FicWad

The door of ward 551 opened and a younger Mediwitch wheeled the little girl back to the elevator. Turning back in the wheelchair, she cast an angelic smile at Harry and waved him goodbye, but the young Auror didn't feel that relief one should be feeling when he'd just been forgiven for having done something really wrong.

Hesitantly pacing the corridor for a few minutes, he finally made up his mind and knocked at the door.

“Come in,” he heard the man's weak voice answering. Drawing a sharp breath, Harry entered the ward and his senses were immediately attacked by the all too familiar feeling of being in a hospital. The smell of disinfectants and potions burned his nostrils and the languid beep-beep of the machines attached to the man overwhelmed him with a certain sense of irrevocability.

“Mr. Donovan,” he started cautiously. ”I'm glad to see you're feeling better. You most probably don't know me. My name is Harry Potter and I'm the reason your daughter is in this hospital right now as a patient. It was me who'd hit her last night. I'm terribly sorry for what had happened and if I can do anything...”

The man in the bed interrupted him in a low, but firm voice. “You can't do anything, Potter. Tomorrow she'll be released and I might be dead.”

There was something familiar in the man's voice which made Harry frown. He couldn't place it yet, but it distantly reminded him of someone he used to know, back at Hogwarts. The man felt his hesitation and turned his head to him, even in his miserable condition managing a small laugh.

“You haven't changed a bit, Potter. The same thick as used to be.”

Harry's eyes almost matched those of a house-elf in size and he jumped up from his chair, as if electrocuted. “Draco? Draco Malfoy? But what...how...you're not like yourself...”

Draco nodded, still with his trademark smirk on his face. “Long story, Potter. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Carefully weighing his answer, Harry agreed. “I would like to know what had happened to you, if speaking is not too tiring. Why are you here anyway?”

Screwing up his face in a grimace, so uncharacteristic to him, Draco sighed. “If I understood the Mediwitch correctly, I had a perforated ulcer, which they managed to fix. My other condition, however, can't be fixed. I'm dying, Potter. Cancer.”

“No, no, no,” he raised his hand when he saw Harry was about to say something. “Spare me your sympathy, will you? I'm at peace with it. I only worry about my daughter, that's it. She has nobody, save me, and soon, even I won't be around.”

“You've got a beautiful daughter, Draco,” admitted Harry, moving his chair nearer. “She's very smart and has a very good heart.”

“I'm sorry that I couldn't be the father to her that she deserved, that's all,” Draco pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing from pain. He let Harry arrange his pillow and untangle the thin wires running towards his bare chest and, taking two sips from a purplish potion, he continued, in a somewhat more relieved voice.

“I wasn't a good father, Harry.” To Harry, hearing the other boy switch to his given name was rather unexpected. “I love her, in my own way, but every time I look at her I see her mother instead, the woman I loved from the very depth of my heart. The woman who taught me what real love was and who helped me find love in myself. With her passing away, this love died inside me. I died inside, together with her.”

Feeling Harry's questioning look, he raised his head and continued in a hoarse voice. “Ginevra inherited only my eyes. Everything else she has from her mother.”

Inclining his head, Harry patiently waited for the continuation, but couldn't say a word. Draco's grey eyes slowly filled with genuine tears.

“Harry, Ginevra's mother was Hermione Malfoy-Granger. It was her idea to name our daughter after her best friend. Are you still sure you want to hear our story?”

Seeing his ex-enemy nod silently, he continued, “Then may I suggest that you make yourself comfortable. It will be a long story indeed.”

- Flashback -

“Granger! Having fun, so early in the morning?” The boy's clean, ringing voice was almost lost in the morning buzz of the cafe. Yet, one of the guests was clearly not impressed with his appearance.

"Oh...Shite!" the bushy-haired girl, sitting on a bar chair clenching her glass in her hand, groused, "Of all the lousy, bugger-all times, I have to come across Draco Malfoy here and now?"

