No Way Out

Hermione watched her load of laundry spin in the dryer of her flat's laundry mat on the main floor. It would be done in a bit. She turned to the Daily Prophet she had been reading. For the last week there has been practically the same article saying ex Death Eaters, the ones that haven't been caught, are joining together and forming a revolt and a Second Battle. Voldemort was dead; Hermione saw him die four months ago. He was dead as a doornail. It haunts her some nights in her nightmares. She'd wake up in the middle of the night and be drenched with cold sweat. Now life returned to normal as it was going to get.

The dryer buzzed and stopped. Hermione set the Prophet down and picked up her basket to put the newly dried clothes in. While she was walking to the dryer it felt like she was on auto-mode; not thinking, not feeling. It caught her as somewhat odd. How? She didn't know. It felt abnormal. She wrenched the dryer door open. She reached and placed her clothes in the basket. Someone walked in, but she paid them no attention. With her basket full and the dryer empty, she closed the door and walked to the table she was sitting at. The person started loading clothes in the washer. Hastily Hermione folded her clothes on the table. This was her routine; laundry day on Saturday; wash, dry, then fold. She never left the laundry room while she was doing laundry, don't ask her why. The person walked by finished with his laundry, and Hermione kept staring on her work.

"Doing laundry, I see," said a cold drawling of a voice, man perhaps, picking up her bra and twirling it in his hands, "How...normal."

Hermione stopped and looked at the man; he had dark circles around his eyes like he didn't get enough sleep. She saw his hair; it was phantom blond, almost white. Hermione was sure it was the one and only Draco Malfoy.

"Give me that back, Draco!" Hermione replied trying her best to reach her undergarment.

"Now, now, Granger, calm down, I'm just having a bit of fun," Draco said, giving her bra back.

"Doing your own laundry then, I was for sure you'd use your many house elves to do it."

"I left that hell hole."

Hermione started folding, this time slower. Draco watched.

"Do you have a staring problem?" Hermione asked looking at him in the corner of her eye.

"What?"

"It is rude to stare at people, Draco."

"Oh...Why are you calling me my first name?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You've always called me 'Malfoy'. Why the sudden change?"

Hermione sighed, looking down. "Because I grew up! It would seem you would, after the war!" She picked up her clothes, placed them in her basket and left.

Draco watched her go. He felt bad making her leave. It was his fault upsetting her. It is always his fault. He sat on a chair with a thud. He ran his hand through his hair. What was up with him? Forgetting all about his clothes in the washer, he left trudging to his apartment.

"What are you up to, Draco, dear?"

"I'm working, if that is what you mean." Draco replied not looking at his mother.

"Of course, sweetheart."

Again there was a quiet. Small talk was common in the Malfoy Manor, especially at dinner time..

"I'm not going."

"Excuse me?"

"I-I'm not going...father...to the meeting. I don't want to go."

"You will go. You are called."

"I'm not going; I don't want to go down the same path as you."

Lucius looked at his son. With disgust in his voice he said, "You are no son of mine."

This of course made Narcissa cry out, "LUCIUS!" Draco, himself, didn't stir.

"'Cissa, it's the truth. A son of mine would be apart of the family business. He would follow the orders of the father. MY son would be gladly at my side as a Death Eater."

"I would never be a Death Eater."

"That's why it is your fault. Your fault that I die! Your fault you let your family down! Your fault!"

No one moved. No one stirred. No one talked. Half way through dinner Narcissa tried to change the mood by saying, 'I don't know why you want to live in a flat...' Well, it didn't help. Not at all. Draco knew it; Lucius said it. It was entirely his fault.