

'I am lost. W-where—" But he knew where he was. The courtroom. He was sitting in the huge stone throne, shackled by the snake-like chains, and everyone he'd ever hurt, everyone he'd ever even met, was watching him from the shadows now. And Hermione was standing over him, her hair wild and her eyes blazing. Then she was straddling him there, in front of everyone, and her hands where on his face and his neck and she was kissing him and he was breathless and bound, gasping for more, his lungs protesting as he tried to heave air into them but Hermione was kissing him so hard—

Draco snapped awake, bolting upright in his bed, sweat drenching his face, his bare chest and arms. And he was panting, wheezing in panic, his eyes searching the blinding darkness for something to focus on, but there was nothing.

His curtains flew open, and there was James, leering down at him. The light was blinding, confusing him, bent weirdly as if through a prism.

"What are you doing, you prat? You're missing your N.E.W.T.s!"

"I-I what? No, they're not until—"

But then the curtains turned to iron bars and James became a Dementor and the light became a thousand grasping hands, trying to seize him through the bars. He cringed back, away from the outstretched fingers. The hands beared down on him, pushing him, compressing him. Now they were walls. Wooden walls. He was in a-a cabinet. The Vanishing Cabinet. Trapped between worlds. Lost and alone.

Someone was whispering, "Severus please…"

"DRACO! WAKE UP!" It was Prescott's voice, somewhere very close to him.

Draco opened his eyes suddenly, then shrank back into the bedclothes in terror. His teeth were clenched and his skin felt tight and cold with sweat. His sheets and coverlet were shoved up against the baseboard. And Prescott was leaning over him with a lantern. Behind him, James, Justin and Ryan were looking very worried, their faces illuminated in the flickering firelight.

Draco became aware of his aching fingers, which were gripping the mattress of his bed so tight it hurt. Slowly, he let go. "I'm awake," he muttered. He'd been dreaming. Of course he had. It was a dream. Just a dream.

"Are you alright, mate?" James poked Draco in the arm. Draco winced. "You were screaming your head off."

"Some people are trying to sleep," came a voice from farther away. Smith.

"Shut up, you bloody idiot," said Ryan over his shoulder. He turned back to Draco. "Are you ok?"

"I'm ok, yeah." Draco brought his hand to his forehead and tried to sit up. This was made difficult by the fact that they were all crowded in so close around him. "Can we all take a step back?"

"Can we all go back to sleep?" said Smith.

"Shut up!" said everyone else.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, Draco folded his legs under himself and leaned forward to grab the blankets at the end of the bed. If they were going to hang around his bed like that, then he might as well be decent and he didn't feel like some boxer shorts qualified.

"What time is it?" Draco asked. There were no windows in their dormitory, but the clock on the fireplace mantle always glowed faintly like the sky outside. It was a slate gray and lightening fast.

"Maybe six o'clock?" said Justin, glancing over at the clock just like Draco had.

"Happy Halloween," Draco said groggily. Everyone smiled. "Not really any sense in going back to sleep, is there?"

"Nah," said James, grabbing Draco's bathrobe and tossing it into his lap on his way back to his own four-poster. "And the bathrooms will be free, so come on, we'll hurry up getting dressed then go down to breakfast early."

Prescott seemed more hesitant to leave Draco's side. "Are you sure you're alright? You seemed pretty upset."

"I was having a nightmare, Prescott. I was upset. But it wasn't real, was it? So it's not a problem. Come on," Draco said, swinging his bathrobe over his shoulders and shooting his arms through the sleeves, "let's get out of here before Smith throws a tantrum."

"I heard that!" said Smith sourly. His bed curtains were still closed, but he was clearly awake.

"Who cares?" Prescott laughed, heading back over to his bed to get shower things and kicking Smith's bed as he passed. Draco could almost hear Smith glowering.

It wasn't really fair, was it? Smith may be a prat, but he was still a Hufflepuff. He was always left out of everything, partly because he was a prat and partly because he was always busy with Head Boy duties. Maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed. Maybe he was just protective, still distrusting of Draco after all this time.

Everyone else had left for the bathrooms, but Draco lagged a little behind. He walked up to Smith's bed, leaned against one of the wooden posts of the bed frame, and said into the curtains, "Listen, I'm sorry about all—"

"I don't want your apology or your pity, Malfoy," said Smith scathingly from the other side of the hangings, "Just leave me alone."

"Fine by me," said Draco. He pushed off of the bed post and left the room before his temper made him say something he'd regret. If Smith was anything other than a complete twat, he did a really good job hiding it.