“Granger, Granger,” the blond-haired boy chided, coming closer. “What a surprise. You alone, here, drinking Firewhiskey, at 10 a.m.?”

“Sod off, Malfoy! What I'm doing and where, it's my own business. You'd better mind your own,” the girl's temper flared and her brown eyes started narrowing dangerously. Draco, however, continued in a somewhat softer tone.

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, Granger, I'm not trying to hit on you. I just want to enjoy my beer, that's all. So why not just try to pretend that we're having a civilized conversation?” he offered, as if trying to make peace.

The brunette couldn't suppress a sarcastic smile, but pocketed her wand again, trying to rely solely on her logic. “For the record, I don't remember the two of us EVER having a civilized conversation. I don't remember seeing you EVER having a civilized conversation with anyone. It's just not in your genes, Malfoy.”

“For the record, part of the upbringing of a Pureblood wizarding child is to teach him how to behave in certain circles and how to have polite conversations with another person. So, I'm very well acquainted with that matter thank you very much,” the boy made a dry remark, examining the girl's reaction with a playful spark in his cold, grey eyes.

Hermione was one degree short of a boil but Draco raised his hand. “Look, Granger... Hermione... let's find an empty table and get something decent to eat before you get piss drunk. It doesn't look like you've had breakfast today.”

“I probably shouldn't be doing this...” shook Hermione her head, but, much to her own surprise, stood up from the chair she was occupying and, holding her glass in her hand, followed Draco outside to the terrace.

Once seated, Draco drew his wand and, before Hermione could even react, removed the Firewhiskey from her glass with a casual flick of his wrist. She was just about to object, but Draco silenced her.

“At first, we are having a proper breakfast. Afterwards, if you still want to, you can get buzzed. I'll even buy you a shot.” Smiling at the waitress, standing at their desk patiently waiting, he continued. “Sweetheart, why don't you just bring us two really proper helpings of your finest English breakfast, if you could.” The young girl flashed him a gracious smile and left.

Looking into the brunette's eyes, Draco started cautiously. “So... how have you been, Hermione?”

Slightly taken aback by the boy's behaviour, Hermione just sat there in silence for a moment, musing about the most correct answer, then gave up.

“I feel like shite, Draco, to be honest,” she admitted in a trembling voice.

“Hmmm, let me see. Does it have to do with a certain Weasley?”

Hermione shot a murderous glance at the boy. “Yes... No... Look, my private life is none of your business anyway!” Sighing deeply, she continued. “Well, he's the same insensitive bastard as he used to be, and Harry's still too busy enjoying his celebrity status and saving the world, rounding up Dark wizards as usual. I just feel alone, that's it.” Burying her head in her hands, she closed her eyes. “I can't believe I'm telling you all this!” she spat irritatedly.

Reaching over the table, Draco instinctively took her hands into his own, nodding understandingly. At first, the girl wanted to pull her hands back, but she had to admit the friendly gesture felt soothing. So, she just sat there not knowing what to do next.

“I'm so sorry about your parents, Hermione. I can't even imagine how you must feel like.”

The girl swallowed a few times, fighting her tears, ready to flow at every mention of her Mum and Dad, but finally gave in to her emotions and broke into inarticulate sobs. Thankfully, Draco put up some Silencing charms so the scene went unnoticed by the other guests.

Resting his forehead against hers, Draco whispered soothing words into her ears, his hands rubbing small circles on her knuckles. Slowly, her shudders subsided and she looked up, into the understanding, sad face of the boy.

“It's good to vent, Hermione. It helps to get over things, you know,” Draco nodded. “It's not a shame that you grief over them, even after two years.”

“I thought I'd done everything to keep them safe,” started Hermione in a voice, still hoarse from crying. “I changed their identities, wiped their memories, bought them the tickets to Australia; I wanted to keep them out of harm's way. I failed miserably. They were killed while packing their trunks into the taxi which would take them to the airport.

