Defending the Dark (Dramione)

Chapter 11: I Used to Live Alone

When Draco got back to his cell, he threw himself on his cot and assessed the books and music-playing contraption.

The reality of what Granger had just done hit him. It was incredibly kind and considerate of her to bring these things for him. She really was far too compassionate.

But then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. After all, this was the girl who wasted half of third year trying to save a manic hippogriff's life, and then later devoted her spare time to freeing house-elves.

At least house-elves were pathetic creatures who deserved her sympathy. Him? Not so much.

Does she make a habit of this with all her clients? He pictured her organizing an ice-cream social for reformed Death Eaters and shook his head.

Draco turned on the strange little music-playing device she'd given him and put the round pieces over his ears.

Immediately, he pressed the button she'd shown him and skipped to the fourth track. Soothing piano music and a deep voice filled his ears. In the first verse, he recognized the line Hermione had quoted to him and he smiled.

He closed his eyes, letting the haunting melody wash over him. When it was over, he played it again.

As he listened, he picked up one of the Muggle books she'd given him and, feeling quite foolish, opened it and inhaled. It did smell good. Not surprisingly, he thought it smelled like Hermione Granger. He closed the book and went back to enjoying the peaceful music.

He liked the song, and against his will, he was beginning to like the woman who shared it with him.

***

"So Ginny tells me you're a Ministry Defense Inquisitor," Hermione's blind date, Robert Nottingford, said as he flashed her a winning smile, reminding Hermione of the Muggle actor Brad Pitt.

"Yes." Hermione returned his smile and spread her napkin on her lap. "I started the program straight out of Hogwarts."

Robert let out a quick laugh and brushed his sandy blond hair from his eyes. "Can't imagine why the Ministry even wastes their time making you defend Death Eaters. May as well just lock them all up and save you the trouble, eh?"

"Well, it's not always so—"

"Heard you got that prick Draco Malfoy's case." He took a generous swig of Firewhiskey and grimaced. "Tough luck. I doubt you've got much of a case there. Heard he was a Death Eater right outta the cradle. His family and Voldemort go way back— real pureblood bigots."

Hermione felt prickles rise up her back. "It's not always so simple. Many of the pureblood families are very patriarchal. Some of the wives and children really had no choice but to follow Voldemort when the time came."

"Yeah, poor defenseless Death Eaters . . . cry me a river." Robert downed his drink and waved his hand to the waitress. When she came over, he pointed to his glass. "Another one of these and the sirloin steak, please. The lady will have another drink and a salad, easy on the dressing."

Hermione glanced at her glass of white wine, which she'd barely touched. "I don't need another drink. I'm fine with this for now. And I'll take the chicken parmesan instead of a salad." She handed her menu to the waitress, who gave her a knowing look.

Robert raised his eyebrows at her and gave a sheepish grin. "Thought I had that one down. My dates always just order a salad."

Hermione forced a smile and changed the subject. "So Ginny said you used to play Quidditch before you became a manager for the Harpies . . ."