All that excitement with the nightmare then with Smith had almost made Draco forget the Hogsmeade visit today. He would get to see his mother again after less than a week. They'd sat together on Tuesday, the first day of his father's trial, with Elodonda and Hackey MacDougal, but Draco had since stopped going.

Draco had quickly learned that Bliswick's style was decidedly more bureaucratic than MacDougal's. He fought every little protest with a stack of paper, argued each charge for hours on end. Draco couldn't just skive off classes for the week to be present at court proceedings when nothing was actually proceeding.

Bliswick was wasting everyone's time with all of that technical nit-picking, in Draco's opinion, but it was his father he was concerned about. He looked worse than Draco had ever seen him on the first day of the trial. The chains on the great stone chair had bound him, and he had struggled vainly against them.

He really did look crazy.

Draco's mother had gripped his hand so tightly that it had gone numb, and every-so-often MacDougal would lean over and whisper something into her ear. Draco felt sure MacDougal was updating his mother on the goings-on since most of it was an incomprehensible mêlée of legal gibberish and a constant barrage of documents with official letterheads being passed back and forth between Bliswick's legal team and the Wizengamot. His mother didn't tell Draco what MacDougal said, but Draco didn't really care.

He was mostly concerned about the state of his father.

Draco tried to shake all of this as he stood in the shower, letting the water wash away bad dreams and worse memories. He was going to see his mother today.

"Hermione! Ginny!"

The chorus of voices rang through the crowded Three Broomsticks so loudly that everyone inside turned to look at the two girls that had just entered through the door. There they were, the whole troupe. Bill and Fleur clung to each other at the head of the table and Ron sat between Harry and George on one side while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley beamed around Mrs. Tonks holding Teddy on her lap on the other. Percy hand turned full around in his chair to face them.

Harry stood up immediately, as did Ron and Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione barely had time to say hello before she was enveloped in one of Mrs. Weasley's famous hugs. She saw Harry pick Ginny up and twirl her around, much to the chagrin of several witches sipping sherry at the table next to them.

Mrs. Weasley finally let go, and then Ron was there, standing in front of her with s sheepish smile. Why did he always look like he'd just done something slightly stupid?

"Hermione," he said, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. It had been a while since she'd seen him. She was happy to be there, pressed against him. It felt safe. This is were she was supposed to be. There was just that little nagging—

"How are you?" Ron asked, breathing into her ear, sliding a hand up the back of her neck into her hair.

"I'm fine," she whispered, feeling a little offput by this sudden display of affection from him. Was this Harry's influence? She could just hear him telling Ron to be more aggressive, to take the initiative. Hermione wanted this to be what she wanted.

He kissed the skin just under her ear. "I've missed you so much."

Had it really been that long? A few weeks of exchanging excited letters, of talking about school and the Auror office and the new apartment he and Harry now shared and not discussing trials or Draco. Especially not the latter. Ugh, why was she thinking of him right now? She shook herself and focused on Ron. He trailed kisses to her cheek, then to her mouth. She let him kiss her. No, she kissed him. It was delicate, sweet even. But she was glad when it was over. After all, she reasoned, they were in a pub surrounded by his family.

Hermione broke away from him, felt his hands slide away from her hips to hang awkwardly at his sides. Then she remembered that he had told her he missed her. "I missed you too, Ron." She glanced over at Harry and Ginny and experienced a little pang of envy. They were still wrapped up in each other. She wanted that kind of love. And she wanted to have it with Ron.

Now was not the time to dwell on her apparent inability to be a normal teenage girl. She let Ron lead her by the hand over to the table, where she sat at the end closest to Percy and farthest from George which, she thought, was just as well. George was a bit on the depressing side these days. She gave him a wave and he returned it with a small smile before Ron obscured him from view by seating himself next to her.

"Hey, Professor!" she said, nudging Percy with her shoulder. He tried not to look stiff.

Harry and Ginny joined them a minute later, looking rumpled but blissful. "So," said Ginny, beaming, "What's new with everyone?"

"Your father's been promoted again!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, "To the head of the Muggle Liaison Office!"

"What? Really! That's great, dad!" said Ginny. She high-fived Mr. Weasley across the table, then Madame Rosmerta bustled up to them to take drink orders.

It wasn't so bad, really, Hermione decided. She could do this.

Draco stood outside of Madame Puddifoot's waiting for his mother. She wasn't late, exactly, but for a woman who was terminally punctual, she was pushing it. Finally, he heard a little pop and turned to see her walking up the side street toward him, a faintly harassed look on her face which she arranged into a smile when she saw him.