“I know, Hermione.” The boy went suddenly silent and lowered his eyes. Feeling Hermione's questioning look, he raised his head again and with a sad look on his face continued. “It was my mission to kill them.”

Jerking her hands from his, Hermione suppressed a shriek. “You lousy bastard! And you're just sitting here with a straight face telling me all this as if discussing the latest Quidditch results with me? Do you still keep enjoying other people's misery, playing little Death Eater?” She raised her right hand, clenched into a fist, and wanted to punch the boy into his face, like then, in third year, but the tears in his eyes made her to stop. Staring into those piercing grey eyes, she drew a sharp breath.

Oblivious to their breakfast, which had arrived in the meantime, the two just sat there, in a minute of incomfortable pause. “You were all the time right about me, Hermione,” Draco finally broke the silence. “I have always been a coward with a big mouth and an even bigger ego. Hexing Potter or calling you or Weasley names was fun, back then, I do not deny. I wanted to please the Dark Lord; I wanted to show him and the world that the Malfoys are still a worthy name and most of my plan did work. When I was given the task to kill Dumbledore, however, I chickened out. Snape had to finish my task – I'd learned only later that it was a giant setup – and for my failure my family was severely punished.”

Chewing on a healthy bite of fried bacon, he frowned, obviously deep in thoughts. Then, taking a sip of his tea, he went on, this time slowly, carefully considering every word.

“The Dark Lord gave me one more chance and sent me to kill your parents. Finding the address was not an issue. I watched the house as the taxi stopped in front of the entrance and the driver rang the bell. I watched them answering the door and started piling up the trunks on the pavement so that the cabbie could put them into the van. I listened to their animated, happy conversation; how excited they were to see Australia and how your Mum was nagging your Dad to buy a season ticket to the Sydney Opera.”

Tears were overwhelming the girl again. She knew about her Mum's fascination with opera and she'd take her often with her when she was still living at home. This was the reason she'd chosen Sydney as the new residence of the Wilkins'. Yet, she said nothing, only listened to the chronicle of the last minutes of her parents' life.

“Then, I drew my wand and Apparated directly to the taxi, Stunning the driver,” Draco went on. Now comes the hard part, he thought. “I raised my wand and pointed it at your Mum's chest, starting to pronounce the incantation, but something stopped me. I looked at her face, pale with fear, and I saw your face instead. I yelled at your Dad, pushing the two towards the car. I begged them to drive away, as fast as they could. They almost managed to get in, when someone hit the car with a curse blowing up the engine. It was my dear aunt Bella who followed me without me knowing it. Seemingly, the Dark Lord wasn't impressed with my capabilities and decided to have someone keep an eye on me, and she was all too glad to comply.”

Leaving his chair on the opposite side of the table, he sat down besides Hermione and protectively draped his hand over her shoulder. The overwhelmed girl didn't even try to pull away as her emotions finally found their way to the surface fand her tears started to fall again, the second time this morning.

“I will spare you the details,” Draco said simply, closing his eyes. In fact, he'd never been able to get rid of those horrible pictures ever since, no matter how he'd tried.

“Aunt Bella bound me and Apparated me back to Malfoy Manor. My father, my own father, tied me up and tortured me for two long days for failing him and the Dark Lord again and Bella was just laughing at my screams. Finally, they'd left me there, half dead, and were it not for my mother and my house-elf who nursed me back to life, I wouldn't be here.”

Even in her miserable condition, Hermione gasped in awe. How can a father be so cruel to his own son? His only son, his heir? With a sympathizing look, her eyes met his.

“You've suffered more than I in this war, Hermione. I simply owed you this. I'm glad I found the courage in myself for the very first time in my life,” the grey eyes said.

“Thank you, Draco, for telling me,” the brown eyes answered and her hand caressed his cheek for a short while. “It means the world to me.”

“Thank you, Hermione, for hearing me out,” the boy nodded, with no joy in his voice, yet immensely relieved.