"Draco," she said as if in great relief, extending her hand, which he kissed before laughingly pulling her into a hug. He didn't care if it wrinkled her robes or rattled her old-fashioned sensibilities. He was happy to see her and he was done with pretense and graces. She didn't seem to mind. She held on to him for a long time.

"Mother, shall we?" he said, letting her go and offering her his arm.

She looked at the entrance of Madame Puddifoot's uncertainly. "Your father and I used to come here back when it was Madame Grey's," she murmured, her gaze turning almost wistful. "It's was a place for couples. Draco, are you sure—"

"Yes, mother. You're my date." This produced an honest smile from his mother, who took his arm and gripped it tightly. Draco tried not to wonder why she seemed a bit flustered, though he could guess. He pushed open the door and led her inside.

The little tea shop was bursting with harvest-themed decorations for Halloween. All the tables were draped in fall colored-cloth, and the centerpieces were tiny glowing pumpkins with swirly carvings set upon a bed of golden leaves. His mother let out a little gasp next to him, staring around at the décor.

"It's very different," she said. "It's wonderful."

Draco could smell the pumpkin and cinnamon aroma that hung heavy in the air. All around, students from Hogwarts were coupled together at the minuscule tables. Everyone looked up as Draco pulled back a chair for his mother and settled her in before seating himself across from her and taking her hands in his.

"How are you?" he asked, but a large, middle-aged woman with a shiny black bun who Draco took for Madame Puddifoot was making her way toward them, squeezing through the limited space between tables.

"Narcissa! It's been a long time!"

"Amadea!" Narcissa stood and kissed the woman on both cheeks. Draco got to his feet, too. Force of habit. If a lady stood up at your table, so did you. "It has been several years, hasn't it?"

"I haven't seen you since we were at Hogwarts!" said Madame Puddifoot. "Is this your son?"

"Yes! Draco, this is Amadea Puddifoot. She claims all the credit for your father and me."

"Not all of it, dear. Your mother knew what she wanted," Puddifoot said to Draco, "She was just always so distractible. I gave her a nudge in the right direction."

"She's being modest. She practically threw me at your father."

"He was such a charmer… back then…" Madame Puddifoot's voice trailed away, and she glanced nervously between Draco and his mother.

"I don't believe I've heard this story," said Draco interestedly, trying to smooth over the uncomfortable moment.

Madame Puddifoot grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over to them, sitting and waving her wand over at the counter. A pot of tea zoomed toward their table and she conjured three teacups for them. "Well," she said when they all had tea cooling in their hands, "A long time ago, your mother here was the most popular girl in school—"

"Amadea, stop it!" his mother laughed.

"Don't even bother trying to deny it. Anyway, your mother was popular, at least in our year. And all the boys had their eye on her, including Lucius. He was the worst, I think."

His mother buried her head in her hands and tried to hide her smile. "This is so embarrassing."

"So," said Puddifoot, not to be deterred, "While we were all in the pub over a weekend, I- well, I sort of spilled butterbeer down her front accidentally on purpose as Lucius and some friends were walking by. And she was preoccupied trying to get it out of her clothes when she bumped into Lucius and gave her his coat. They got to talking – your mother hadn't given him the time of day up until then – and that was the end of it. The perfect match."

"You spilled butterbeer on my mother and that's how they met?" Draco asked incredulously. It seemed so… improper. He'd never really thought about his parents as young, at school, before they'd fell in love and got married and had a son. And joined the Dark Lord.

"Well, he was a sixth-year then and we were a year behind," continued Puddifoot, "They hadn't really spoken at school until then."

"Though of course our parents were friendly," added his mother from behind her hands.

'It was very romantic, actually. He was such a gentleman with her."

"I still have that coat." Draco and Puddifoot both looked at his mother. She was gazing pensively through Draco, into the past, far away. Then she turned to Madame Puddifoot and said, "I wish you could have been our wedding, Amadea. It would have been so much more fun if you'd been there."

"I wish I had been there, too," said Puddifoot a little sadly.

"Why couldn't you go?" Draco asked, confused. Puddifoot had mentioned that the two women hadn't seen each other since their school days. Now it seemed strange, since they were so familiar. And they'd been in the same year, friends even. Why wasn't she at the wedding?

"My parents felt—" Narcissa began, but Puddifoot interrupted her, a shadow passing over her face.

"I was deemed unworthy. Too low-class to attend a union of the Black and Malfoy families."

"But why?"

"Because I'm a Puddifoot. Not much of a high-society ring to it, is there?"

"I didn't care about that," whispered his mother.

Puddifoot placed a hand over his mother's on the table. "I know. And look how wrong they were!" She gestured around at the tea shop. "I suppose that Slytherin ambition paid off after all!" They laughed, but Draco didn't.

Puddifoot had been a Slytherin? He regarded her with new interest. She was stout like Professor Sprout, but her features were sharper, her eyes quick and bright, her clothes neat, fashionable, hand-tailored. Definitely Slytherin pedigree. He guessed she must be at least a half-blood, since not many muggleborns found themselves in the unfortunate predicament of being sorted into Slytherin House, but he'd never even heard her name mentioned by his parents before.

There were plenty of hard-off children in Slytherin – they couldn't all be rich, after all – but he'd never thought of his mother having a friend that wasn't preapproved by her family. He knew that up until this year all of his companions had been hand-picked for him by his parents before he'd even gotten on the train for his first year at Hogwarts.

He suddenly envied his mother's initiative to befriend a girl from the other side of that invisible line none of his birth were supposed to cross. She hadn't cared about Puddifoot's status. Just like he didn't care if any of his new friends would benefit him in some way. Real friends. Slytherins weren't supposed to have real friends.

"I never thought, when I saw the name on the sign, that this was your shop, Amadea. This is amazing. Truly."

Puddifoot, who was just taking a sip of tea, sputtered with a giggle and said, "Don't sound so surprised!"

"No, I only meant… It's just like you. I should have known."

"Well, you should visit more often, now that you know how to find me!"

"I absolutely will, Amadea."

Puddifoot glanced around at the many couples in her shop. "I should get back." As Puddifoot and his mother made plans to meet the following week, Draco drank his tea (which was delicious) and thought about his parents. They had been so normal once, just two kids in school. Holding hands, laughing easily. And so much had changed since then. He found it hard to draw a path from the picture Puddifoot had painted of an awkward meeting to the complicated, conflicted marriage they were struggling to hold together now. Draco wanted to know everything, the whole story. How could things have gotten so muddled? Well, he thought with a little smile, things were bound to get messy when you started off a relationship with a pint of spilled butterbeer.

Madame Puddifoot was getting to her feet. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Draco."

He stood up again and took her hand in his. "And you as well, Madame Puddifoot."

"Amadea, please!" she replied with a pleasant smile. Then she was maneuvering between the tables back to her counter.

"You asked me how I was," said his mother, and he sat down at once and gave her his full attention. "Draco, things are not… your father…"

"What about him?" Draco didn't want to think about the deranged man who had fought the chains down in the bowls of the Ministry of Magic. He wanted to imagine his father like the boy who had helped his mother, given her his coat to hide butterbeer stains. This idea of a maddened ex-Death Eater who could barely hold his countenance amidst the legion of disdainful onlookers was unbearable for Draco. This man who had wanted Draco to respect him, to become the man he was, to follow in his footsteps.

Well, I'm doing that. Your trial then mine father. Lucius.

He tried to keep the malice out of his expression as he regarded his mother. She had her hands clasped around her tea, drawing warmth from it, looking up at Draco with beseeching eyes. "His counsel will draw things out. Hackey says that Bliswick will try to drag the trial on for as long as possible. He'll call every witness, question them for days, parade your father around in front of the Wizengamot… He's pleading insanity."

Draco set down his tea before his mother saw the cup shaking. She was looking to him for some response, but what could he say? "That's not surprising, mother. It's what I'd do."

She made an impatient noise and said, "That's what Hackney said. But it's not right, Draco. You must see that. It's not right to put your father through something like—"

"What do you want me to do about it?" Draco snapped back. He was losing his patience now.

She leaned over the table toward him, her face aglow in the dancing orangish light of the jack-o-lantern, and spoke in a hushed voice. "He is your father, Draco! He's just not right… right now."

"Yes. He's just not my father right now. And he's not your husband either. You heard that list of charges. Can you honestly contest any one of them?"

"Your father loves you!" she hissed. The she sat back jerkily and brought her tea to her lips with an almost mechanical motion. "He couldn't help those—"

"Don't tell me he couldn't help it! I was there, mother. Lucius—"

"How dare you call your father—"

"Haven't I just told you that's exactly what he's not?" Draco said. He glanced around, but if people were listening in, they were hiding it well. "He's guilty, mother. He put us in this situation. I'm not going to make excuses for him, and you shouldn't either." Draco drained his teacup and set it back on its saucer. The little chink of porcelain seemed to ring through the room, though there was plenty of noise to hide it.

"He's not himself," whispered his mother. She looked away, toward a wall covered in pastoral paintings where ponies galloped through fields of wildflowers.

"I think that's a good thing."

She didn't look back at him. "I know." She hung her head and brushed a tear discretely from her eye. "I know."

"Mother." Draco couldn't stand to see her like that, so exposed and upset. "Mother! It's going to be alright."

Her gaze wandered back to him, then the words were tumbling out of her mouth as if unbidden: "I don't want you to share his fate, Draco. I can't stand to see him like that, b-but even more than that I cannot bear the thought that you might end up like him. He's so cold, so broken. And they won't let him have a wand, even before he tried to – to leave us. It's just me and your father in that house now and sometimes – sometimes I feel so alone I just want to—" She blinked very quickly and wiped the tears from her cheeks impatiently. "I just want things to be better for us, Draco. But I don't…"

"I understand, mother."

"It's such a relief, just being away from him now. Seeing you. I miss you so much. I keep thinking if you came home it would be better."

"I'm not coming home," said Draco firmly.

"Yes. Yes, of course," she said with so much ardor that Draco knew she wasn't really serious about him returning home, "I know you want to be there, and I am so happy for you. I'm so proud of you. I just… I wish things were different."

"You and me both," he said, allowing himself a little smile. "You should get out more, mother. Go see friends."

She laughed mirthlessly. "What friends? No one wants to invite me 'round for tea, Draco."

"Madame Puddifoot wanted to."

His mother waved her hand as if swatting away a fly. "She's different," she said dismissively. "No one from our old circle of friends, no one who matters—" but she broke off, apparently catching Draco's glare of disgust. "No! Draco, what I mean is that – that I want to reestablish our name as… The name of Malfoy used to mean something."

"It still means something to me."

"Yes, but don't you see? We're all but banished. I only want the best for you. I want you to have all the best opportunities. These people – our old friends – they can give you those opportunities."

"I can find my own way, mother," said Draco.

"But you shouldn't have to do it alone!"

"That's it really, isn't it, mother? We're not talking about me right now. We're talking about you."

"What are you—" she gasped.

Draco cut across her, trying to calm the anger boiling in his stomach. "You want your old status back. You want to be the center of attention again on your own terms."

"I want someone to care about me! I've been cast aside, Draco! You father is a lunatic and you're away at school—"

"Don't you—"

"No, you're gone, but I don't hold that against you. I'm just so alone. And the winter season is about to start… Do you understand, Draco? Do you know why I… that I just want things to be normal. Or I think I may go mad myself."

Now, at last, Draco understood. His mother wanted to be a part of the winter season, the whirl of parties and dinners that surrounded the holidays every year. Each of the families – the Zabinis, the Davises, the Flints, the Greengrasses, the Notts, the Bulstrodes, the Parkinsons, the Montagues, and, of course, the Malfoys – threw balls and dinner parties and everyone made the rounds. There were others, other prominent families throwing posh invitation-only events, but these families' get-togethers were the most illustrious, the most desirable. And out of them, two were in disgrace and one, the Parkinsons, had left the country.

His mother's idea of 'normal' was attending these annual gatherings. It was social suicide to attempt to solicit an invitation and social suicide not to attend. If they had shut her out, that was the end of it. There was no surer way of their descent into obscurity and humiliation than for the ladies of this exclusive inner circle to shun the Malfoys this season. And Draco bet that's just what they intended to do.

And now he felt real pity for his mother. This was her world, and it was crashing down around her. It was a different sort of agony than they'd had to endure in the past few years, but it was no less painful.

What could he do? How could he fix this for her? It was impossible. Impossible. "Mother…" he said, not really sure how to continue.

"It's alright, Draco. I know there's nothing to be done. I shouldn't have brought it up." His mother looked anywhere but at him, arranging her elegant robes around her with unnecessary attention. "Actually, I should be going."

"Mother," he began again, but she had stood up was heading for the door before he could think of anything to say. He got to his feet, dropped a few sickles on the table, and followed her out of the tea shop. He caught her arm out in the chilly, blustery side street. "Mother, wait!"

"Draco, I love you, but I should really return to your father before – I've stayed to long. He'll be needing me."

"Mother I—" he started, then said instead, "I understand. I love you."

She took his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. "And I love you. Write to me."

"I will," said Draco, his eyes closed in an effort to control himself. This was not right. He should be able to help his own mother. He would do anything for her happiness. It had been so long since she'd had anything to look forward to. He wanted to give her that. But how?

He felt her touch leave him, heard the little pop that meant she'd gone. The cold cut through Draco like a knife. He wished he was someone else, that he and his mother were far away from here, that he could make this nightmare end.

Then he was reminded of his dream from that morning and recalled the feeling of being trapped in that Vanishing Cabinet, in that stone chair, in that cell, with the world pressing in… All he wanted now was to find his friends and forget for just a little longer what it meant to be a Malfoy.
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Atonement